Page 106 of Fighting Mr. Knight

I’m babbling.

“Relax, Bonnie.” He winks as he sets me down outside the door. “I grew up in a council estate, remember? I’m used to carpet from the eighties.”

I push open the door that I left jarred open with a shoe. It’s a risky strategy when you’re living by yourself.

He scans the room, either intrigued or horrified.

I imagine the shabby interior through a billionaire’s eyes. Oh, God. My underwear is drying on a clothes rack in the middle of the living room.

“Nice. It’s cute.”

Cute is what you say when you’re being kind.

I discard the pizza on the kitchen counter. It’s no longer the highlight of the night. It doesn’t smell half as good as Jack. “I wasn’t expecting visitors,” I mutter, whipping the clothes rack out of sight. “You’re drenched. I’ll get you a towel.”

“Sure. I don’t want to flood your living room,” he replies with a grin, strolling about the room, inspecting things in my living room too closely. I want to order him to stand on the spot.

Scuttling off to the bathroom, I contemplate my game plan. Neither the bedroom nor I am in any fit state to seduce anyone. My heart’s bloody pounding here.

When I come back with the towel, he’s in the kitchen and has taken the liberty of removing his shirt. Oh, Lord, I forgot about the tattoos.

There’s definitely going to be a flood, man.

Jack Knight is the largest thing I’ve ever had in my flat.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I watch him inspect the boiler. It’s one of those ancient ugly ones that takes up a huge chunk of wall.

He frowns as he looks on the bottom of the boiler. “When was the last time this was serviced?”

“I dunno.” I shrug. I’m more concerned about the last time I was serviced.

He moves from the boiler to the stove, inspecting it with the same precision. “Do you have a gas certificate for this? This model is at least ten years old.”

“I’m not sure. I just rent the place.”

He turns to me, and his dark eyes sharpen as if that’s the wrong answer. “Your landlord has responsibilities. I’ll have someone come round this week and check everything out.”

It’s sweet how concerned he looks about my boiler. I feel it in my ovaries.

“Okay, Daddy.” I fling the towel at him. “If there’s going to be a gas explosion, hopefully it can wait until tomorrow. Now will you come and sit on the sofa, please.” Taking him by the hands, I lead him away from the utilities and back to the sofa. “Give me a minute to freshen up. And don’t touch or look at anything.”

My request falls on deaf ears. I’m gone less than a minute and when I return, he’s standing in the middle of the living room with a small pink object in his hand.

“What’s this?” he asks with a teasing tone.

My face flushes with heat. The clit sucker. It shows how often I have visitors if I’m leaving my battery lovers lying around the living room. “Cooking utensil,” I mutter trying to grab it off him, but he holds it out of my reach.

His eyes gleam as he turns the damn thing on, and it comes to life with the conspicuous bzzzzzz. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever come across and I’ve come across a lot of liars in my business.” He lets out a low chuckle. “It sounds like something you’d hear on a building site. A cement mixer. Looks like it’s running low on battery, but you won’t be needing that anymore.”

“Is that so?” I croak, my eyes widening as his lips pull into a wicked grin. “It’s got seven different settings. How many do you have?”

He licks his lips and stares at me with hooded eyes. My core clenches. “I haveallthe settings you need, Bonnie.”

I squeal in surprise as he picks me up and tosses me onto the sofa.

“These need to come off.” He tugs at my sweatpants, and I lift my hips so he can slide them down my legs, taking my panties down too.

A grunt falls from his lips as he gently pushes my legs apart and stares intensely for a long beat.

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