Page 73 of Glitter Rose
“You can.” His hand moves between our bodies, returning to my clit with unerring precision. “Come for me, princess. Let me feel you. Please.”
The old nickname breaks something loose inside me.
I shatter around him, inner walls clenching so tight I feel every ridge, every vein as he continues to move inside me. He seizes my lips with his, swallowing my cries. The pleasure pulses outward in waves, robbing me of breath, of thought, of everything except this moment, this connection.
I break away with another silent cry, squeezing my eyes shut before meeting his.
“There you are.” He drinks in every gasp and shudder like it’s something precious. “Fuck, Paris. I love you.”
His confession hits me harder than his thrusts, shattering whatever fragile barriers I’d erected around my heart. I clutch him closer as he continues moving inside me, his pace growing erratic.
“I love you,” he repeats against my skin, sending electricity crackling along my nerves. “Fucking love you.”
“Come for me,” I whisper. “Fill me up.”
His entire body tenses, muscles going rigid as he buries his face in my neck to muffle his groan. The pulse of his cock inside me triggers another wave of pleasure, and we ride it together, clinging to each other like survivors of a shipwreck, hoping to survive together.
We lie tangled on the floor, basking in the aftershocks coursing through our bodies while Knox stays inside me, our breath mingling in the narrow space between us.
When he finally moves, my legs have turned to jelly from his touch, completely useless. He notices immediately, smiling before scooping me up like I weigh nothing, his arms cradling me against his chest as I burrow my face into the curve of his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. The floor must have been uncomfortable.” He carries me the few steps to my prison mattress before laying me down with surprising gentleness.
I reach for him, unwilling to lose contact even for a second. “Don’t go.”
“Just getting your breakfast.” He brushes his lips across my forehead. “You need to eat.”
My stomach twists at the mention of food. Hunger is a constant companion these days, but so is nausea whenever I actually try to eat Gabriel’s measured portions.
Knox puts back on his boxers before retrieving the tray from where it sits forgotten on the cupboard, then settles beside me on the bed. His weight dips the mattress, coaxing me naturally against his side.
“Gabriel’s idea of a balanced meal?” I eye the bland oatmeal and half an apple with distaste.
“Bastard’s been starving you.”
“Strategic caloric reduction,” I mimic Gabriel’s clinical tone. “For optimal blood quality, or rather, torture me.”
“I’ll bring you more for lunch.” He spoons up a bite of oatmeal, holding it to my lips. “Eat. You need your strength.”
I open my mouth, more to please him than from actual desire. The oatmeal makes its way down my throat, tasteless but warm.
“Good girl.” His free hand traces circles on my bare thigh, warmth spreading from the point of contact. “Another.”
“I’m not a child.”
“No.” His eyes darken as they travel over my naked body. “Definitely not.”
He feeds me another spoonful, watching my mouth with an intensity that makes heat pool between my legs again. I swallow, then lick my lips deliberately.
“Paris,” he warns, voice rough.
“Mh?” I smirk against the spoon. “What? I’m eating like you wanted.”
“Eat first. Then we can continue.”
I take the next bite, feeling stronger with each swallow, not just from the food, but from his presence.
“Did you mean it?” I ask between bites. “That you love me?”
