Page 95 of What We Bury

“Yes.”

The answer comes out breathless. Immediate. No hesitation. Because fuck—yes. I want more. I want all of him. I want him to split me open on this filthy alley wall while traffic hums ten feet away and the diner keeps serving coffee like my world isn’t narrowing to the size of his hand.

He searches my face one last time, making sure I mean it.

Then a second thick finger presses in beside the first.

I gasp so hard it’s almost a scream.

“Fuck,” I whisper, clutching at him. “Knox?—”

“Easy.” He mouths the word against my cheek, then my jaw. “Breathe for me.”

I try. God, I try. But he’s so big, his hand so much rougher than Micah’s and somehow just as careful, and the stretch burns for half a second before my body melts around him. His fingers pump once, twice, and I feel the shape of them everywhere. My stomach tightens. My thighs shake.

Those voices at the far end of the alley fade into nothing.

There’s only this.

Only him.

His thumb moves again, slow circles. My body is so tight I’m going to come from this—from the fullness and his eyes on me and the awareness that we are not entirely alone and he doesn’t care. God, I swear he’s turned on by the thought of getting caught.

I am too.

“Look at you.” His voice drops lower. “So fucking pretty when you let yourself want.”

Heat detonates under my skin.

His fingers work me open in a slow, devastating rhythm, and every pass of his thumb sends sparks racing up my spine. I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. It doesn’t help much. The sounds still leak out—small, wrecked noises I would die of embarrassment over if Knox wasn’t looking at me like each one is a gift.

“Someone could hear those sounds you’re making, Fury.”

I moan, and he leans in, nipping my ear.

“Anyone could round that corner.” He watches me a beat. “Gets you off, knowing that.”

I whimper.

“You’d let them look.”

“I—”

“Don’t lie.”

His thumb circles harder. I bite down on a sound.

“You know about the club?”

I nod, and he smiles. Dark.

“Picture something for me.”

I shudder, my hips pumping as he teases my clit and strokes me. “What?—?”

“You. On a table. At the club.” His thumb keeps moving, fingers against my G-spot. “Your skirt up like this. My fingers stretching you. Forty people watching. Getting turned the fuck on.”

A sound rips out of me. He covers my mouth with his free hand but doesn’t change his rhythm.