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"What? No." I chuckle, and the sound comes out broken. "You’re joking."
In reply, he pulls out and slams into me with such force, I huff. I try to wriggle away, but he leans some of his weight on me. I pant and sweat pools under my armpits. "If you’re trying to scare me, you’re—" I cry out, as he pulls out and pistons his hips forward and plunges into me. His balls hit the curve of my butt cheeks, his cock brushes up against a secret spot inside that unfurls sensations I never imagined I could feel. My nerve-endings crackle. And I climax.
The orgasm crashes over me. I open my mouth to scream, but he closes his mouth over mine and swallows the sound. Then, he thrusts his tongue over mine, and begins to fuck me in earnest. The aftershocks course through me, and with each wave, he slams into me, over and over and over again. He balances himself on one arm and slides his big palm under my butt cheek. He squeezes down, then stuffs his thumb inside my forbidden hole, and the trembling gathers again at the base of my spine.
No, no. I cannot orgasm again. I can’t.I try to tell him, but he swipes his tongue over my teeth, and pleasure centers I didn’t know existed light up in my brain. I’ve turned into a mewling, whirling, mass of need. I strain against him. I throw my arms about his shoulders and hold as he pumps into me. Sweat clings to his skin. My body braces as my mind, my soul, climb higher and higher, reaching for that horizon in the distance. Then, he tilts my torso at just the right angle so his pelvis hits my clit when he penetrates me next.
I instantly climax. Moisture bathes the space between my legs. I soar through the air, a dove set free. Higher and higher, until everything disappears. As I float down to earth, I hear his hoarse cry, feel his big body shudder, and he shoots his load inside me.
I black out, and when I come to, he’s watching my features closely. There’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows. I reach up and smooth it out.
"You’re okay?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He searches my eyes, then nods. He begins to withdraw, but I squeeze my arms and legs about him, refusing to let him go. He hesitates, then slowly sinks down and nestles his face into the hollow of my throat. I run my fingers through his hair, and he sighs. Still inside me, he turns his cheek and nuzzles me. I tighten my arms about him, and bit by bit, the tension drains from him. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. When I wake up it’s dark.
Now, he’s on his back, and I’m cuddled into his chest. His body twitches. He mutters something under his breath, but when I glance at him, his eyes are closed.
"No, stop," he cries out, the sound guttural. He throws his arm up as if trying to protect himself, then lowers his arm to his side. He grips the bedclothes, thrashes his head from side to side. Sweat clings to his chest, but he’s pale below his tan. He’s definitely dreaming, for he cries out again. "No, don’t. I can’t take it. Kill me. But spare them. Please."
My heart somersaults into my mouth. My throat closes. I sit up, wondering what to do, when he cries out again. The sound is so full of pain and sorrow and helplessness, my stomach twists on itself. I feel like I’m going to be sick. "Sir. Knight. You’re dreaming." I touch his shoulder, and in the next second, I’m thrown on my back, and he’s straddling me. He has his fingers around my throat. His eyes are open, but his gaze is unseeing. His mouth twists, and his grasp tightens. I claw at his wrists, to no avail. The oxygen cuts out. My heartbeat slows. Flickers of black dot my vision, and just before I surrender to it, I slap him across the face.
Suddenly, I draw in a breath. My lungs inflate. Flashes of white cross my vision, and when they clear, Knight’s face fills my line of sight. He holds up his hands, glances from my face to them, and a look of utter horror comes over his features. He scrambles back, until he’s on his haunches at the very edge of the mattress. At once, I sit up and pull my knees into my chest. We stare at each other across the length of the bed.
His bare chest heaves, and his nostrils flare. Sweat glistens on his forehead, and his hair is stuck to it. His throat moves as he swallows. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls on his hair. "Fuck," he growls, sounding like a wounded animal. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
His features twist into a look of such revulsion, I know I have to do something. "Knight, it’s okay," I say softly.
He shakes his head. "It’s not." He snaps his eyes open, and the look in them is so bleak, I flinch. And that only hardens his jaw further. He balls his fists at his sides. The muscles of his body are wound tighter than I’ve ever seen them before. His shoulders flex, and he seems frozen with indecision, and that’s a first.
I’ve never seen this man look anything less than self-assured. Of course, I knew he carried a wound inside from what happened to him, but that seemed to have made him even more confident about facing challenges head-on. I realize now, it was all a front. I realize now, my instincts were correct. The Knight inside is tormented, anguished and suffering. He’s in such agony, carrying so much trauma from what happened to him, that my breath catches. My throat closes. The frustration and helplessness that vibrate off this man twist my guts. Tears stab the backs of my eyes, and I blink them away. I lean forward, and he stiffens further. The veins on his arms stand out in relief. The tendons of his throat are so prominent, I’m sure they’re going to snap.
I inch forward, and though he watches me with a wary gaze, to my relief, he doesn’t push off the bed. With that haunted look on his features, and tension radiating off of his body, he resembles a caged predator. One who’ll lash out at me, or worse, break through the bars and run so I’ll never see him again. Somehow, I think it’s the latter and I definitely don’t want that. I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him. Not when I’m beginning to understand the many layers of this complex man. When I reach him, I cup his cheek, and he winces.
"I could have… killed you," he says in a voice that cracks.
39
Knight
"But you didn’t."
Her voice is soft, her gaze softer, and her touch? Her touch is so gentle, it slices me to the core. I’ve shot at men and killed them. I’ve withstood torture. I’ve seen my fellow teammates die. But nothing has affected me as much as the whisper of her fingers as she trails them down my cheek. I want to turn my face into her touch. To press my lips into her palm, absorb the comfort she’s offering me. I want to… Push her on her hands and knees, grab her hair, and tug on it as I take her from behind.What does it say about me that she tries to console me, and I want to fuck her, and in the most animalistic way possible? Why do I feel incapable of giving her the tenderness she obviously deserves? Why is it that I want to channel all of the violence, all of the hate inside me, into what should be an act of affection? Why do I want to rut her like the animal I have become instead of make love to her like the man I wish I could be for her.
I pull away from her, and her face falls. A piercing pain fills my heart. I tamp down on it, then swing my legs over the side of the bed and rise to my feet. I struggle against my desire to see her one last time, and I lose the fight. Turning, I see her crawling toward me, and fuck, if the sight of her in such a subservient pose doesn’t make my balls ache. The blood drains to my groin. I try to move back, but my feet seem anchored to the floor. She pauses in front of me, her breasts swaying, her back curved to meet the flare of her hips. Then she sits back on her heels, and I can’t look away from the triangle of skin between her thighs.
"You didn’t hurt me, Sir."
I draw in a sharp breath because, fucking hell, when she calls me Sir, I forget about that heaviness in my soul, the emptiness in my heart, that grief for what I’ve lost that haunts my every waking moment. The echoes of cries, of pain, of the despair that laces my dreams… All I become then, is hers. And she's the only one, the only thing that will stop me from losing my mind to the cavernous darkness that stretches in front of me.
She tilts up her chin and meets my gaze. "You can never hurt me. You would never allow yourself to do so. Surely, you realize that?"
"I woke up with my fingers around your throat. You could have died. You realize that?"
"You stopped before you cut off my breath. Besides…" She brings her finger to her mouth and chews on her fingernail. "Besides, isn’t erotic asphi…asphiation a thing?"
"You mean erotic asphyxiation?" I narrow my gaze.
