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“Fuck you. I’ll show you hard, Knox,” Reed says.
“Do tell more about that in slow, descriptive detail, Reed,” I whisper against Knox’s chest. His breath fans along my cheek as he exhales a low rumbling laugh that I feel all over.
His laughter is addicting, mostly because it’s rare but partly because I feel that rumbling sound low in my abdomen.
“Stop making erection threats and go to sleep.” Knox snuggles into me until his head rests on mine, our breath mingling between us.
This. Being held against him every night, my palms flat against the perfect lines of his chest, this is the closest thing to complete calm that I’ve ever felt in the chaotic life I used to live.
To anyone else, this side of Knox Reyes doesn’t exist.
People fear him. Girls love him but they still fear him. This boy is made up of idle destruction just waiting to release.
Except when he’s with me.
His friend. The roommate he’s shared a bed with for a month now. We’re nothing more. Even if my demented fluttering heart tries to tell me otherwise.
He slept on the couch just like he said he would for the first week. Then he came home drunk one night and fell asleep. He fell asleep in my bed right after talking to me until four in the morning.
And he hasn’t slept on that couch since.
The long fingers of his tattooed hand brush over my collarbone slowly, so slowly I imagine the girl, Kylie, who I walked in on when I first moved in with them. She was blonde like me. Petite and pretty.
Her neck was slender. I remember it in vivid detail. I remember it so perfectly, because Knox’s long tattooed fingers were wrapped firmly around her porcelain throat as he fucked her against the kitchen table.
There’s a deadly flare in Knox’s gaze but I’ve never seen it like I saw it then.
I think about that moment every morning when the four of us eat breakfast at the table.
I think about the way he looked at me, burning his wild eyes across my skin but never pausing for a single second with her.
“I saw that girl, Kylie, pulling out of the driveway this morning when I got back from the store.”
Those steady fingers sweep back and forth along the column of my neck, sending waves of energy that shudder through me like a hurricane building just before a disaster.
“Mmm,” is all he says, his dark eyes so hooded they seem nearly black.
“I didn’t know you guys still hung out.” It’s the most subtle thing I can think of but the way the words turn my stomach into a sick pool of twisting feelings is hard to ignore.
“Sometimes.”
He’s a man of few words but there’s so many things that I know are off limits for discussion. Like his adoptive father. His real father in prison. The scars he has on his chest and upper back.
His childhood: off limits.
His sex life: off limits.
Him and me: Off. Fucking. Limits.
So we don’t talk about it. Everyone has their secrets to hide. Knox just has an entire life he likes to hide.
My fingers roam just like his. I touch him the way someone would touch an explosive just seconds before it goes off. What we have is fragile. Because he isn’t really mine, and even though we share these curious, chaste touches, there’s nothing more and I know it.
But we bend the rules here, hidden beneath the blankets from our roommates.
What are the house rules you ask?
There’s one.
