Page 105 of Knight

The bandageson my wrists need changing. The marks underneath are healing—still tender but no longer raw—evidence of how my life changed in less than a week. Standing in the safehouse bathroom, I carefully unwind the gauze, wincing as it catches on sensitive skin.

"Let me." Knight's voice from the doorway makes me jump.

"I can manage."

He ignores me, moving closer, his reflection joining mine in the mirror. Without speaking, he takes over unwrapping the bandages, his touch clinical as he examines the healing marks. The bruising has faded to yellow-green, but the deeper cuts are still visible. A reminder of how this started.

"These don't need covering anymore." His fingers trace the marks with surprising gentleness. "Just antibiotic ointment. Unless you're planning to start a collection of interesting scars. In which case, I know some people who could help with that."

I swallow hard, watching in the mirror as he tends to my wrists. The intimacy of the moment is almost too much to bear. This man who once restrained me now ensuring the wounds he left heal properly. His thumb brushes over my pulse point, and I lean back against him.

The movement brings us closer, his chest warm against my back, solid and steady. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and my breath catches at the heat in his gaze. His hands slide from my wrists to my waist, fingers splaying across my stomach through my thin shirt.

When he turns me to face him, I'm already lifting my face to his. The first brush of his mouth against mine is soft, almost hesitant, like he's giving me time to pull away. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer as the kiss deepens, and I press into him, fingers curling into his shirt while his tongue slides against mine.

We stumble down the hallway to his room, unwilling to break contact. Inside, he kicks the door shut behind us. My back hits the wall as his mouth finds my neck, nipping and sucking up to my ear.

"Careful," he whispers. "The walls in this place are about as soundproof as tissue paper."

"Then maybe you should stop doing that thing with your tongue."

His laugh vibrates against my throat. "Not a chance."

My hands push under his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his chest, finding scars I want to learn the stories behind. When my fingers trace a ridge of tissue near his ribs, his breath stalls. There's history there—violence and survival written on his skin.

He breaks away only to pull his shirt over his head, then returns to trailing kisses down my throat. Every touch sends electricity through my nerve endings. When he nips the lobe of my ear, my knees actually buckle.

"Found your weakness, Glitch?" The nickname comes out rough with desire.

"Shut up and kiss me again."

"So demanding." But he complies, his mouth capturing mine.

His hands slip under my shirt, callused fingers mapping my ribs, my back, everywhere he can reach. I arch into the contact, desperate for more. He takes the hint, lifting my shirt over my head before claiming my mouth again.

We leave a trail of clothes between the wall and his bed. Each newly revealed patch of skin draws hungry kisses, desperate touches. When he finally settles over me, the weight of him feels like coming home. Like every moment since walking into his apartment with that phone has led us here.

His mouth moves over my body with devastating thoroughness—learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes me forget everything except the way he makes me feel.

His lips close over one nipple, his fingers tease the other, and my back arches off the bed.

“You’re beautiful.”

I don’t know how to answer that, and he doesn’t give me a chance to think about it.

His hands stroke down my stomach, over my hips, and lower to part my thighs. He moves down the bed, and a shiver rocks through me when his mouth closes over my clit, his tongue working magic that leaves me trembling and gasping his name. One hand flattens over my stomach, while sensation sends me spiraling higher, tension coiling tight until it snaps, throwing me over the edge with a cry.

One hand brushes my cheek in a silent question, when he raises up to position himself against me. I answer by pulling him down into another kiss, and wrapping my legs around his hips to guide him closer. The moment he sinks into me, a gasp tears from my throat. His mouth covers mine, muffling the sounds I make as he thrusts into me.

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, his whispered curses a counterpoint as we lose ourselves in each other. Theworld narrows to the feel of him, the heat and friction, the way he makes me feel whole in a way I never expected.

When release finally crashes over me, he follows, his face buried in my neck as his body shudders against mine. The aftermath is a haze of warmth and contentment, our breaths mingling as we lie tangled in each other.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back as he pulls me to lie across his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my ear, a reminder that for now, we’re safe.

"Knight?"

"Hmm?"

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