Page 115 of Knight
He presses one last kiss to my inner thigh and lifts his head. His chin is wet, his eyes are dark, and his smile is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. "Hi," he says softly.
I laugh—breathless, incredulous. "Hi yourself."
He crawls up my body, pressing kisses along the way, and settles beside me. His hand finds my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone, and he looks at me with an expression that makes my chest ache.
"I want to be inside you," he says quietly. "But only if you want—"
"I want." I reach for him, my hand closing over the hard length of him through his boxers, and he hisses. "I want you. Now."
He shoves his boxers down and kicks them off, and then he's naked above me—lean and beautiful and hard. I reach for him again, wanting to touch, but he catches my hand and pins it above my head.
"Next time," he says. "Tonight is about you."
"You already—"
"I want more." He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. "I want to feel you come around me. I want to hear you say my name again."
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Then stop talking and—"
He pushes inside me in one slow, smooth thrust, and the rest of my sentence dissolves into a moan. He's big—big enough that I feel the stretch, the fullness, the way my body opens to accommodate him—and I gasp at the sensation.
"Oh god—you're so big—fuck—" My nails dig into his shoulders. "You feel so good inside me."
He stills, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed against mine. "Are you okay?"
"I'm better than okay." I roll my hips, experimentally, and we both groan. "Move. Please."
He does. He pulls out slowly, until only the tip remains inside, and then thrusts back in with the same deliberate pace. Not hard. Not fast. Slow and deep, each stroke hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision go white. I stare up at him—at the concentration on his face, the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes stay open and fixed on mine.
"Don't close your eyes," he says. "I want to see you."
"I want to see you too." I reach up and touch his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone. "I want to see all of you."
His rhythm falters for a moment, and something shifts in his expression—a softening, a crack in the armor he wears so well. He turns his head and presses a kiss to my palm, and the gesture is so tender it makes my eyes sting.
"Nova." He says my name like it's the only word he knows. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here."
I don't know if he's reading my mind or if my fear is written on my face, but the words land in the softest part of me. The part that expects people to leave. The part that calculates exit strategies and prepares for abandonment. I pull him down and kiss him—deep, open-mouthed, tasting myself on his tongue—and he groans into my mouth.
His pace increases—still not frantic, but more urgent now. Each thrust pushes me further up the bed, and I cling to him, my legs locked around his waist, my hands gripping his shoulders.
The headboard knocks against the wall in a steady rhythm, and I think distantly that we should be quieter, that the kids are down the hall, but then his angle changes and his cock hits that spot inside me and all coherent thought evaporates.
"Yes—right there—fuck, right there—" My voice is getting louder, and I don't care. "Your cock feels so good inside me—so deep—don't stop—"
"I won't stop." His voice is ragged, his breathing harsh. "I'll never stop. You feel so fucking good—so tight—so wet for me—"
His hand finds my clit, his thumb circling in time with his thrusts, and I feel another orgasm building. This one is deeper, more intense, gathering at the base of my spine and radiating outward.
"Romeo—I'm close again—"
"I know." His thumb presses harder, his hips snap faster. "Come for me. Come on my cock."
The words are my undoing. The orgasm rips through me, and I'm screaming his name—half-moan, half-sob, my cunt clenching around him in waves.
He follows me over the edge two thrusts later, his whole body going rigid, his own groan echoing in the quiet room. I feel him come inside me—hot, pulsing, filling me—and the sensation triggers aftershocks that make me tremble.
We lie there in the aftermath, his weight pressing me into the mattress, our breathing harsh and ragged. The sweat cools on our skin. His heartbeat thuds against my chest, or maybe that's mine—it's impossible to tell where I end and he begins. The sheets are tangled around us, the pillows knocked to the floor, and I don't remember that happening but it must have.
