Chapter Ten

Knox

A couple of hours later, I hike my duffel bag over my head and shoulder and push through one of the double doors of the gym. My muscles pull tight, but it’s good. The stretch gives me a bone-deep satisfaction. Israel and I spent an hour-and-a-half in the ring. And though I’ve sparred with other fighters in the gym over the last two years, none have been on Israel’s level. That fierce surge of battle, of intense focus and, yeah, joy—there’s no other word for it—had risen in me, and a part of me that I’d forced into a coma-like sleep didn’t just wake, but came out swinging blows.

Yeah, I missed it.

And Jake, standing next to the ring, arms crossed and wearing a shit-eating smirk, knew it, too.

Fucker.

My own smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I step out into the late Sunday morning sunshine.

“Whoa. A smile. If I realized working out had this kind of effect on you, I would’ve suggested you take off from the shop to get more hours in the gym a long time ago,” the husky voice that cried out my name only hours ago drawls.

And like then, it’s a hook-punch to the jaw, harder than any jab Israel could throw.

Eden pushes off the hood of my truck and strides toward me. Several questions bombard my brain at once: What is she doing here? How did she know where to find me? What’s wrong? Is something wrong with my brothers, Mom?

But once I notice her expression is too relaxed for her to be delivering bad news, they all take a backseat to one thought.

God, she’s so fucking beautiful.

Her thick, long hair is piled up in a bun on top of her head, revealing the slender, elegant column of her neck. Above the tight-fitting T-shirt that cups her perfect breasts, a purplish bruise mars her skin. A wild song of almost brutal possession sweeps through me, and I curl my fingers into the strap of my bag to keep from stalking the few feet that separate us, cupping the back of her neck, and pressing my mouth to that mark. Anyone catching sight of it would guess exactly what it is; does Eden realize it’s visible? Or does she not care? My stupid, ass-blind heart latches on to the latter. I should warn her to cover the mark up before someone questions how she came by it—or, rather, who gave it to her. But the primitive, jealous side of me wants everyone to know it was my mouth that put it there. Mine. Just like the woman.

Fuck.

I drag a hand over my beard. Only anguish and disillusion lay down that crooked, rutted path. Last night had been an aberration, an anomaly. A mistake that I’m trying to regret. If I had any loyalty, any integrity, I’d regret it. But after being in that tight, snug body, I can’t.

Eden stops in front of me, her long skirt swinging around her feet. When she turns her face up to me, I inhale her scent, recalling how much richer and muskier it is between her thighs. My gut clenches, and blood pumps to my cock. If I hadn’t changed my shorts for jeans after showering in the locker room, Eden would have a front row seat to where my thoughts have drifted.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, arousal roughening the question. Shit. When am I not hard around her?

Something flickers in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can decipher the emotion behind it. At one time, I believed she was shitty at hiding her thoughts, but maybe I was wrong. Or she’s just become better at hiding from me.

I hate that possibility.

“It’s funny, really. I happened to be in the neighborhood, and just when I passed by, you walked out,” she says, voice as dry as a Nevada summer day in the desert. Yeah, pretty damn dry. Yet, that emotion flashes in her gaze again, and this time, I decipher it before she manages to conceal it again. Discomfort. Uncertainty.

For the first time since we’ve known each other, Eden is nervous around me.

I hate that possibility, too.

“Let me try that again. Why are you here?”

A small half-smile quirks a corner of her mouth. “I want you to come with me.”

“I did. Two times last night,” I growl, the words escaping me before I can contain them.

I’m close enough to hear the catch in her breath and glimpse the heat flare in her eyes. Her gaze drops to my mouth, and I’m battling the urge to lower my head and taste that soft gasp for myself.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” she whispers. Shaking her head, she clears her throat, and continues, “Well, I came to find you—”

“How did you?” I interrupt, frowning.

“I called Jude, and he told me to look for you here.” My frown deepens, but she waves a hand. “Don’t worry, he’s not suspicious about…about…”

“Us fucking?” I supply.

A tinge of red slashes across her cheekbones, almost concealing her freckles. But her chin notches up. “Yes,” she says softly. “About us fucking.”

Damn. Hearing that word on her lips. It’s like she reached into my jeans, wrapped her fingers around my dick, and gave it a good, hard pump. And that the color in her face only deepens, makes it even sexier, hotter. One night. One night. The reminder tracks through my mind, but the leash on my control and will when it comes to her is ragged, tenuous.

