Page 76 of Doomed
“No.” I shift slightly to look up at him. His blue mask is askew, revealing more of his face than it should. Those eyes—fierce and tender all at once—meet mine. “What happens next?”
He traces a finger along my collarbone, sending little shivers across my skin. “We rest now. The Hunt is over, but the feast is to come.”
“The feast?” My brow furrows. “What’s that?”
Knox’s mouth curls into that devilish smile that makes my stomach flip. “An exhibitionist’s dream, princess.” His voice drops lower, meant only for me. “Picture this—a grand dining room with a glass table. Each prey sits on its hunter’s cock throughout the meal.”
My breath catches. “During dinner? With... people watching?”
“Not just any people—Ravenwood Hollow’s elite. The most powerful individuals in the city, observing the conclusion of the Hunt.” His fingers trail up my neck to cup my cheek. “The ultimate display of possession.”
The thought should horrify me, but heat pools in my belly, responding traitorously to the image he paints. “I’ve never?—”
“I know.” Knox presses his lips to my temple. “That’s what makes it beautiful. Every first that you give to me is a gift.” His arm tightens around my waist. “You’ll be sitting on my lap, feeling me inside you while we eat. Everyone will know you’re mine.” He nips my lips. “Maybe even fucking, as often it’s hard not to fuck. I’ll get you to ride me and give the fuckers a real show.”
I should protest. I should be scandalized. I surprise myself, only asking, Will… will they be able to touch me?” Much as I enjoyed being shared, being free for all makes my stomach drop.
Knox’s fingers trace my jawline, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch.
“No. No one will ever touch you without my permission and your consent. You can handle the feast,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “After tonight, do you really doubt yourself? You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known.”
The sincerity in his tone catches me off guard. This isn’t his usual arrogant flirtation or banter.
“You don’t know many women then,” I whisper.
“I know enough.” His thumb brushes across my bottom lip. “None of them are you.”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine. This kiss is different from the others we’ve shared tonight—less demanding, more questioning. His lips move against mine with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.
I find myself melting into him, my fingers threading through his hair to pull him closer. The kiss deepens, transforming into something hungry and desperate. His arms tighten around me, crushing me against his chest as though he’s afraid I might disappear.
My body responds instantly to his touch, already conditioned to crave him. I shift in his lap, pressing myself closer, needing more contact, more friction, more of him. His hands slide down my back to grip my hips, guiding my movements against him.
“Knox,” I gasp against his mouth, surprised by my own desperation.
He pulls back enough to look at me, his pupils blown wide with desire. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I whisper. “I want you, Knox.”
His eyes darken at my admission. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
“I want you.” My voice grows stronger, more certain. “Not just... this.” I gesture vaguely at our surroundings, at the decadence that surrounds us. “You.”
Knox’s breath catches. Without a word, he lifts me in his arms and carries me away from the main room, down a corridor I hadn’t noticed before. We enter a smaller, private chamber with a bed draped in midnight blue silk.
He places me on the edge of the bed gently, kneeling before me. His hands tremble slightly as he removes my mask, then his own, discarding them on the floor.
“Look at me,” he says softly. “I need you to see me when I make love to you.”
Make love. Not fuck. Not claim. The distinction isn’t lost on me.
When his lips meet mine, it’s different from every kiss we’ve shared before. Slow, deliberate, savoring.
I pull him onto the bed with me, our bodies aligning perfectly as we sink into the silk. There’s no rush, simply us, discovering each other in this quiet sanctuary.
With reverent hands, he finds places that draw gasps from my lips as I arch against him. My fingers memorize the contours of his chest and shoulders, touching in compensation for the dim visibility.
When he finally enters me, the connection feels like coming home. I cling to him, our foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air. Every movement between us feels like a conversation—an exchange of truths too profound for words.
