Page 15 of Knox's Boy

Chapter 8. Florian

I woke to the sunlight against my eyelids. For a moment, I drifted in that space between dreams and reality, my body heavy with sleep, my mind still fogged. Then I tried to stretch, and the soft resistance around my wrists yanked me fully awake. My eyes snapped open as memories crystallized: the cuffs, Knox's voice in the darkness, the word "Daddy" on my lips as I'd surrendered to exhaustion.

The mattress beneath me felt like a cloud. I had never slept so deeply.

I tested the restraints gently. The cuffs were butter-soft against my skin, lined with what felt like wool. There was enough give that I'd been able to shift in my sleep without pain, but not enough to free myself. My arms were slightly numb from being held above my head all night, tingling with the first prickles of returning circulation.

Sunlight filtered through a gap in the heavy curtains. The light caught on the fancy furniture of the room. I closed my eyes again, shame flooding through me as memories of the previous night replayed in vivid detail. I had fallen apart. I had cried. I had panicked when he'd told me what he wanted to do to me. I had covered everything in snot. And rather than kicking me out or demanding his money back, Knox had... taken care of me. Fed me. Held me. Put me to sleep in his own bed like a child who'd had a nightmare. For a second, I panicked, but then I remembered I had texted Luna before midnight as promised, while I showered.

God, I was pathetic.

I'd come here to be a professional, to earn the money he was paying me by being whatever he needed. Instead, I'd been a mess, an emotional wreckage. He'd given me the envelope anyway. The thought of it made my stomach twist. Not with disgust, though, but with a strange warmth. He had seen me at my absolute worst and still thought I deserved payment. Still thought I was worth caring for.

Movement caught my eye. Knox stood at the far end of the room, his back to me as he pulled something from a drawer. He was already dressed for the day in tailored slate-gray slacks and a crisp white button-down, the sleeves rolled to his elbows again, exposing those forearms that had made me almost drool yesterday. His hair was damp at the edges, suggesting a recent shower. How long had he been up? How long had he left me sleeping in his bed?

I watched him, mesmerized by his movements, and felt something unfamiliar bloom in my chest.

Security.

The realization was insane. I was literally tied to a stranger's bed. I should be terrified. I should be figuring out how to escape. I felt... safe. Protected. All along. My wrists were bound, and yet I felt freer than I had in years. So ridiculously cliché. I was such a bottom.

"You're awake," Knox said.

Heat rushed to my face. I was suddenly, acutely aware of how I must look. Disheveled, restrained, wearing silk pajamas that cost more than my rent, in a bed that didn't belong to me, and really needing to go pee. The silk had twisted around my torso during the night, exposing a strip of skin above the waistband. I wanted to tug it down, but my bound hands made that impossible.

"I..." My voice came out as a croak. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Yes. I'm awake."

Knox had an expression that was unreadable, but I could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched upward for a fraction of a second. He crossed the room. I should have felt vulnerable. Instead, a strange anticipation coiled low in my stomach.

Knox stood at the edge of the bed now, looking down at me. I couldn't read his thoughts. Did he regret bringing me here? Did he think I was weak? Pathetic? Was he disappointed? Why was I getting hard just looking at him there?

"I'm sorry about last night," I blurted out. "I'm not usually... I don't normally..." I trailed off, unsure how to finish. I don't normally what? Fall apart? Cry on strangers? Accept kindness without trying to pay for it with my body?

"Don't apologize. I told you I prefer the truth," Knox said. His voice was calm, gentle, but with that firmness that sent shivers down my spine.

I swallowed hard. Truth. What was the truth? That I was broke, desperate, and had walked into his house thinking I could trade my body for cash without consequences? That the moment he'd spoken to me with real kindness, I'd crumbled like a sandcastle at high tide? That despite everything, despite the cuffs and the power imbalance and the money, I felt safer here than I had in years?

"I didn't give you what you wanted," I whispered, the words scratching my throat on their way out. "What you paid for."

Knox's expression shifted, getting harder, more dangerous. "What I want," he said, each word heavy, "is authenticity. True surrender and trust. Those can't be purchased, Florian. They can only be earned. And you gave me that. Now, I don’t want to hear another word about that. That’s an order."

I stayed quiet, processing the words.

"I'll remove the cuffs now," Knox said, moving closer to the headboard. "Your arms must be uncomfortable after a full night."

Part of me wanted to protest. I, weirdly, wanted to stay bound a little longer, to remain in this strange, suspended state where I didn't have to make decisions or pretend to be stronger than I was. But I just nodded, watching as his large hands reached for the buckles.

I looked at the silver at his temples, the fine lines around his eyes, the strong, straight bridge of his nose. I wondered if he had Italian blood. He was intimidatingly handsome, not in the soft,pretty-boy way of the guys I usually went for, but in a carved-from-granite way that made my heart race. This close, I could smell his cologne, something expensive and subtle, cedar.

When he touched me, as he worked the first buckle free, I felt goosebumps. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was business. A transaction. I wasn't supposed to feel this dizzy rush just from him.

But as the first cuff loosened and blood rushed back into my hand in a painful tingle, I knew I was in trouble. Because in the clear light of morning, with my mind no longer clouded by panic or exhaustion, I had to admit an uncomfortable truth: I wanted him. Not for the money, not for the security, but for himself. I was crazy about him.

And that realization terrified me more than any restraint ever could.

The second cuff fell away, and Knox gently lowered my arms, his large hands supporting my elbows as the blood rushed back. The pins-and-needles sensation made me wince, but his touch distracted me from the discomfort. His fingers were warm, careful, as they brushed over the slight red marks left by the leather. I was suddenly aware of our proximity, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight, his cologne enveloping me.

Oh, I was down bad.