“Anyway.” She crosses her arms. Then drops them. Then looses a little, low chuckle. The laughter holds a bit of self-deprecation, and once more that nervousness emanates from her. “So, listen. I won tickets to a Cubs game a couple of weeks ago. They’re playing the Nationals, and the seats are right behind the dugout. V and Shana could care less about baseball, and Jude and Simon had plans. That leaves you. Since I’m not going alone, you’ve been nominated to tag along with me.”

Stunned, I stare at her. “We’re going to a Cubs’ game?” I repeat. A fist of emotion lodges in my throat, which, logically, I get is an overreaction to someone offering to take you to a ballgame, but…

Baseball, games… It had been our thing—my dad’s and mine. Jude and Simon hadn’t cared for the sport, so it’d become my special time with my father. Where the usually quiet, reserved man who worked nearly sixty hours a week would loosen up, relax, and become a boisterous, laughing, often obnoxious fan. And I’d felt special because he’d been that way with me.

I blink, bringing myself back to the present and away from one of the happiest times of my past.

“I need you to follow me back to my apartment,” Eden continues, already heading back to her car that I now notice is parked behind mine.

“What?” I ask.

“Move your ass, Knox. Daylight’s wasting.” She glances over her shoulder at me, giving me a shy, slightly self-conscious smile that punches into my chest, grabs my heart, and squeezes it.

It’s a thing of pure beauty. And, it’s for me.

Does it make me an asshole that a fierce, greedy satisfaction howls within me? Maybe. Probably. But damn, it feels good. It makes me feel…like hers. Even if only for this brief moment.

And this brief moment has me walking after her.

A half hour later, a vise grip squeezes the fuck out of my chest at the sight of the people already congregated under the world-renowned, huge, red-and-white sign that reads Wrigley Field Home of Chicago Cubs.

“The game starts at one-thirty, and it’s already one, so we’re good on time,” she says, staring out her window.

Good. I’m afraid of what’s on my face. What it reveals.

“Since this is my first game, I intend to milk the whole experience—hot dogs, beer, foam finger. I might even pull a Miley Cyrus with that finger if I have enough beer.” She snickers, but I remain focused on the road and maneuvering through the thick, Sunday game traffic and into the parking lot.

Once I find a space and park, she hops out, but I’m slower and quieter as we walk the couple of blocks to the stadium. The last time I stood outside this place was with my father years ago. Sixteen years, to be exact.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel the warm May breeze on my face and arms. Can still smell the Irish Spring soap he used as long as I could remember. Can still hear his deep, gravel-rough voice griping about the Cubs’ chances against the Cincinnati Reds.

I haven’t been able to bring myself to attend another game. Not without him. And now, here I stand, with Eden.

“Hey.” A soft, delicate hand curves around my bicep. “You okay?” Worry darkens her eyes, a frown drawing her eyebrows into a shallow V. “So, I have a confession to make. I didn’t win the tickets; I bought them, and I didn’t offer them to anyone else. You were my first and only choice. But is this”—she waved a hand toward the stadium—“all right? I’ve noticed that you always stop and look at that picture of you and your dad at the house. Jude mentioned you hadn’t been to a game in a long time, so I thought, maybe…” Her voice trails off. “Did I fuck up?” When I don’t immediately answer—can’t immediately answer—she tips her head back, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, Knox. I overstepped. I just thought this might help us not be so strained around each other, and that it might be fun for you since it’d been so long—”

I ignore the part about things being weird between us to grab her and yank her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her—holding her so close and so hard, I’m probably causing her some discomfort, but I can’t let go.

Not that she’s trying to get away. Her arms close around me. Tight. Burying my face in her hair, I inhale her sweet, summer-and-peaches scent. Savor the feel of her breasts and thighs against mine, and the soft puff of her breath over my chest.

“No,” I rasp. “It’s fine. I’m—” I break off, clear my throat. After a moment, I continue. “Until now, I didn’t realize how much I wanted to go to a game. Dad and I…”

I trail off, unable to voice what the games meant to me. I’d expected sadness after the shock of her surprise wore off. But instead, the sadness is tempered by the joy of those memories. Instead of the heartache I feared, and that kept from away from Wrigley for so long, there’s a certain…comfort. And I owe that to Eden. Coming here with her—her—has softened the blow, made it pliable like melted wax, and has allowed my memories of Dad in, leaving the sorrow behind.

Lifting my head, I cup her jaw, tilt her chin up with the pad of my thumb.

