Page 70 of Fighting For You

His face changed. The anger didn't leave, but something else came in underneath it. He looked at my eyes and he knew.

He took my hand.

"We're leaving."

Knox held my hand the entire drive home.

He didn't speak. He kept his eyes on the road, his jaw set, his thumb pressed against my knuckles like he needed to know I was still there. The streetlights passed over his face in slow intervals. I watched them move across his jaw, his cheekbones, the tight line of his mouth.

I let the silence stay. Whatever was happening inside him needed room.

We walked up to his apartment without a word. He unlocked the door, held it open for me, and closed it behind us.

"Nora."

I turned around.

He was standing by the door with his keys still in his hand, his shoulders heavy under the blazer.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"Don't apologize."

"What he said about you⁠—"

"Was wrong. And you told him that." I stepped closer to him.

He looked at me. The anger from his father's house was still there, but it was fading, replaced by something raw and tired.

I reached up and touched his jaw. He closed his eyes.

"Come here," I said.

He leaned down and I kissed him. Slow, careful, my hand on his face. He kissed me back. I felt the tension in his body start to loosen. His hands found my waist and pulled me closer, and I pressed into him until there was nothing between us but the fabric of his shirt and the thin material of my dress.

I pulled back and looked at him. Then I took the lapels of his blazer in both hands and slid it off his shoulders. It dropped to the floor behind him. He watched me, his breathing uneven, his hands still on my waist.

My fingers undid the first button of his shirt. Then the second. He stood still and let me.

"You looked so good tonight," I said. I worked the third button free. "I've been thinking about this since you picked me up."

"Since the truck?"

His shirt came open. I ran my hands up his chest, over his shoulders, and left the shirt where it was. He was watching me, breathing hard, the fabric hanging open on both sides.

I kissed his chest. His collarbone. The base of his throat. I felt his breath catch. My mouth moved down the center of his body, and my hands followed, tracing the line of his ribs, the plane of his stomach. I dropped to my knees in front of him and looked up.

His eyes were dark, his lips parted. He looked at me like he couldn't believe I was real.

I undid his belt and pulled him free. His hand came to the side of my head, his fingers sliding into my hair.

There was no rush. I wanted him to feel every part of it, every press of my lips, every place my tongue found that made his breath go ragged. His fingers tightened in my hair. His head dropped back. I heard my name come out of his mouth in a way that made my chest ache, broken and low, like a word he'd forgotten how to say.

His breathing changed. I felt his hand flex against my scalp, his body tense, and I stayed with him, steady and close, until he let go. He finished with a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest, his hand still in my hair, his whole body shaking.

I stood up and kissed him again. He pulled me against him, his forehead dropping to mine.

"Nora."