Page 111 of Fighting Mr. Knight

“Shush,” I growl. “Don’t take it back.”

“Jack.” She arches her back and digs her nails into my shoulders as her body shudders in pleasure with the orgasm ripping through her. Her muscles clench around me, milking me for everything I have.

“Look at me when you come,” I hiss, gripping her jaw so she’s forced to look at me again. “I love your face when you come. I need to see it, Bonnie.”

I can’t hold it any longer.

Every muscle in my back and biceps tenses as I choke out her name, exploding inside her with a few final jerky thrusts.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“That was,” she starts softly.

“Unbelievable,” I finish, panting hard in her hair.

We lie there, my body covering hers until our breathing slows. She can’t see the huge grin splitting my face.

There’s no going back now.

“Jack.” She laughs softly against my neck. “You’re still inside of me.”

I pull back to look at her and wink. “And that’s where I intend to stay. I’m just getting started with you.”

Bonnie

I wake up with the alarm clock of the London garbage collection. The lorry’s loud automated message drills through my head, ‘This vehicle is reversing.’

It means it’s 6 a.m.

I’m absolutely wrecked but it’s a good type of exhaustion. The kind I feel after I run a marathon or, in this case, a shagathon.

I haven’t had a night like that in . . . well . . . never.

I reach for Jack . . . and feel the bed cold.

My eyes snap open. He’s not here.

Jack is too big and the flat is too small for him to be here making that little noise.

I sit up, suddenly apprehensive.

Did he leave without telling me?

I feel the pillow beside me. It’s cold.

The last thing I remember was melting into his hot body and falling asleep naked in his arms.

After I made him a massive pot of potatoes, steak and carrots, because, in his words, the pizza wouldn’t fill a bird, we fucked again, this time slower and lazier. And then again, and again until he finally dragged me into the shower and washed every inch of my body like he worshipped it.

Somehow, he managed to be romantic and fierce all at the same time.

I walk out into the living area pulling on a T-shirt. The living room is deathly quiet as if he was never there.

My heart sinks as I scan the flat. Yup, all his stuff is gone. All I have left of the evening is his scent on me.

Who leaves before 6 a.m.?

Does he regret it? Or is that how a night with Jack works?

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