“Thank you,” I murmur, brushing my mouth over hers. Yeah, we’re in a public place where anyone who knows us or our family might see us, but right now, I can’t give a damn. Not when her lips part and her tongue is already sliding forward to tangle with mine. That ever-present hunger is there, simmering under my skin, but the kiss is gentle, tender.

“You’re welcome,” she whispers, her breath grazing my lips. She smiles, and I feel it curve over my mouth. Another, separate caress.

Reluctantly, I let her go and step back. It was foolish to risk the chance of someone catching us. But as she threads her fingers through mine and tugs me toward the stadium, I don’t regret it.

Today, I’m going to be selfish because tomorrow, I’ll be letting her go again.

There’s no altering who we are.

But for a little while, we can be…not us.

…

“I had the best time,” Eden announces as I twist the key in the ignition four hours later.

I snort. “You mean between heckling the ump, eating your weight in hot dogs, and hitting that old man in the back of the head with your foam finger, you actually watched the game?”

She laughs, and the warm, joy-filled sound echoes in the interior of the truck.

“I’m going to be honest. I don’t watch a lot of baseball. And good God, it’s loooong. But,” she adds, “I had a great time. I’m glad we went.”

“Yeah, me, too.” I nod and snatch one last look at Wrigley Field. Funny, how I don’t live far from it, but for years, I’ve actively gone out of my way to avoid it. Now, I’m staring at it like a long-lost friend.

Yeah, today was phenomenal. The best I’ve had in—fuck, too long to remember. To be relaxed, my only concerns drinking my beer before it got too warm and whether or not Chris Bryant would continue his on-base streak? It’d been…good for me. And God, fun.

Several times during the game, I almost told her about the upcoming exhibition event. But several times, I stopped myself. I didn’t want to ruin the magic of the day, because instinct even now warns me she might not be supportive of me returning to MMA, even if only for one match. Not after having a ring-side seat to her husband’s death in the ring. She’s never been as vocal as Mom about my former career, but she’s also never asked me about it. Matter of fact, she’s never mentioned MMA, the BFC—except in terms of incorporating it with the shop’s marketing—or if I even miss fighting.

So again, when I have the chance to bring it up, I don’t.

Instead, I focus on the past few hours.

My world has been centered around the shop. In the last two years, it’s felt like a sin to just be happy. Because Connor couldn’t. But my little brother wouldn’t want me to live this half-life in tribute to him. I can hear him now, roaring in my ear, “Fuck that, bro. Ride this thing until the brakes fall off.”

“You know what? No fair bringing up my hitting the older guy,” Eden objects, laughing and dragging me out of my head. “I apologized, and he was sweet about it.”

“Right. And when he squeezed your knee? Was that sweet, too? He was feeling you up.” I shake my head, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You probably made his year.”

“Nah, Jim was harmless.”

“Jim?” I bark out a laugh. “You’re on a first-name basis with him?”

“Yeah, we’re friends now.” My eyes are focused on getting us safely through the after-game traffic, but I hear the smile in her voice. “He usually brings his grandson to the games, but James started college this year and can’t come with him like he used to. So, he was just a little lonely. He actually invited me and ‘my young man’ to come to Sunday brunch with him and his wife Holly next week.” I glance at her, and she rolls her head on the rest to meet my gaze. “He said you don’t talk a lot, but any man that passionate about the Cubs has to be a good one.”

“Your young man?” I ask, trying to keep the dark, aroused growl out of my voice. But just hearing the possessive phrase turns me on. I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel so I don’t jerk this vehicle to the side of the road and show her and every driver on the road what being hers would be like.

“Yeah.” That softly spoken word strokes over me, through me. “He assumed we were together.”

“Did you correct him?” I glance at her again, needing to see her expression when she answers. Thank God I’ve pulled to a stop at a red light, because I can’t say with a certainty that I could tear my attention from her.

For a long moment, she doesn’t reply, just returns my stare. The pulse at the base of her throat beats, and I want to feel that butterfly-wing flutter on the tip of my tongue.

“No,” she admits, so hushed that if I wasn’t straining to hear it, if I wasn’t studying her mouth to see it, I would’ve missed her response.

“Why?” I press, my tone full of grit. “Did you want him to think you were mine?”

Her espresso eyes go impossibly darker, and they drop to my mouth, my chest, to my thighs where my cock is doing a damn good impression of a steel bar.

“Yes,” she breathes as the light changes to green. “For today, yes.”

