Page 13 of Knox's Boy

The sound of the shower cut off. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened. A cloud of steam rolled out, carrying the scent of bergamot, my soap. Florian emerged from the fog. He had wrapped one of the oversized white bath towels around his waist, hitching it low on his hips. His chest was bare, flushed pink from the heat, droplets of water clinging to his collarbones and the hollow of his throat. His wet blond hair was plastered to his forehead, making him look even younger, defenseless.

He was beautiful. So, so beautiful.

He spotted me in the chair and stopped, his toes curling into the plush carpet. I handed him the silk pajamas.

"Comfort is non-negotiable in my home," I said.

Florian eyed the dark fabric skeptically. He reached out, his fingers brushing mine as he took the shirt. He rubbed the material between his thumb and forefinger. "Silk? Seriously? These look like something a villain in a Bond movie would wear. I don’t evenownany pajamas."

“How do you sleep, then?” I asked, already guessing the answer.

“Naked, of course,” he said, mischievous.

I smirked. "Put them on."

Florian looked at me, then at the pajamas, and then a shift occurred in his eyes. A spark of the brat, the challenger, lit up the blue irises. Instead of retreating to the bathroom to change, he simply let go of the towel.

It pooled around his ankles in a heavy white heap.

He stood there, stark naked in the center of the guest room. He was beautiful. Slender but wiry, with a lean, defined musculature. His skin was pale. He didn't cover himself. He stood with his weight on one leg, chin tilted up, daring me to look, daring me to react.

"Well?" he asked, his voice pitching slightly higher than normal. His eyes narrowed, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "What's wrong? Don't you want to see what you're paying for?"

It was a clumsy attempt at seduction, a transparent bid for validation. He was trying to turn this back into a transaction, to find his footing on the only ground he thought he understood: being used.

My gaze traveled over him, slow and deliberate. I looked at the curve of his waist, the flare of his hips, the soft darker hair at the base of his belly. I felt desire stir; I wasn't made of stone, and he was undeniably alluring, but I kept it locked down tight behind a wall of discipline.

I met his eyes. "I see you've followed instructions about getting clean," I said, my voice dry and devoid of lust. "That was the requirement."

Florian flinched, his bravado faltering at my lack of predatory response. He yanked the pants up his legs with a huff. "There's just no winning with you, is there?"

I chuckled. I couldn't help it.

The silk slid over his legs, pooling slightly at his ankles. He pulled the drawstring tight. He shrugged into the shirt, the midnight blue fabric contrasting sharply with his fair skin andgolden hair. He began to button it, his fingers fumbling slightly with the small pearl buttons.

"Fancy jammies," he murmured, smoothing the fabric over his chest. He looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror, turning side to side. "I feel... slippery."

The silk transformed him, lending an elegance that made my breath catch. "The fabric suits you," I said, closing the distance between us.

He froze as I approached. I reached out, not to touch his skin, but to fix the collar of the shirt, which was tucked under at the back. My knuckles grazed the nape of his neck, warm, damp skin against cool silk. His breath hitched.

"Better," I said, stepping back immediately. "Now, come, we are sleeping in my room."

"Your room?" His eyes widened. "I thought... I thought this was where I was staying."

"I said I would take care of you tonight,” I replied, moving toward the door. “I need to have you where I can see you, hear your breathing. And I don't sleep in guest rooms."

I didn't wait for an argument. I walked out into the hallway, hearing the softswish-swishof the silk legs rubbing together as he hurried to catch up. He was following. He was always following. And God help me, I liked it a little too much.

My bedroom was dominated by a king-sized bed. The blackout curtains were drawn, soft yellow lights on.

"Get in," I said.

Florian hesitated by the side of the bed, shifting his weight. He crawled onto the mattress, moving cautiously, and settledon the left side. I undressed, putting on my pajamas t-shirt and leaving my boxers on. He raised his eyebrows, watching every move. Then, I extinguished the main lights, leaving only the amber glow of the bedside lamps, and climbed in beside him. The mattress dipped under my weight. We lay there, staring up at the dark ceiling. I could feel the heat radiating from him, could hear the shallow, erratic rhythm of his breathing. He was buzzing with restless energy, his mind clearly unable to process the stillness.

Suddenly, he moved.

He shifted onto his side, turning toward me. His hand snaked out, sliding under the hem of my t-shirt. His fingers were cold against my warm skin, tracing the ridges of my abdominals with a clumsy, desperate boldness.