His hands don’t rush. They don’t grope or pinch. He touches me like I’m fragile and sacred all at once. Then one hand slides lower.
I feel the shift in him as he moves, his weight subtly adjusting, as his thigh brushes against mine.
His fingers trail down my stomach, then lower—finding the edge of my knee. He doesn’t force it, doesn’t yank or demand. He just rests his hand there for a moment, his thumb stroking small, patient circles.
And then he draws my knee upward.
Carefully. Gently. Guiding me open beneath him.
A tremor rolls through me—not from fear this time, but anticipation.
It has to be the drugs.
Because I don’t want this.
I don’t want any of it. Even now, fear lingers like smoke in the corners of my mind…but it does feel nice.
I think.
Moving slowly, Knox settles between my thighs, his body big and solid against mine, and I feel the heat of him as he presses his chest to mine. Panic begins to flare, but I fist the blankets beneath me, determined to get through this.
“Let me know if it hurts.” Knox reaches down between us, and I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance. Then he pushes in, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
He doesn’t rush.
The pressure builds, my body stretching around him—more discomfort than pleasure.
I’m wet—I know I am—but it’s not enough. While I can feel the slick dripping down my backside, it’s too little. It’s like the drugs have slowed every inch of my body, making Knox’s cock pinch and ache as he works himself into me, forcing me to take him.
I wince when he bottoms out, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. He stops instantly. His breath is ragged, warm against my throat.
“You okay?” he asks, voice gravel-thick, strained. His hands tremble where they grip the blankets next to my face.
I want to say yes. To tell him to get it over with. But the words catch in my throat. My body’s tight, unsure.Not ready.
Knox shifts, lifting up a little. He doesn’t pull out. He just… gives me space. A breath. A heartbeat. Enough room to breathe.
I blink up at him, and my heart stumbles. His eyes catch mine, and I realize—they’re not dark brown like I thought. They’re green. A shimmering deep green. And they’re filled with a shocking amount of tenderness.
Has anyone ever looked at me like this?
Not like I’m fragile, but like I’m precious.
Brayden never made eye contact when he fucked me—he always pushed my face into the sheets, taking me from behind. He grunted through it like I was just a means to an end. Martin liked to keep me quiet, still, obedient as he jackhammered into me. Both of them made me feel like a body. Like something to use. Even Douglas was cold when he kissed me. Stiff.
But Knox…
His gaze doesn’t stray. It lingers, searching my eyes. There’s something about the way he waits—not impatiently or frustrated. It unravels a knot in my gut that I didn’t even know was there.
“You okay?” he asks again, softer this time, as one of his hands moves—slow, careful—to brush my hair back from my damp forehead. He doesn’t touch me like he owns me. He touches me like I’m something lovely.
I want to say something.Yes orno.Maybe both. But my tongue’s too heavy, thoughts slipping out of reach before I can catch them. But what comes out is a broken whisper, “I…like how…you look at me,” I mumble, the words blurring together.
His brow furrows. “Like how?”
“Like…I don’t know.” I shake my head, too embarrassed to tell him that I can't remember the last time someone looked at me like I mattered. That, even though he’s a complete stranger to me, in the few short minutes we’ve been together, he’s already managed to make me feel more human than my pack could the entire time we were together.
My chest tightens, and tears sting the back of my eyes.