Her answer is both pleasure and pain. Pleasure, because she’s admitting to wanting me. And there’s the pain because there’s an expiration date stamped on us in bright red. And its “good until” date isn’t days, but hours. But given that for years I’d thought even minutes were impossible, I’ll take it. With gluttonous, dirty hands, too.

“Lift up your skirt,” I order, driving into the intersection. Need sinks its claws into my gut. With traffic, we’re only about fifteen minutes from her apartment, but this hunger for her can’t wait. I want something to take the edge off. And though we’re surrounded by cars in after-game traffic, my tinted windows provide some privacy.

Her swift catch of breath reaches my ears, and my grip on the steering wheel threatens to snap it into pieces while I wait to see whether she will obey me or not.

In the corner of my eye, her skirt inches up. The breath in my lungs deepens as the hem raises higher and higher and higher until it’s bunched around her upper thighs. But it still isn’t enough.

“Higher, baby,” I rasp. “And take off your panties. I don’t want anything between me and you.”

Slow, a voice whispers caution inside my head. Go slower with her. Even though I was inside her last night, it was in the dark, in a locked room. Here, we’re on the road, surrounded by other cars, and dusk is just beginning to fall. She’s exposed, and I’m asking her to trust me. Go out on this limb with me.

Another hesitation, and I catch movement. A lift of her hips, and then her hands skimming down her golden, smooth legs. A moment later, more thighs until, fuck, her soft pussy with its trimly shaved, dark curls.

Air rushes in and out of my chest. Goddamn, she’s beautiful. So innocent, yet so sensual.

Lowering a hand from the steering wheel, I lay it on the thigh closest to me. Stroke my palm over her silken skin. Ease my hand between her legs and slide two fingers into the most beautiful place in all of heaven and earth. Wet heat surrounds me, and I groan at the slick, tightness.

“Wider,” I demand—beg. “Spread your legs wider for me, baby. Let me in.”

This time she doesn’t pause but parts for me, giving me more access to her. Shifting over a little, I push harder, deeper. Her cry breaks over my ears like the sweetest lullaby. The sting of fingernails bite into my arm, but she’s not shoving me away. No, she’s clinging to me. Lifting into my thrust.

“Knox, please.” She whimpers. “Oh God…please.”

The light in front of me switches to yellow, then red. Thank. Christ. Shifting all my attention down, I withdraw my fingers, and my jeans strangle my erection at the physical evidence of her desire glistening on my skin. Starving, I bring them to my mouth, lick and suck them clean. Her flavor… Musky, bold, sweet. That sample only makes me hungry for more. To lay her flat, hold her wide open, and dive into her, eat her until she’s screaming and coming in me, on me.

She makes a sound—a cross between a groan and a sigh—and I look up to find her eyes on me. Watching me savor her. Lust gleams back at me. With a quick peek out my windshield to verify the light is still red, I graze her bottom lip with my damp fingers. Her breath puffs over my damp skin, and I press down on her tender flesh, then push forward until her tongue wraps around me…until she’s tasting herself and me. It might as well be my cock she’s licking, sucking. I shift my other hand from the wheel to cup and squeeze myself. The fierce ache wraps around my lower back, sizzles in my balls.

Sliding free of her mouth, I lower my hand back to her pussy and thrust. She keens, her hips bucking, raising into my stroke. One of her small hands clamps onto my thigh and the other, grabs the arm of the car. Head thrown back, delicate throat arched tight, she grinds against my hand. Fucking it.

The light turns again, and I ease off the brake. We’re at a slow crawl in post-game traffic, and there’s no telling how much longer until we reach her house. No telling how much longer before I can treat my cock to the delicious friction and vise-grip my fingers are enjoying. But she’s still going to come for me.

I drive into her, burying as far as I can go, as hard as this almost awkward position will allow. But she’s helping me, dancing for me, rolling those hips and meeting every thrust. Pressing the heel of my palm against her clit, I rub. Hard.

With a sharp cry, she explodes.

Her flesh ripples, seizing me, milking me. I continue to massage that pulsing bundle of nerves, so close to blowing, it would only take one bruising pump to my throbbing length. Her nails bite into my wrist as she holds me close, riding me, her serrated gasps a sexy soundtrack that I want to make her sing again.

Her touch falls away from me, and she relaxes. I slowly pull free of her hot, wet clasp. Grasping her skirt, I jerk it down harder than I intended.

