Page 123 of Hometown Touchdown
He fists my hair and pulls—just enough to lift my head, just enough to wreck me—and then he’s pushing inside, one deep, devastating thrust that punches the breath from my lungs.
“Fuck,” I cry out, nails digging into the counter.
“You’re so damn tight,” he pants, pulling back and snapping forward again. “So fucking sweet. Taking me like you were made for this.”
He sets a rhythm—hard, relentless, his hand still in my hair, his other on my breast, smearing chocolate as he uses my body like it’s his favorite addiction.
“Say my name,” he growls, fucking me harder.
“Knox—God—Knox!”
“That’s it,” he snarls. “My good girl. My mess. My baby girl.”
His fingers slide back down, rubbing tight circles over my clit just the way I need it, and everything in me tightens like a pulled string.
“I want you to come with me,” he commands, voice wrecked. “Fall apart for me, baby.”
I shatter. Hard and fast, my legs trembling, my breath coming in sobs as I convulse around him. He follows with a brokensound, burying himself deep and holding me close, like if he lets go, the world will stop spinning.
We collapse together over the counter, sticky and panting, laughing as the timer for the cookies finally goes off.
He presses a lazy kiss to my shoulder and mutters, “Just in time. Sort of proud of that.”
A laugh pushes past my lips. “I think we just invented the cookie quickie.”
We never bothered putting clothes back on.
The cookies are a little darker on the edges than they were supposed to be—thanks to the whole mind-blowing kitchen sex detour—but still warm enough to make me sigh when I bite into one.
I’m curled against Knox on the couch, my legs tangled with his, a throw blanket haphazardly covering the important bits, though neither of us seems especially committed to modesty at this point. He’s got one arm slung behind my head and the other holding a cookie like it’s a trophy.
“You know,” he says, chewing like a man personally offended by how good it is, “we’re never baking fully clothed again.”
“Agreed,” I murmur, licking melted chocolate from my finger. “Kitchen sex is clearly the secret ingredient.”
He groans like I’ve wounded him. “Baby girl, don’t say stuff like that unless you’re ready for round two.”
I give him a lazy, satisfied smirk. “You couldn’t even stand up five minutes ago.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you…taunting me?”
“Maybe.” He grabs another cookie from the plate on my lap and takes an exaggerated bite.
I watch the way his jaw flexes, the smug set of his smile, the chocolate on his lips. “You have a little something,” I say, tapping my own mouth.
He leans closer, eyes gleaming. “Wanna lick it off?”
“I should say no.”
“But you won’t.”
I don’t. Obviously.
My tongue swipes the chocolate from his bottom lip, and he groans again, a little choked. His hand finds my thigh under the blanket and squeezes. We settle again, warm and sated, cookies between us, bodies tangled.
We fall asleep like that. Half-covered in a throw blanket, half-covered in cookie crumbs, entirely covered in each other.
Chapter fifty-nine
