Page 44 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“You’re so beautiful.” The words burst through his lips, like he couldn’t help them. With his hands still in my hair, he angles my head back a bit, giving me a clear view of his eyes, pupils blown now.

“Fuck, can I kiss you again?” he asks, before biting lightly at my neck. His tongue licks softly over the same spot, sending shivers down my spine.

I whimper at the sensation, of feeling him all around me, feeling him take control of everything. And more than anything, I want to hand it over, so tired of being in charge of so many different things.

But then a small, yet significant part of my brain reminds me of why I let him come up and of everything he went through today. Walter, the convention, his father’s friends…

“Lottie? Can I?”

“What about today? What about earlier? Shouldn’t we talk about it?”

He shakes his head, eyes locked on mine. “I’m okay. I mean, I’m not okay. But I’m fine.

You were so amazing today, there’s no way I would’ve been able to survive it all without you.”

“I just wanted to be there for you.” I pour everything in me into those words, wanting him to really understand.

“I know.” He smiles, kissing the tip of my nose. “You were. You were everything. You are everything.”

Knox pulls me back in for another kiss, slower this time, deeper. My hand comes over his heart where I feel it beat against my palm, fingers curling into his chest. He’s hard against my stomach and all I can think of is ripping his clothes off and touching him again, wanting to feel his skin on mine, to be closer in more ways than one.

I fist his leather jacket, desperately trying to hold on. This kiss—this kiss that feels like falling—is making me weak-kneed and I don’t know how much longer I can stay upright. He’s all around me and I can’t think, can’t breathe, and I’m losing myself in him, in us, and I’m shaking. Literally shaking from struggling to stay on my feet, from fear because this feels so good and I don’t know what to think, because any inch of my body he’s not touching feels too cold, too bare, and I need him there. I’m overwhelmed by sensation and emotion and am slipping—literally—clutching at him because my mind and heart are on overload.

I never want to let go.

As if sensing my current predicament, Knox’s hands—big, warm—move down my body, stopping to squeeze my ass once before sliding down to the back of my thighs. In one swift movement, he picks me up, my legs wrapping easily around his waist as if it were synchronized. I break the kiss with a moan as I twist my hips experimentally and a burst of pleasure shoots through me. The sound ignites something in him, something brighter and hotter than what was already burning before. His grip tightens, fingers digging into my skin in a way that’s more pleasure than pain. “I can’t wait to be inside you again,” he growls through his labored breathing.

“Not just to feel you but to⁠—”

I press my lips to his again because I know exactly what he means, exactly how he feels. He’s talking about more than just sex. He’s talking about this invisible gate that’s opened between the two of us. The one I let him walk through the night we spent together but have kept him locked out of ever since. And deep down, I’ve wanted so desperately to let him come back in, but it’s been impossible in more ways than one. But with his lips on me, his teeth bared on my skin, words like “I’ve missed this so much” and “You feel so good” breathed against my ear, all the reasons to keep him out have disintegrated in my mind and heart and I’m ready. At least for this.

Almost shaking in anticipation, Knox moves to walk us to my bed, stopping right by my bedside table. I barely notice as I try to process the taste of his lips, the dizzying scent of him, the delicious way in which he touches me.

“Take your top off,” he commands. With my legs still wrapped around him, I pull away just enough to tug my sweater over my head⁠—

—and accidentally knock the vase of flowers on my bedside table to the floor.

Glass shatters at Knox’s socked feet, water splashing everywhere. It takes me a minute to wade through the fog and process what happened: my clumsy, sex-crazed ass knocked everything over, totally ruining the moment.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I⁠—”

“Ignore it,” he says before pressing his lips back to mine. “We’ll clean it up later.”

But I take it as a sign to stop, pushing at his chest. “Careful! There’s glass everywhere and you’re not wearing any shoes.” The glazed look in his eyes is gone now. Disappointment spreads across his face in its stead. I pretend not to notice as I maneuver myself out of his grip, falling gracefully atop my bed, managing to completely avoid the glass-covered floor.

“Don’t move,” I tell him, trying to ignore how hot he looks—panting, running both his hands through his hair, massive tent pitched he doesn’t even bother hiding.

“Come back,” he whines. “We can clean it up la—Shit!” He looks down at his foot and winces. “I think I stepped on some glass.”

I roll my eyes and put some shoes on. “I told you not to move.” Sensing my seriousness, he proceeds to finally stand still.

“I’m so sorry for being so careless,” I apologize once I’m done picking up the glass and mopping up the water. “I guess I was really into it and didn’t⁠—”

“Whoa, never apologize for being too into it.” His lopsided smile makes an appearance, and my lightheaded ass can barely take it. “And it’s not that big a deal.”

“Let me get the first aid kit.”

“I don’t need the first aid kit. It’s just a⁠—”