Her harsh breathing gradually eases, but mine is loud and rough in the otherwise silent interior. Every bit of my focus is on making it to her place. And as the gridlock finally loosens, I probably break several traffic laws getting there.

Damn near forty torturous minutes later, her apartment building appears on the next block, and the road, so short before, seems to stretch farther and farther as the arousal in me rages so hot, so wild, I’m one living mass of lust and need.

I scan the street for a parking space. There. Not even three down from her building’s front entrance. Within moments, I’m swinging my truck into the spot, shutting it off, and turning toward her. Tunneling my fingers into the bun on top of her head, I jerk her toward me, uncaring of the seat belt biting into my skin.

This kiss is the exact opposite of the one in the stadium parking lot. It’s wild, ravenous, and sloppy. Slanting my head, I dive into her, tongues waging battle, twisting, tangling, sucking. She grips my hair, her nails scratching my scalp, the little prickles only shoving the fire burning me alive to nuclear.

“I’m coming upstairs,” I growl against her mouth. “And I’m going to fuck you. If that’s not what you want, then say something now, and I’ll go. But if you get out of this car with me, I’m not leaving until I’ve had you in every way I’ve been fantasizing about for years.”

My hand tightens in her hair. Damn it. I didn’t mean to let that last part slip. Pray to God she didn’t catch it. That’s what a hard-on does. Makes you lose your damn mind and control over your mouth.

But as she grabs the car door handle, I breathe a side of relief. Nothing on her face or in her eyes reflects confusion or surprise. Then, she pushes open the door and steps out of the truck. A searing lust flashes brighter, harder, and it cremates any thought but getting inside her as quick as possible.

I follow her, a starving, malnourished dog after the sweetest treat.

Silence is thick and heavy between us, an invisible third as we enter her building and climb the stairs to her apartment. By sheer will and discipline that I’ve only used when training and in the ring, I manage to not touch her. If I do before we step through her front door, I’ll fuck her in the hallway, not caring who sees. I’ll become the beast that lives inside me, single-focused on burying myself as deep inside her as I can, and screw everything else.

The click of the lock turning echoes in the hall like a bullet shot. Every sense is hyper-sensitized. Her citrus scent teases me. The heat from her petite body warms my chest and thighs. The shiver that ripples through her echoes in me. I’m one big exposed nerve where everything is hotter, brighter, louder. All because of her. Because of this need for her that I can’t control now that I’ve touched her, tasted her. Had her.

Eden finally pushes open the front door and enters the apartment. I’m close behind her.

Easy. Give her space. Don’t jump on her like some animal.

But I am an animal.

Shit, if I didn’t already know that this woman drives me crazy, then the argument waging inside my head between my rational self and lust-crazed self does.

Inhaling a deep breath, I force myself to stop mid-stride. Try to scrabble together some of the much-lauded discipline I was known for while fighting. It costs me, though. When she turns around and studies me with that heavy-lidded gaze, the price is the air in my lungs. The restraint over the low, dark rumble in my chest.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, the husky note like a waving red flag in front of a bull. “Are you…” Her feet shift into third position, and her shoulders draw back. “Have you changed your mind about…about,” her voice drops to a whisper, “fucking me?”

Maybe it’s the underlying hint of insecurity in the question.

Maybe it’s the physical tells that betray her nerves.

Maybe it’s hearing “fuck” on her lips.

Doesn’t matter. Any of them—all of them—snap the threadbare ropes binding my control, and I’m across the room and on her in seconds.

Palming her face, I tilt her head back and crush my mouth to hers. It’s a replica of the kiss in my truck. Hunger edged in desperation. As often as my tongue dives between her lips, and as eagerly as she meets me, giving me back every stroke, every lick, every moan, it’s still not enough.

Goddamn. Will it ever be enough?

A foreboding wisp of unease curls in my chest, lingering before evaporating under the blaze of lust. No, I’m not thinking about tomorrow or even an hour from now. This moment is where I exist. All I have is this moment.

Impatient, I cup the back of her thighs and hoist her into the air. Her legs immediately lock around my waist, and I shift my hands to her ass, groaning as her flesh fills them. Unable to resist, I squeeze and mold, spreading her cheeks slightly apart through the thin material of her skirt.

She gasps, jerks her mouth from mine, and stares down at me, confusion and arousal meshing in her dark eyes. I can guess what she’s feeling. A slight stinging stretch of that tight ring of muscle. I want that tiny hole. Want to watch it stretch around my finger, then my cock. Imagining the constriction of that smooth-as-glass passage as I work her, open her up for me has my chest rising and falling quicker. My dick hardening to the point of pain. Seeking to ease some of it, I grind her down on me, rolling her over my length.

