Page 46 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
I fought that word before. I resented it even as I hated it.
Now my secret muscles clench in tacit acquiescence.
His knee nudges my legs apart. He pushes my hair aside, fingers clenching in the strands. A hot press of his mouth against my back, following down my spine until I’m spread apart and wanting.
Blunt fingers force their way inside me, finding me wet. He groans in approval. “Fuck yes.”
Even his fingers feel thick in the small space, my skin struggling to adjust around him. His cock is even bigger. He twists his fingers, seeking a spot, finding it—and I arch against the bed, wordless sounds begging for release.
When he took my virginity, I faced him. It had seemed like a powerless position, the depth and speed of the thrusts completely his to command. Submission in the most base animal language. But I realize now the range of motion that I had to touch him, to wrap my legs around him, to press my breasts against his chest. Now I’m entirely motionless, his hand in my hair holding me above, his weight holding me down from behind. I can’t touch him.
“Please,” I whisper. “I need… I need…”
He gives me a little shake with a fistful of my hair. “You take what I give you.”
I groan my dissent, without even leverage to push back against him. His cock burns a slick trail across my butt as he presses a kiss to my cheek. Only a second later do I realize that kiss was a warning, maybe even an apology. The wide head of his cock nudges against my folds. Without a word he thrusts inside me, ripping past clenched muscles, forcing me open. A pained cry is muffled by the sheets. My body reacts instinctively, inching up the bed in a frantic bid to escape. It only succeeds in tightening the pull on my scalp.
A calloused hand angles my hips, and then he plunges again, thudding against a point inside me. My mouth opens on a silent scream. His entire body covers mine, chest against my back, hips covering mine, arm stretching out along mine and grasping my wrist. My hands clench and open, desperate for some mooring. There’s nothing but his body in a sea of wild sensation, every rock of his body bursting stars behind my eyelids. Orgasm crashes through me, violent and stormy, never-ending as I contract and pulse and quiver around him.
It’s too much, this relentless throb inside me, this powerful bass he makes with my body. I can’t breathe, can’t speak. This is what he meant when he said he owns me—the complete capture of my body, the takeover of my mind. I’m drowning in Gabriel Miller, the scent and sound of him. The feel of him inside me.
“So good,” he says, dark and almost angry. “So fucking good.”
I feel when he breaks, the stark sound of loss he makes, the fail of his rhythm, the way he holds me to him instead of holding me down. His body empties into me—his come, his despair. His desperate weakness for a woman he shouldn’t want.Chapter Twenty-SevenThe next day when I wake up, Gabriel is gone, but there’s a phone on the bedside table. I know it’s meant for me because the pawn sits on top of it. When I turn it on, there are three numbers already saved—Harper’s cell phone, the number to Mr. Stewart in the nursing home.
The last number says Asshole.
He answers after the first ring. “Good morning.”
“Where are you?”
“Downstairs. I have a few things to take care of in my office, but I’ll be done in time for lunch.”
“Am I allowed to wander?” There’s a hint of snark in my voice, but it’s also a serious question. I don’t know what the rules are for this new tenuous truce.
“Of course,” he says. “Just don’t get lost.”
His house is ridiculous with hallways that lead in circles, with bedrooms that lead into deeper rooms. I don’t know whether he bought it this way or had it built, but it suits him. “I thought you like the chase.”
A low laugh. “Don’t tease me, little virgin. I have all afternoon to make you regret it.”
I shiver, knowing he can accomplish it. My body still aches with all the ways he took me last night, waking me over and over, sometimes moving inside me before I was awake, time folding on itself. “Do I get clothes?”
“In the dresser. Top drawer.”
Crossing the room, I find the contents of my motel room neatly stacked. I nudge aside my clothes, a few books. “The chess set is missing.”
“In the library,” he says, voice velvet with promise. “I thought we might play.”
“Said the spider to the fly.”
He doesn’t deny it. “I’m looking forward to it.”
My fingers brush against the bottom of the drawer. That’s it. “Wait. Where’s the diary?”
