Page 20 of Pucking Knox
"Tell me I'm wrong." I press closer, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. "Tell me you don't like playing the bad girl. Tell me you don't get off on—"
"Kennedy?" Patricia's sharp voice cuts through the moment. "Your father needs you for photos."
Kennedy practically shoves me away, frantically checking her lipstick in her phone camera.
"Coming!" She starts to leave but I catch her wrist.
"My place. After."
"I can't—"
"Wasn't a question, Princess." I brush my thumb over her racing pulse. "Time for another lesson."
Two hours later, she's sprawled across my bed while I teach her exactly what my mouth can do. Her dress is rucked up around her hips, her perfect hair completely ruined, those expensive shoes somewhere on my floor.
"Knox," she whimpers as I kiss my way up her thigh.
"What do you want, Princess?" I bite down gently, loving how she arches. "Use your words."
"I need..." She’s breathless.
"What do you need?" My breath ghosts over her center, still covered by black lace. "Tell me."
"You." Her hands fist in my sheets. "Your mouth. Anything. Please."
I give her what she wants because I'm not actually made of stone. My lips land on her pussy as her body shivers under me. The noise that leaves her mouth makes me wild. I run my tongue up and down and then suck on the top of her pussy. Her body jerks under me as she calls out my name. Her taste, her sounds, the way she falls apart – it's fucking addicting. I shove my tongue inside of her, loving how she feels.
When she comes down shaking, I have to physically stop myself from taking more. From taking everything.
"That was..." She looks at me through heavy eyes.
"Just the beginning." I press one last kiss to her inner thigh. "But that's enough for tonight."
"But you didn't..."
"Trust me, Princess." I adjust myself pointedly. "It’s not the time. Not yet."
"Okay," she mutters, and I appreciate the trust she has for me.
She leaves soon after, looking thoroughly debauched in her campaign event dress. I immediately grab my phone, needing distraction before I chase after her.
Wilson: Saw the campaign photos. Perfect political girlfriend image. Keep it up – scouts are noticing.
Ace: Thanks for being good with Kennedy tonight. Means a lot, man.
Guilt hits like a physical blow. Here I am, corrupting my best friend's sister while he thanks me for treating her right. Using her for draft stock while pretending it's all for show.
Except... is it pretending anymore? The way she tastes, the sounds she makes, how perfectly she fits in my world – none of that feels fake.
This is an arrangement. Blackmail. A business deal with benefits. Nothing more.
Even if I can still taste her on my tongue.
Even if my sheets smell like her perfume.
Even if every time she leaves, it gets harder not to ask her to stay.
You're so fucked, I tell my reflection as I head for another cold shower.