Her whimper and my grunt mate in the air, melding into one needy sound. One more. Just one more of those teasing strokes. I drag her over me again, using my grip to circle her skirt-covered flesh over me, bumping the head of my erection, and hauling a hiss from my throat. Yeah, her clothes and mine separate us, but fuck if I can’t feel the warmth of her sex, teasing me. Taunting me.

But now I can have her body. Have her.

Gritting my teeth, I stride down the short hall to the bedroom I left her alone in weeks ago. Not tonight, though. Tonight, I’m joining her on the bed I put together with my own hands.

Nudging open the door with my toe, I flick the switch on the wall then release my grip and ease her to the floor. For a moment, her arms tighten around my neck before sliding free, and she steps back, crossing them over her chest.

“Can you turn the lights—”

“No,” I interrupt her. “I want to see you.” Last night, all I’d had was the street lamp from outside Hakim’s house. Not enough to discover if freckles scattered other parts of her body or if the shadows had hidden anything else from me.

She glances down, to the side, at some point over my shoulder. Anywhere but me.

“What’s wrong, Eden?” An acidic burn sears the lining in my stomach as an insidious thought slides through my head, leaving a grimy trail that I can’t scrub free. Did she prefer the dark because she could pretend I was someone else? Or anyone else, other than her dead husband’s brother?

Or…Connor?

“I’m not Jenika. Or that girl in the bar. Or any of the women I’ve seen you with. The light kind of exposes that,” she murmurs, then releases a strained chuckle. “This is ridiculous. I’ve never had any issues with my body. I don’t know why…” She trails off, shaking her head.

I blink, understanding crashing into me. The hell. She couldn’t possibly have doubts about whether I’ll find her attractive. God, didn’t she know that to me, she was perfect?

No, how could she? Since meeting her, I’ve had to bury every emotion toward her except a false brotherly affection, and I’ve become accustomed to hiding. But damn, I haven’t been able to conceal my hunger or my dick around her lately. Still…

“You have that backward,” I say into the silence. Her gaze jerks from the wall behind me to my face. “None of those women are you.”

Her lips part, and she stares at me for several long seconds. A softness enters her eyes, and slowly, she lowers her arms. That signal of trust, of vulnerability, refuels the need inside me. The need to get my hands, mouth, dick on and in her.

“Take off your clothes,” I order, not bothering to tone down the harshness in the command. By now, she has to get who she’s invited into her bedroom, into her body. I’m not some gentleman or poet. I’m a rough, half-civilized fighter with zero pretty words.

Her response is to peel her shirt over her head, then pull down the zipper at her hip, and push her skirt down her legs, leaving her in only a pale-yellow bra. Goddamn. She never put her underwear back on. Are they still on the floor of my truck? Christ, I hope so. Then I’ll have a keepsake of this night.

“Go on,” I urge, and she obeys, popping the front clasp of her bra, and soon, that joins the rest of her clothing on the floor.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous. A pagan goddess worthy of worship.

Her elegant neck slopes down to delicate shoulders and firm breasts with their dark brown nipples that fill my hands like they were created for them. With an adorable, slightly rounded belly and toned, lovely legs, she’s any man’s vision of a sensual, beautiful woman. And then there’s the softest pussy between those thighs…

The impulse to rush her and fall on her like a predator with its prey rides me hard. I want to take her in big, ravenous bites until this hunger for her is satisfied.

But another, stronger longing reverberates in me, propelling me forward, shoving me to my knees in front of her. My arms wrap around her, and I press my forehead to the smooth skin between her breasts. The musk from her recent orgasm intertwines with her natural scent, and if any company could bottle the fragrance, they would make a killing at any perfume counter. It’s sweet and alluring, a magical potion that in turns drives a man wild and makes him want to genuflect in awe and reverence.

And that’s what I am to her, though she has no idea.

A devotee.

A worshipper.

Some people might think I’m a goddamn pervert or crazier than a shithouse rat for wanting my brother’s wife. Some might even call it incestuous. But I don’t see it that way. Because in my screwed-up head, Eden was mine first. I saw her first. I claimed her even though Connor charmed her and eventually won her. So though I can’t ever have her for my own, I can at least take what is mine for a little while. Or maybe it’s all bullshit, and I’m desperate to find any way to justify fucking my dead brother’s wife.

For loving her.

