Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
I inclined my head to regard him. “You haven’t gone to therapy?”
He gave me a blank look, or what I might’ve seen as a blank look had I not known him. I now knew how to read the smallest of tells. The slight twinkle in his eye, the twitch in his upper lip, the relaxing of his shoulders—all markers of his version of a smile. He was amused.
“Do I look like someone who has gone to therapy?” His tone was the same cool baritone as before, but I sensed only I would hear the lightness in the inflection, the teasing.
It felt like I was the only person who understood a secret language no one else in the world knew.
“Would you be very offended,” I whispered, barely able to fit the words inside the room, “if we didn’t eat the food that you’ve likely outdone yourself with?”
Knox’s eyes flared as he caught on to my meaning, hearing the hungry lilt to my tone.
“I would not be offended in the slightest,” he growled.
A beat thrummed between us.
And then there was a burst, a snapping of that taut tension coiled around the both of us.
Who moved first?
It was me.
It was me who surged forward. If I hadn’t, would he have?
No, I knew the answer to that. If I hadn’t made a move, he would’ve stayed, simmering with a palpable lust but never acting on it. Partly because of his trauma but also because he didn’t want to tarnish me. He wanted to protect me from himself.
It was that knowledge that made him all the more irresistible to me. He thought himself to be beyond redemption, but the darkest of souls would’ve taken me long ago, regardless of whether or not I was willing, uncaring of how they would ruin me.
Though he was resisting me, that didn’t mean he didn’t respond the second my lips crashed onto his.
One of his hands tore into my hair, plastering our mouths tighter together. The other went to my ass, pressing our bodies flush, as if he wanted to meld us together.
His erection pressed into my stomach, large, probing.
I lost myself in the kiss, gasping at the coppery taste of blood entering my mouth that followed a sharp burst of pain as his teeth sank into my lip.
“I’m not going to do this without pain, blood,” he warned, his voice thick. He held me tight enough to hurt to prove his point. “I don’t know how else to be.”
“I don’t want you to be anyone else.” I leaned forward to lick a trickle of my blood that was staining his lip. “I want this to hurt.”
My admission shocked even me. I’d never been into any kind of kink. I was convinced that I wanted tender, soft lovemaking.
Vanilla.
But that had never satisfied me. Deep down, I hungered for something darker, more forbidden. But I’d swallowed those needs because of my past, because of my complicated relationship with violent men.
Indecision was clear in Knox’s eyes, as if he were thinking that very thought. His hesitation stung my skin as if he’d slapped me.
“I’m not a victim,” I snarled at him. “Don’t treat me like one.”
That was enough to jerk him out of his stupor. He yanked me forward again, only kissing this time, no biting. But that didn’t make it any less violent. There was no room to catalogue the kiss as anything but carnal. There was nothing romantic, soft about it. Not that I’d expected that from Knox.
I wanted real. Wanted to feel the utter brutality, the uncontrollable need he had for me.
His hands fisted my hair, wrenching on it to expose my neck before his teeth grazed my carotid artery. I shuddered at my vulnerable position. Exposing my neck to a predator was submission, wasn’t it? Trust?
Not that he gave me a choice.
He just took.
And that’s what I wanted.
His lips replaced his teeth along my pulse.
And then he was stepping back, only slightly. Just enough to send a groan of frustration through me.
His eyes glowed with feral need, but his face was an emotionless mask.
“Take off your clothes,” he said impassively. The words hit me in the throat.
His order was sharp. No warmth or adornment from him.
But I reveled in the command, in knowing that Knox was going to take the helm, and I could let go of coherent thought and just obey.
Which is what I did.
With shaking hands, I tore off my T-shirt.
“Slower.” The word cut through the air.
With great pains, I did as he said, slowing my movements as I unbuttoned my jeans then stepped out of them, all under the power of his intense eyes.
He didn’t even bat a lash.
Nor did he speak.
It should’ve been awkward. Slowly undressing in front of a man with nothing but my roaring heart and rapid breaths filling up the silence. No music. No city sounds, no TV on in the background.