Page 93 of Doomed
She complies, movements slow and dreamy as she tugs her clothes back into place. I can’t help but smirk, proud of reducing this fiery woman to a pliant and submissive being.
“If you behave yourself during the drive,” I tell her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I’ll give you a repeat performance the moment we get to my place.” I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. “Might even let you ride my face this time. Would you like that?”
Bianca’s eyes darken at my words. She steps forward, pressing against me and capturing my lips in a deep kiss. Her tongue slides against mine as she tastes herself on my lips. When she pulls back, she lets out a soft moan that goes straight to my cock.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she whispers, her fingers trailing down my chest.
I watch her walk ahead of me, hips swaying, a little unsteady from what my tongue did to her.
Fuck. This woman is going to be the death of me.
I’ve never been like this with anyone. Never needed someone so badly that it feels like withdrawal when I’m not inside her or fucking devouring her. Never thought about someone constantly, like she’s branded on the inside of my eyelids.
I’m a fucking Blackwood. I take what I want and walk away. I don’t obsess. I don’t ache. I don’t pack up someone’s shitty apartment just to get them closer to me.
But here I am, carrying her boxes, watching her smile like it’s oxygen I didn’t know I needed.
This isn’t just about her pussy—though God knows I could live inside her forever. It’s everything. The way she bites her lipwhen she paints. The little furrow between her brows when she’s thinking. The sounds she makes when I’m buried to the hilt.
She’s infiltrating my system like a drug I didn’t know existed.
I should be terrified. Should cut her loose before whatever this is gets worse.
But I won’t. Can’t. She’s mine now.
Even if she destroys me in the process.
31
BIANCA
Itrace my fingers along the smooth surface of Knox’s kitchen island, remembering this morning’s “breakfast.”
I’d been pouring coffee, barely awake in nothing but his T-shirt, when Knox pressed against me from behind. His hands slid under the shirt, finding me already bare beneath.
“Morning, beautiful,” he’d growled, his voice rough with sleep but his intentions crystal clear as he spun me around.
Before I could even respond, he’d lifted me onto the cold granite countertop, pushed my thighs apart, and buried his face between my legs. Coffee forgotten, I’d clutched his dark hair while he devoured me like I was his actual breakfast.
“Knox,” I’d gasped when he finally came up for air, his chin glistening. “What about?—”
“Fuck breakfast,” he’d said, yanking down his sweatpants. “I want you. Now.”
He’d taken me right there on the island, my back against the hard surface, legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into me. My coffee mug teetered dangerously close to the edge before falling and shattering on the floor.
Neither of us cared.
God, we’ve been insatiable since I moved in yesterday. The hallway when I first arrived. The shower that night. His bed, of course, multiple times. The living room couch. Up against the bookshelf in his office.
It’s like we’re making up for those three months I kept him at arm’s length, all the times I said no.
I’ve lost count of how many times he’s made me come. Twenty? Thirty? My body should be exhausted, used up, but every time he touches me, I’m ready again, wanting more.
Living with Knox Blackwood means sex is literally everywhere. And I’m loving every minute of it.
I’m getting used to the strange rhythm of Knox’s life. One minute he’s all playful smirks and hungry eyes, the next he’s taking mysterious calls and disappearing for “business.” Today was supposed to be about staying in, ordering takeout, and christening every remaining surface of his penthouse.
When Knox returns, the apartment door slams behind him. His jaw is clenched, his shoulders rigid as he tosses his keys onto the entryway table with more force than necessary.