Her hands tunnel through my hair and cradle my head. And that quick, lust amps up to compete with veneration. My hold on her tightens, and I turn my head, capture a nipple between my lips. A shudder shakes her, a moan drifting above my head. Her nails scratch my scalp, and I growl against her flesh, coiling my tongue around the stiff peak, and suck. She releases one of those sexy whimpers that have become my sexual currency, and I tug on the tip, grazing it lightly with my teeth before drawing on it again.

“Knox,” she whines, bending over me, pressing her cheek to the top of my head. “Oh God, please. I need…”

I already know what she needs. And switching to the other breast and licking the pebbled point, I ease a finger between her legs. Her hips buck against my hand, a cry tearing from her as I trace a circle around her clit. The rich scent of her arousal is thicker, and my mouth waters for a taste. Giving her nipple one last suck, I trail my lips down her stomach, pausing to dip inside her navel, then continuing down, nuzzling the thatch of damp curls, replacing my finger with my tongue.

Her choked scream is a symphony to my ears. But then I don’t hear anything but the dull roar in my ears as I tease and lap at that nerve-filled bundle of flesh. I groan into her sex, drowning in her flavor, the silken texture of her. I can’t help myself; I feast on her. Suckling her, stroking through her folds, nipping the swollen lips sticky with the evidence of her arousal, lowering my head to plunge my tongue inside her. I’m a starving man pulled up to a table heavy with every temptation he’s ever craved.

But I’m still hungry.

I slide a finger inside her, coating it in her wetness. I can’t resist a couple of heavy thrusts, my knuckles bumping against her folds. With a low cry, she widens her legs, granting my hand more room. But as much as I love being inside her, I want something else.

Following the path that connects her sex to her ass, I dip between her crease and lightly trace the tiny entrance there. She stiffens, her hands freezing on my head. But I don’t stop caressing her, letting her become accustomed to my touch on the place where I suspect no man has been.

“Knox?” she whispers, a quiver in her voice.

My answer is to rake my teeth over that pulsing nub and suck even as I drench my finger in her wet heat again and return to her ass. This time, I press, not entering but firmly resting my fingertip there.

Her hips roll against my mouth, a steady stream of mixed whimpers and muted screams escaping her. I don’t let up, tormenting her clit with my tongue, so when I do slip my finger into the constricted ring of muscle she only tenses up a little, and her cry of pleasure only contains a hint of pain.

I hold still, don’t slip any farther into the channel, but I don’t let up on her pussy. I tongue it hard, granting her no mercy. And as she emits a long, rumbling moan that has me throbbing, I push deeper into her.

She explodes.

She quakes against my face, riding it, her legs trembling, her torso curling over my shoulder. Between the clench of her ass, the pulsing of her clit, and her gasping sobs, I could come right here, kneeling on her bedroom floor, my face buried in the closest to heaven I’ll ever get near.

As her quaking ebbs into shivers, I finally lift my mouth from her, fighting the urge to dive back in, make her come again. And then again. Maybe she senses the struggle within me, because she weakly pushes at my head. I give in, but only because if I don’t get inside her, my dick might kill me.

I straighten, with Eden over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Crossing the short distance to the bed, I lay her on it. Her lashes flutter closed, her chest still rising and falling quickly, but her body is loose, relaxed.

Grabbing a fistful of my T-shirt, I jerk it over my head and drop it to the floor. My jeans and boxer briefs quickly join it, but not before I grab my wallet and remove several condoms and toss them on the bottom of the mattress. As I approach the bed, her eyes open and meet mine. A heat shimmers there, one that reflects the flames licking at me from the inside out. Wrapping my fingers around my length, I squeeze it, both easing and heightening the ache. My balls draw up, but I will the looming orgasm back from the crumbling edge.

I circle her slim ankle, then stroke my palm up the length of her leg until my fingertips graze the flesh I just devoured. Her breath catches, and her back arches, those beautiful breasts rising toward the ceiling. I tighten my grip on my flesh, the flash of pain clearing my head, shoving back the lust just enough that it keeps me from climbing on top of her, burying myself in her, and putting us both out of this beautiful misery.

Lifting a knee to the mattress, I lean over her, splaying my fingers over her stomach and gliding that hand up her abs, between her breasts, and around her throat, necklacing it. She stares at me, the fire in her chocolate gaze hotter, darker. And when I exert the slightest pressure, just the slightest, the flames are deeper. She likes it—the control, the hint of roughness, the dirtiness. Suddenly, my fist around my cock isn’t enough to hold back the conflagration of lust threatening to consume me. I need inside her, that slick, tight, wet, almost bruising embrace locked around me. Straightening, I grab a condom and make fast work of opening the wrapper and rolling the protection down my length.

