Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“I don’t mind being seen,” I say quietly. “When it’s someone I want seeing me.”
Knox’s eyes are almost black in the candlelight, his pupils blown so wide there’s barely any gray left. His breathing has changed, gone slower and more measured, and when he speaks, his voice has dropped to a rasp that scrapes over my skin.
“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman.”
“Good.”
He flags down the server without looking away from me. “Check, please.”
The temperature has dropped by the time we step outside, and snow is drifting down in lazy spirals that catch the light from shop windows and streetlamps. Knox takes my hand as we walk, our breath fogging in the cold air, and for a while we don’t speak. We don’t need to. The West Village is beautiful at night, brownstones and bare trees and holiday decorations glowing in windows, our footsteps crunching on freshly fallen snow. Every few minutes Knox pulls me closer, his arm around my shoulders, his warmth bleeding into me through layers of wool and cotton.
The snow falls around us, and I find myself thinking about last night. The confession. The kiss. The way everything shifted between us in the space of a heartbeat.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
I stop walking and turn to face him. We’re standing under a streetlamp, snow falling around us like the universe is trying too hard to be romantic, and I reach up to brush a snowflake from his jaw.
“Last night.”
“What about it?”
“The part where you stopped being careful.”
His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. Not kissing me yet. Just holding me there, our bodies pressed together through layers of winter clothing.
“I’m always careful.”
“Not with me.”
“No.” His forehead drops to rest against mine. “Not with you.”
When he kisses me, it feels different from last night. Slower. Like he’s proving something, making a point about patience and control even as his tongue traces my lower lip before sliding inside. I make a sound that gets lost between our mouths, my fingers fisting in the front of his coat, pulling him closer even though there’s no space left between us.
He walks me backward until my shoulders hit a building, and pins me there with his body. The stone is cold through my coat, but everywhere Knox touches burns. His hand slides up my side, fingers finding the curve of my waist, the edge of my ribs, higher. He stops just below my breast, not quite touching, and I arch into him, desperate to close the distance.
“Patience,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I don’t have any.”
“I know.” He kisses me again, harder this time, and I can feel his restraint starting to fray at the edges. “I’ve been watching you for months, Hailey. I know exactly how impatient you are. How you fidget when you’re bored, how you tap your fingers when you’re waiting for something, how you speed up when you’re close to getting what you want.”
“Then stop making me wait.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. In the lamplight, with snow caught in his hair and want written across every line of his face, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Not yet,” he says. “Not here.”
“Then take me home.”
Something flares in his eyes, hot and possessive, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me again. Instead, he takes my hand and starts walking, his pace faster than before, his grip tight enough that I feel claimed.
Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. The tension between us is a living thing, coiling tighter with every step, every brush of our bodies as we navigate the snowy way home. By the time we reach my building, I’m practically vibrating with want.
At the front steps, I turn to face him. His breathing is ragged, his jaw tight, his eyes burning into mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
“Come upstairs,” I say.
His whole body goes still. “Hailey.”
“I mean it.” I reach for the lapel of his coat, curling my fingers into the wool. “Come upstairs, Knox.”
He catches my wrist, his thumb pressing against my pulse point where my heart is hammering out a frantic rhythm. “If I come up tonight, I’m not leaving.”
The words hang between us, heavy with promise. Heavy with warning.
“That’s the point,” I whisper.
“No.” He steps closer, backing me against the railing, his free hand coming up to grip my hip. “I don’t think you do. I’m not talking about spending the night. I’m talking about more than that. Once I’m in, Hailey, I’m in. All the way. And I need you to be sure that’s what you want before we cross that line.”
My breath catches. He’s not just talking about sex. He’s talking about everything. The watching, the wanting, the obsession that runs both ways. He’s asking if I’m ready to be his completely.