Page 40 of Pose for Me

Luna stirs beside me, stretching out to knead at my thigh with her paws. Her claws catch slightly in the fabric of my dress, and I gently disentangle her. She gives me an indignant look before hopping down from the couch, padding off towards the bedroom.

"Abandoning me already?" I call after her, taking the opportunity to stretch out along the couch. "And here I thought we were having a girls' night."

As the film enters its final act, my eyelids grow heavy. The wine has left me pleasantly warm and drowsy, my limbs feeling loose and relaxed. I struggle to keep my eyes open, not wanting to miss the climactic confrontation I know is coming.

But it's a losing battle.

The credits begin to roll, names scrolling by in a blur as the swell of orchestral music fills the room. I blink slowly, realizing I've missed the last few scenes of the movie. My wine glass sits empty on the coffee table, a faint lipstick stain marking where my lips touched the rim.

With great reluctance, I peel myself off the couch. My muscles protest the movement, having grown accustomed to the plush embrace of the cushions. I gather my empty wine glass and plate, padding softly to the kitchen, I rinse them and leave them in the drying rack to deal with in the morning.

As I turn to leave the kitchen, my eyes fall on the fridge. The bakery box inside calls to me, promising sweet indulgence. For a moment, I'm tempted to give in, to savor the rich flavors of the apple pie cupcake as a late night snack. But the thought of the sugar high keeping me awake even longer makes me reconsider.

With another sigh, I flick off the kitchen light and make my way down the hallway. A quick shower and my bed beckons, the promise of sleep too enticing to resist.

And perhaps a sexy dream about a detective or two.

Chapter 25

Knox

IknowexactlywhatI’m about to do.

My movements are calculated, each step measured and deliberate as I cross the threshold into her bedroom, leaving her feline behind me in the living room with my offerings. Shadows stretch across the room, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the crack in her curtains just enough to paint the edges of her belongings in silver.

I glance at the dresser first. The same delicate trinkets line its surface—small glass animals, a faded polaroid tucked carefully into the corner of her mirror, the faint smear of fingerprints on the glossy wood that only someone like me would notice. My lips curl slightly when my eyes drift to the bookcase beside it. The books have shifted again, their order rearranged since the last time I was here. She must’ve been reading before she went to sleep again.

My gaze slides back to the bed. Rayne. Her name echoes in my mind like a prayer I can’t stop repeating, a mantra carved into my very bones. She’s sprawled out on her back, the pale sheets clinging loosely to her body, one arm thrown back and the other resting limply against her stomach. I can see she is naked beneath the sheet and I wonder if she knew one of us might come tonight. Was she hoping we would? Her dark hair fans out around her head, a halo of ink against the ivory fabric, and even from here, I can see the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps.

She’s still untouched by the world in this state, stripped bare not just of clothing but of the careful mask she wears during the day. No makeup, no practiced smiles or professional detachment. Just her. Pure and unguarded.

I move closer, silent, until I’m standing at the edge of the bed. For a moment, I do nothing, letting my eyes trace every curve, every dip and swell obscured by the sheet. My fingers twitch at my sides. This close, I can see how soft her skin looks, how warm she must be beneath the thin barrier separating us. It’s maddening.

Leaning forward, I grip the edge of the sheet between my fingers. Slowly, deliberately, I peel it back, the fabric whispering against her body as it slides away. Inch by inch, the expanse of her naked form comes into view, her smooth skin catching the faint light in a way that makes something primal stir deep within me.

My breath hitches when I take her in fully, laid out before me like some forbidden offering. Heat coils through me, sharp and insistent, and for a fleeting moment, I consider burying my face between her thighs, tasting her while she’s still lost in sleep again, seeing just how much I could do to her before she wakes. But no. That particular indulgence can wait for another night.

My shoes hit the floor with a soft thud, one after the other, and the cool air brushes against my skin as I strip away each layer of clothing. My pulse drums in my ears, a quiet rhythm that mirrors the ache building low in my core.

I move deliberately, lowering one knee onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dips under my weight. Slowly, I swing my other leg over her body, straddling her hips. She shifts beneath me, her movements instinctive, unconscious—just enough to send a flicker of heat through my veins.

As I lower myself closer, I press my hand firmly over her mouth. Her eyes snap open, wide and startled, glinting like shards of sapphire in the dim light. She reacts instantly, her hands flying up to grip my wrist. I feel the slight dig of her nails against my skin, the sharp sting cutting through the haze clouding my mind. God, I love it when she claws at me.

"Easy," I murmur, my voice low, roughened by restraint. Her panic is raw, electric, but it lasts only a heartbeat before recognition dawns in her gaze. That tension bleeds away, replaced by something softer, warmer—and far more dangerous.

"Knox," she breathes against my palm, her voice muffled but unmistakable. The sound of my name on her lips sends a jolt straight through me.

"That’s better," I say, sliding my hand from her mouth to her throat. My fingers curl lightly around the vulnerable column of her neck, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath my thumb. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fight. Instead, she looks up at me with an unreadable expression, her lips parting slightly.

"How did you get in here?" she asks, her tone calm—too calm for someone pinned beneath a man who shouldn’t be in her bedroom. The question hangs between us, but I don’t answer. Instead, I smirk, tilting my head as I take her in, savoring the way her chest rises and falls against me.

"You're awfully composed," I say, letting the words drip with amusement. "I could have done anything to you while you slept."

Her lips twitch, just barely, and there’s a flicker of something dark behind her eyes—a shadow, a whisper of fascination that stirs something buried deep inside me.

Her shrug is almost imperceptible, a subtle roll of her bare shoulders against the sheets beneath her. The movement draws my attention momentarily to the smooth expanse of her collarbone before her voice pulls me back.

"Should I be scared, detective?" she asks, her tone deceptively light, almost curious. Her eyes hold mine steadily, it’s certainly not fear swirling within them. "Are you planning to hurt me?"

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