Page 89 of Knight

"Knight, please." I don't recognize my own voice, breathless and needy.

"Not yet." He nips at my inner thigh. "I want to feel you come apart on my tongue first."

His renewed focus sends me spiraling higher until release crashes over me in waves. He works me through it until I'm trembling, oversensitive and desperate for more.

While I'm still catching my breath, he sheds his remaining clothes. I drink in the sight of him—all lean muscle and coiled power. When I reach for him, he comes willingly, settling between my thighs like he belongs there.

The sight of him above me steals my breath. Lines of code trace across his chest and down his ribs, black ink stark against tanned skin. I reach up to trace one that curves around his heart, the symbols meaningless to me but clearly significant to him.

His muscles flex under my touch as he reaches down to wrap one hand around his dick and press it against me. Our eyes lock as he pushes inside, the stretch and fullness drawing a gasp from my throat. He stills, giving me time to adjust, but I can feel him shaking with the effort of holding back.

"Move," I breathe, lifting my hips to take him deeper.

He withdraws slowly before driving back in, setting a pace that makes me cling to his shoulders. More inked code catchesmy eye there, wrapping around his bicep, but coherent thought scatters as his dick hits that perfect spot inside me.

My nails dig into his back, and the slight pain seems to ignite something in him. His thrusts become harder, deeper, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit with his fingers.

"Come for me again." His voice is strained. "Want to feel your pussy come all over my dick."

The combination of his touch and his voice pushes me over the edge. My release triggers his, and he buries his face in my neck with a groan as he follows me into oblivion.

When my heart stops racing, and I can finally catch my breath, I trace my fingers over the code that runs along his collarbone, curiosity finally winning out over satiated exhaustion.

"What do they mean?"

His hand catches mine, guiding it to the phrase near his heart. "This one? 'Code is poetry.'" His lips quirk. "It seemed profound when I was younger."

I trace another that winds down his ribs. "And this?"

"'Access denied? Challenge accepted.'" He shifts so I can see the one on his bicep. "That one says 'Permission is just a polite way of saying try harder.'"

"Of course they're all about hacking." I press a kiss to the one over his heart. "You really are a code poet, aren't you?"

"More like a digital artist with trust issues." His arms tighten around me. "Though you seem to be bypassing all my security protocols."

"Is that your way of saying I've hacked your defenses?"

He rolls us suddenly, pinning me beneath him again. "That was terrible. I should kick you out for that alone."

"Too late." I wrap my legs around his waist. "I'm already past your firewalls."

"Now you're just trying to annoy me with bad tech puns." But his mouth catches mine in a kiss that quickly rekindles the heat between us.

This time is slower, more about exploration than desperation. I learn the stories behind each tattoo, the way specific touches make his breath catch, how to make him lose that perfect control he values so much.

Afterward, we lie tangled in sweat-dampened sheets, my head on his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat under my ear grounds me in this moment, while my mind tries to process how completely everything has changed between us in such a short time.

From him holding me at gunpoint to …this.Naked and vulnerable, tracing the secrets inked into his skin. The transition should feel jarring, but somehow it doesn't. Maybe because every step that led us here, every choice and risk, has stripped away both of our defenses bit by bit.

His hand catches mine as I follow a line of text down his ribs, bringing my fingers to his lips. The gesture feels more intimate than anything we've just done.

Sleep tugs at me, but I fight against it, not ready to let go of this strange peace we've found. His arms tighten around me, one hand drawing idle patterns on my back.

The last thing I register before exhaustion claims me is how right this feels—like finding that perfect book you didn't even know you were searching for.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Knight

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