Page 12 of Keep Me, Knox
“I hope Rosie and the cubs are safe,” I yell over the wind as he pushes open the cabin door.
“I’m sure they’re hunkered down in their den by now,” he calls back.
When we’re safely inside, Knox immediately tends to the fire. He kneels, one knee on the hearth, and I take a second just to watch him. The way his muscles move beneath his flannel. The curve of his forearms. The quiet focus he brings to everything.
When he looks up and catches me staring, I expect him to smirk. He doesn't.
He just stands.
And closes the space between us.
I swallow hard. "So..."
"So."
The air shifts—warm and heavy, charged with electricity that has nothing to do with the storm outside. He reaches out and brushes a piece of wet hair away from my cheek, letting his fingers linger at the curve of my jaw.
"You planning to keep looking at me like that," he murmurs, "or are you gonna do something about it?"
My breath catches.
Then I close the gap, pressing my mouth to his like I've been thinking about it all damn day. Which, honestly, Ihave.He's solid against me, warm and steady, but the kiss? The kiss isfire. Hungry. Hot. Like he's been holding back for too long and he's finally had enough.
His hands slide under the hem of the hoodie, fingers gripping my hips, thumbs brushing bare skin. I gasp into his mouth, and he takes advantage of it, deepening the kiss, slow and thorough andoh-so-fucking-good.
He lifts up the hem of the hoodie, pulling it up to expose my stomach. "Tell me to stop," he rasps.
I shake my head and lift my arms. "Don't you dare."
The hoodie is gone a moment later—pulled over my head and tossed aside. I stand in front of him, braless, wearing nothing but my underwear and my hiking boots. My tits are on full display, nipples hard from the wet sweatshirt I was wearing seconds before.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls. He rips off his flannel shirt and then pulls me into another fiery kiss. The sensation of skin against skin as his tongue slides over mine is too much. I whimper, needy for more.
Seeming to understand my silent plea, Knox walks me backward toward the couch without breaking contact, lowering me gently until I'm beneath him and he's over me, one knee on the cushion, one hand braced beside my head.
His hands are rough in the best way—big and warm, gripping my thighs, sliding under the waistband of my underwear to peel them away. I reach for the button on his jeans and he stills, breath ragged.
"You sure?" he asks, his voice husky.
"I've never been more sure of anything.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, more deliberate. And then he's sliding inside me—thick and perfect, filling me inch by inch until I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but cling to him and moan his name like a prayer.
Knox moves like he means it. Like he's not just taking me, he'sclaimingme. Each thrust is deep, controlled, reverent. His mouth is everywhere—my neck, my breasts, the underside of my jaw. I arch into him, needing more, and he gives it to me. All of it.
Our rhythm builds, bodies moving together like we were made for this. For each other.
When I come, it hits hard and fast—white-hot and consuming. I cry out his name, shaking beneath him, and he follows with a groan that sounds like it's been torn straight from his soul.
He stays there, forehead resting against mine, chest heaving.
Neither of us says anything for a long moment.
Because we both know this wasn't just sex.
It was something else. Somethingmore.
And I don't think either of us is ready for what that means.
