Page 92 of Resistant

Knox has been gone for months, and Daisy has spent some of the mornings with me reviewing the particulars of this household. I’m expected to take over the menu planning, and the books. Daisy will retain all the other duties.

Twice a year she brings some girls in from town to help her with deep cleaning. I’m expected to be the lady of the house whenever someone shows up here, which Daisy says is a possibility. It hasn’t happened yet, and I don’t expect to ever have a visitor. Knox is territorial. And I find it curious that Knox would give me a leadership role in his house, no matter how remote it is.

I’m hiking through overgrown grass to the west of the house, concentrating on the twisted roots that sit above ground level in the swamp. It’s grown cold and my breath swirls out from my lips in puffs adding to the foggy grayness that sits over the bayou.

I hear an engine in the distance and stop walking listening to see if it’s headed my way. The noise grows louder as it approaches and I realize that it’s not a car or truck, but a motorcycle. I head back to the house and am shocked to see Knox pulling a helmet off his head. He smiles at me, and I take in his leather jacket and jeans. If he were any other man, I’d be content here with him.

“Ma lagniappe, you look well. Healthy. Looks like the bayou has been a good place for you. Seen any snakes or alligators on your walk?”

“A few, but I keep my distance.”

Knox grabs my hand and rubs my fingers between his trying to dispel the iciness that plagues my hands.

“Let’s get a drink, ma lagniappe, it’s far colder than I expected.”

He sheds his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack by the front door. He has let his hair grow out long and it does nothing to detract from his outward appeal.

If anything, he looks handsomely dangerous, and I feel a pang deep in my belly. I miss Declan. I hear the telltale clink of glass and accept a neat whiskey from him and sip slowly. Knox throws his back all in one go. He sits in an armchair and pulls me into his lap, running his nose over my neck and collar bone. I shiver at the contact.

“So, what have you been up to out here at my house, Brynn? I have to say you are looking well, you’ve gained weight, you have more color in your cheeks, and I love your hair wild like this.”

He fingers a wavy curl and tugs on it briefly and wraps the curl around his finger.

“I take walks, Daisy lets me plan the menus, so I try to stick to clean food as much as possible. Carter has promised if the weather gets warmer, we can try growing potted vegetables. I learned how to make bread, all that kneading has given me more strength in my arms, and I walk a lot.”

“What does ma lagniappe do in the evenings to keep herself occupied?”

“Sometimes I read; I think about my sons. Have you found them yet?”

Knox pours himself four fingers of whisky and throws it all back. Is he trying to get drunk?

“Non. I haven’t heard a peep about either one of them. And no word from Declan either. He seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet.”

Knox watches me closely as he delivers this news and I try and school my face into a mask of indifference.

He doesn’t need to know that I lay awake at night, running my fingers over my thighs fantasizing about my former stocks lover.

I try to settle back into his embrace to distract him from gleaning my thoughts from my expression. A poker face is not one of my strengths.

“What have you been doing, Knox?”

“Quite a bit, Brynn.”

His hand splays across my belly and he tugs me back so that his hardening cock is nestled between my ass cheeks. I sit still as a statue trying not to squirm at my discomfort. Knox adds more whisky to my glass, and I continue to sip it slowly.

“Like what?” I ask.

Knox nips at my earlobe and in a husky whisper, he begins to tell me what has been happening out in the real world. He continues to drink, and I listen aptly, trying to remember every detail of what he’s telling me.

Every so often, he’ll stop talking to plant a kiss on my neck or drink more whisky. His voice remains husky and breaks every so often, and I begin to hear traces of an accent. French words are smattered in his speech, seemingly haphazardly.

I don’t understand them, and I wish I had taken French in school. As the night continues, Knox seems to slip into another version of himself and I listen, focusing on being a good companion to him so I can learn more and find an opportunity to escape.

He laughs as he tells me a story about two rookie politicians getting into a fist fight in Washington DC, right on the floor of the capitol. His hands clutch my hips, and he moves my ass suggestively over his lap, and like a thunderclap the energy in the room switches from humor to something sweatier and more sinister.

“Putain!” He growls and his fingers fumble under my sweater. I move to stand, and he forces me back down on his lap, facing him.

His face is flushed, his hair is mussed, and his eyes are hooded with desire. He thrusts upwards yanking my hips down so my pussy rubs against the seam in my jeans and over his cock.

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