Page 13 of The Man with the Knot

Brax shakes his head and when his eyes lock on mine, I see something animalistic in their depths.

“This is how my world works. Don’t question my motives, Morgan,” he adds quietly but firmly.

“Fine,” I agree. “I’ll go with you. But I don’t have anything to wear.”

Brax stalks to the shower and cranks on the hot water. Within seconds, the entire bathroom is steaming and humid.

“Take off your swimsuit,” he instructs me, his tone gruff. “We’re not having this discussion anymore. We’ll find you something to wear.”

I have half a mind to defy him, but the dark look in his eyes makes me snap my mouth shut. Instead, I sidle out of my still-damp suit, incredibly aware of how the tables have turned on a dime. Then, my suit hits the floor with a wet plop, and suddenly, I’m utterly nude before Brax, my big breasts out and the vee between my thighs already moist with desire. His eyes roam over my body with frank appreciation and I find myself taking a step toward him.

Evidently, Brax is of the same mind too because he closes the distance between us quickly, pulling me by the hair and pressing his mouth onto mine. The kiss is deep, heart-stopping. My body aches with need, need that only he can fulfill.

My nipples rub against Brax’s chest and my hand searches for the button on his shorts.

“No,” he says gruffly. He steps back, each of us panting with longing. I shiver.

“You don’t want me?” I mewl in a tiny voice, feeling pathetic for even asking.

Brax growls. “I want every single inch of you, Morgan, but not yet. Get in the shower, before I lose control.”

His words send fireworks through my body but one look at his face tells me that Brax is on edge, and I had better listen.

I climb into the steamy shower. As I wash my body, I watch Brax through the glass walls as he rinses my swimsuit out at the bathroom sink. He doesn’t look up at me once, instead focusing on the task at hand.

I enjoy watching him—the barely concealed strength of his hands, how intensely he concentrates, how he occasionally has to brush a strand of his pitch-black hair from his eyes. It’s strange too. I’ve known guys to cook breakfast for me the next morning as if they’re bestowing a gift. But washing my dirty clothes? Now that’s new. And strangely charming too.

He wrings the water out of the swimsuit and lays it flat on the counter, presumably to let it airdry. Without a word, he strips off his shorts and t-shirt, and strides naked toward the shower, entering next to me and taking the washcloth from my hands.

“Let me wash you,” he says gruffly.

I can only nod, words catching in my throat.

His hands slide along my body in a gentle caress, as if we’ve been lovers for years rather than hours. Everywhere he touches, I feel a small surge of electricity, my body craving his without hesitation.

Brax keeps his attentions innocent, however, even when he swipes the cloth against my womanhood. I swear I feel his fingers linger there but the moment passes too soon, and I’m left wanting. It doesn’t stop me from pressing myself against his warm body, eager to feel his hardness against my softer curves.

Only once do I break his concentration. I rub my bare ass against his clearly erect cock, angling myself so that the bulge at his base is nestled between my cheeks. Brax growls and nips playfully at my ear before pushing me away once more.

“Will I ever get to feel it?” I whisper. “Your knot, I mean.”

He growls against my throat, that hard rod pressing against the small of my backside.

“You will,” he whispers back in my ear. “I promise, Morgan. You’ll take every inch of me, and love every second of it.” Then he kisses my neck before slapping my bare butt, making the cheeks jounce. “Come on, woman, it’s time. Out you go.”

I sigh happily because who knows what will happen next? I just want this council meeting to be over … so that I can sit on my lover’s hard knot the way I want.

6

Morgan

Iprobably should have been more nervous about going to a community council meeting on a random island with a guy I’d only met a few hours ago. Yet everything in my gut was telling me that Brax—although admittedly a bit growly—is trustworthy.

After our slightly scandalous shower, he brought me an oversized button-down shirt to throw on over my swimsuit. While the shirt didn’t really do much to cover my legs, it was kind of nice to smell like Brax and I breathed deeply, sighing with pleasure.

Now, making our way down a steep, sandy path, I’m having second thoughts. The shirt is long, but still, I have nothing on underneath. My legs are bare, and my sandals are loud flip-flapping against the ground. I clutch the sides of the shirt close around my waist, wishing that I’d thought to ask for some sweatpants or something.

“It’ll be plenty warm at the meeting,” Brax interrupts my thoughts, almost as if he can read my mind. He gives my hand a quick squeeze. “You can sit next to me, Morgan. I’ll find ways of keeping you warm.”

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