Page 60 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
“He’s gone underground. And when a man like Jonathan Scott goes underground in this city, he’s untraceable. A fucking ghost in the twisted machine that is Tanglewood.”
“For good?”
“I’m sure he’ll strike when we least expect it.”
My stomach twists with unease. “And the house?”
“It’s coming down.” He gives me a sideways look. “Unless you want me to rebuild it.”
I swallow hard. “You would do that for me?”
“Haven’t you figured that out, little virgin? I would do anything for you.”
My heart expands, beating wildly. “Why?”
“Don’t change the subject,” he says, his voice silky with menace. “All I can think about is spanking your hide until it’s pink, and then red, and then black-and-blue. And even then I wouldn’t stop punishing you.”
“Why?” The word comes out as a squeak.
“I told you to leave.”
“Leave you in a burning building?”
“Exactly.”
“I could never do that. I mean, I don’t even think I could do that for a stranger. And you’re—”
“What am I?” he asks, a challenge thick in his voice. “What do you think you know?”
I place my palm against his hard jaw, feel the tension coursing through him. And recognize it for what it is. Fear for me. Love. “I know that you’re a man on the edge.”
His hand grasps my wrist, squeezing in threat. “On the edge of what?”
“You tell me.”
“I would break every single rib over and over again, every goddamn bone in my body if I could stop this horrible feeling, this constant need to have you near me, under me. Wrapped around my cock.”
A small laugh escapes. “I think it will be a while before we do that.”
Golden eyes narrow. “Why’s that?”
My eyes flick down to his chest. A black T-shirt covers him, the thin fabric tracing the lines of his bandages. “You’re injured.”
“Not too injured for that.” He moves my hand down to his jeans. His hard length greets my touch, pulsing against my palm.
“No way. The doctor told me you would be trouble.”
A low growl. “I’ll show you trouble.”
“No, no,” I say quickly, knowing he’ll make good on his threat. And then he really would hurt himself. “Maybe in a couple weeks we could try something slow—”
“Now.”
“But what if you—”
“I’m sure I can think of a way to fuck you without killing myself.” He considers that. “Almost sure. Doesn’t matter. There’s no way I’m waiting two weeks to feel your sweet cunt.”
The word is a stroke between my legs, making me whimper. “It’s too soon.”
“If you don’t climb on top of me, it will be too late.”
My eyes widen as I realize he’s telling the truth. His erection presses against his pants, taut and large. Just from talking to me, looking at me. He would rather break his bones than need me, but he doesn’t get that choice. I thought I was powerless, but he’s the one bound.
Carefully, slowly, I climb onto the armchair, placing my knees on either side of his legs. He makes a low sound when I brush against his chest, but when I try to pull away, he clasps me tight.
I reach between us, unleashing his cock. It falls against my stomach, heavy and slick at the tip. I bite my lip, pressing it between my legs. When I look up at him, he’s watching the place where we touch, his lids low, hands holding my thighs hard enough to leave marks.
“Dying?” I ask him softly.
He laughs and then groans. “Fuck yes.”
I press down, sheathing him, savoring the ache from his size. When I’m seated against him, I can feel his legs under my ass, his coarse hair against my bare skin. He flexes inside me, and my body clenches in response. It’s a wordless communion, an echo of the look we share. It’s unbearably intimate to see his expression, his need. Unbearably vulnerable to know he sees the same in me.
Rising up, I gasp at the slide of him. When I’m at the apex, his fingertips dig into my hips, dragging me back down again. Our bodies clasp together, and he groans.
“Again,” he demands.
My legs tremble, but I obey him, thrusting myself on top of him, using my whole body to pleasure him, shaking muscles squeezing him inside, slick flesh adding friction.
A tortured sound fills the space, and I realize it’s me. It’s one thing to let him plunder me, to open my legs and feel him slide inside—another thing to be the force of my own submission, to let gravity and my own desire to please him stretch me wide.
It felt like fucking heaven to break you open. That’s what he said, and I see that it’s true. A strange release to feel the pain, to inflict it, to choose who to hurt. And then his eyes flash with agony, his cock pulses inside me, and his body goes tense as he comes with a loud groan.
