Page 91 of Hometown Touchdown
His gaze locks with mine, and I see everything—hunger, awe, possession.
When he starts to move in deep, grinding thrusts, it’s like we’ve never been apart. But there’s something more now. More reverence. More fire.
He braces himself over me, his forehead pressed to mine as he thrusts slow and thick, dragging a moan from deep in my chest. I move with him, chasing the ache, clinging to the wave cresting between us.
“Jesus, Brynn,” he groans. “It’s like your pussy missed me, like you’re holding onto me like you’ll never let me go.”
I cry out, the words detonating something in my chest.
“Harder,” I beg, my voice already wrecked.
He flips us, sudden and seamless, settling me over him. I sink down, gasping as he fills me from this new angle—so deep I swear I see stars.
He threads his fingers in my hair, pulling gently. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice shredded.
“Harder,” I plead. “I want you to break me.”
He pistons up into me—relentless, punishing—and I come apart. My orgasm crashes through me like a storm, raw and wild and unstoppable. My walls clench around him, dragging him with me.
“Fuck, Brynn,” he pants. “You’re squeezing me like you don’t want me to leave. Like this cock belongs to you.”
“It does, Knox. It’s mine.”
He follows with a broken sound, his body jerking beneath mine, spilling deep as he buries his face in my neck.
We ride the aftershocks together—messy, breathless, clinging like the world narrowed down to just this bed and the pieces of us slotting back into place.
And when he finally collapses beneath me, arms locked around my waist, his lips brush my ear.
“You have no idea what you just did to me.”
He doesn’t pull out. He doesn’t say another word. He just holds me. And I hold him right back.
Chapter forty-six
Knox
Myarmsarewrappedaround her bare back, and the soft weight of her draped over me makes everything in my chest ache with the kind of fullness I forgot I was capable of feeling. She’s warm and limp and satisfied and so stunning in the aftermath it actually hurts to look at her. Like staring into the sun.
I brush a thumb over her shoulder, drawing little circles. Her skin is damp, flushed, and absolutely glowing.
Six years. Six damn years of lying to myself. Of pretending I didn’t crave her like oxygen. And now she’s here—in my bed,wrecked and radiant, her skin still flushed, her scent all over me. I’m not sure whether to worship her or flip her over and do it all again.
“Still breathing?” she mumbles against my chest, her voice scratchy and deliciously used.
“Barely,” I say, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You just rearranged my entire central nervous system.”
She lets out a sleepy sigh. “Well…I am kind of a big deal.”
I huff a laugh. “You’re a menace.”
“Maybe I am.” She chuckles, then shifts, untangling herself with a sleepy little stretch that makes my blood stir again. “I’ll be right back,” she says softly, sliding off the bed and walking toward the bathroom. She’s completely bare, completely unbothered. My eyes follow every step, every curve, every shadow cast by the warm bedside light. She doesn't glance back, but damn if I don’t feel the echo of her everywhere—on my skin, in my chest.
I sink into the pillow she left behind, the scent of her still lingers. I didn’t wait for her, not intentionally, but no one else ever made me feel like this. Like I could breathe easier just because she’s near. Like her laughter belongs in the background of every morning I wake up. I’ve already fallen. Told her I love her. And watching her disappear into the bathroom with sleep-tousled hair and a lazy sway in her hips, I know one thing for sure—I’m so glad I did.
Because there’s only ever been one girl who gets under my skin like this. Her.
The bathroom door opens. My gaze snaps to her as she steps back into the room, bare legs and sleepy eyes, and I swear my ribs tighten around my heart like they’re trying to protect it from breaking all over again.