“Roll over, baby,” I rasp, and with a grasp of her hip, I help her flip.

She goes to her hands and knees, that perfect ass in the air, the swollen, glistening folds visible and a lure to dive in and lose myself. The sudden longing to have all that beautiful, thick hair on my skin surges within me, and I loosen the strands from her top knot, growling as I twist my fist in them, savoring the silken caress

“Knox.” Eden glances over her shoulder. “Please. Fuck me.”

The request is gasoline poured over a ten-alarm fire. Scattering kisses down her spine, I circle the base of my cock, align it with the entrance to her pussy…and sink inside. Slowly. Steadily. Until I’m surrounded by her. Branded by her.

Owned by her.

For Eden, this is probably no more than a taboo scratching of an itch. For me, though. For me, it’s a gift—an unforeseen gift that I’ve done nothing to deserve, but am too hungry, too desperate to turn away. I clench my jaw to trap any wayward words—or confessions—from escaping as I pull free of her body, dragging through her muscular walls that clutch at me, as if trying to prevent me from leaving her. When only the head remains just inside her, I push back in, groaning.

Pleasure strikes at the base of my skull, sizzles down my spine, and culminates like an electrical storm in my balls. One stroke. One goddamn stroke, and I’m so ready to blow, I’m shaking with the need. It’s like bathing in fire while soaking in the coolest, most welcoming pool.

Her back arches, head thrown back, all that hair sticking to her damp skin. I should close my eyes, because looking at her will have me filling this condom with the next thrust. But I can’t. Not when I’m hoarding every second of this for when she’s again off-limits to me. When I’m alone, with only my hand and memories for company.

Abandoning her hair, I clasp her hips, and plunge deep. Over and over, I drive into her, savoring each plunge, each suck of her flesh releasing and welcoming me, each cry that breaks on her lips, each shudder that courses through her.

I shift my hands lower, cup her ass…spread the cheeks, exposing the tiny hole I teased earlier. Just like then, it lures me, and I want inside so fucking bad. Dipping a finger to where we’re connected, I slide it through her soaked folds, and draw the drenched tip around the entrance.

Unlike last time, I don’t wait, but slip inside. Again, she stills, tenses, pausing mid-stroke so only half of my stalk is buried inside her. Her harsh, loud pants echo in the room, and I continue to press forward, inching more and more of my finger in her ass.

“Relax, baby,” I murmur, damn near choking on the groan as I slowly fill the narrow channel. It’s so small, so tight, I would have to work to stretch it so she could take me. My hips jerk at the thought, shoving more of myself inside her. She keens, low and deep, and electrical charges trip through me, marching up and down my spine, lighting me up. “Relax and push back against my finger. You can take me, just like before.”

Her head drops forward, her hair a dark curtain over her shoulders and hanging around her face. She does as I instruct, shifting backward, taking my cock and my finger. Watching it, I’m like a horse with blinders, unable to look away, completely focused on the sight of me sinking into both entrances. Jesus, how could I have gone twenty-nine years and not experience such mind-numbing pleasure? Before, sex has been about the finish, the orgasm, the oblivion. But now? Now, it’s about the journey and the ending.

About Eden.

Flexing my hips, I thrust into her, and push the rest of my finger deep into her. Her scream rebounds off the walls, and the piercing sound shatters my control. I fill both parts of her again and again, riding both her pussy and ass hard. And she takes it, fucking craves it as she backs into me, harder, faster, her sobs damn near incoherent. Shifting my free hand from her hip, I sweep it down her lower belly and between her legs, seeking out and locating her clit. One stroke, two, over the bundle at the top of her sex, and her slick muscles clamp down on me.

“Fuck,” I growl just as she comes, shaking, crying, her walls rippling around me, milking me. I drop down over her, pressing my chest to her spine, my palms bracketing her head. My hips snap back and forth, pounding into her, taking, claiming…

The orgasm barrels through me, snatching the air from my lungs, goddamn blinding me. It’s pleasure, agony, ecstasy. An abyss that I catapult myself into like an Olympic diving champion…or a suicide jumper.

And as I sink to the mattress, my arms wrapped around this woman who I’ve craved and loved for five years, fuck if I can tell which one.