Well, okay. Maybe that had been the case the first few times he’d walked into Ninette and Sylvie’s kitchen, but they’d fixed that shit in short order. He killed the water and dried his hands. From this angle, her shirt didn’t give so much as a glimpse of what lay hidden beneath, but the hem danced around her mid-thigh with every move. He cocked his head, a dangerous but oh-so delicious idea blossoming in his head.
He snatched the foil she’d left on the opposite counter, slid it next to the casserole dish and moved in close behind her. “Thought you might need that.”
“Thank you.” So breathless. Very aware of his presence.
That was the best part, especially with Darya. The anticipation. The snap and burn that fired every time he so much as looked at her. He smoothed his hands down her hips then gathered the shirt up inch-by-inch.
Her back-and-forth as she spread the sauce on her last layer slowed, the spoon quivering in her grip. “What are you doing?”
Grazing his lips along the bared side of her neck, he inhaled deep. Her scent was stronger today. Must be the soap she used that gave her that winter rose smell. Or maybe her shampoo. Whatever it was was addictive. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her leggings and eased them down, taking her panties with them. “Keep working.”
“Knox—” Her spoon clattered to the Formica, pasta sauce and cheese splattering the otherwise pristine surface. She gripped the counter’s edge tight and let out a shaky breath.
Dragging the plush fabric along her skin, he slowly crouched behind her. “Focus.”
“But you’re—”
“You get the food ready. I’ll get you ready. That simple.” He tapped one ankle. “Lift.”
She did as he asked then repeated the process for the other leg. God he loved her legs. Had ogled them in her insanely fuckable shoes every day at work, but seeing her barefoot like this—her delicate feet and bubblegum-painted toenails—he needed them wrapped around him, her heels digging into his ass. He smoothed his hands up the outside of her legs then teased the inside of her knees with his thumbs. “You’re not cooking.”
“I can’t...” Her hips tilted just a fraction, an innocent invitation he had no intention of taking. Yet. “It’s hard to think.”
“You don’t cook, we don’t eat. We don’t eat, we don’t fuck.” He pushed upright, taking his time as he did and making sure she felt every inch. Pressing tight to her back, he nuzzled her ear and murmured, “And I’m very much looking forward to the fucking part.” Giving in to the hard edge buzzing beneath his skin, he smacked her hip just hard enough to rip a gasp from her then forced himself to the fridge.
Beer in hand, he didn’t look back. Didn’t dare for fear he’d give into the impulse and take her right then and there. She’d already had fast and furious from him. Tonight he’d take his time and build her up. Build them both up until it was either come or combust.
He powered up the TV, ditched his boots and socks, and tucked them neatly out of the way. Even with a host of stations to keep him occupied, his mind seemed more in tune with the sounds coming from the kitchen than any visual on the screen. The muted creak of the oven door. Running water as she washed the dishes and the soft patter of her feet on the cheap linoleum as she tidied up the countertops.
The cable box glowed 7:45 p.m. in soft neon blue. Fifteen minutes since she’d put the food in to bake. A long time for a woman as efficient as Darya.
He took a slow pull off his beer. Distance between them was smart. He’d been the one to insist on it all week and she’d easily followed suit, but right now it sucked. Too much to ignore. “You gonna come out here and sit with me, or hide in there the rest of the thirty minutes left for it to cook?”
Silence answered back from the kitchen.
“Darya?”
She glided around the corner, the same indifferent smile she’d kept in place while working firmly in place.
Oh, fuck no. At work yes, but not here. Not now. He crooked his fingers. “C’mere.”
Gauging his place dead center on the couch then the two empty spots on either side of him, she crept forward. “What are you watching?”
Hell if he knew. All he’d done was punch the up button about a thousand times. “Nothing worth stopping for.”
She reached for the throw pillow beside him and moved it, making extra room for her to sit beside him.
He snatched her wrist before she could land, set his beer on the coffee table and guided her in between his legs.
She tried to tug her hand free, for all the good it did her. “What are you doing?”
“Got time to play. I’m going to enjoy it.” He tugged harder.
“But there’s not enough room.”
Easy enough to fix. He snatched the huge pillow that served as the back couch cushion and tossed it and the smaller pillow still in her hand to the floor. “There is now.” He scooted back, turned her with hands at her hips and pulled her ass down right between his thighs.
Her back was still ramrod straight, hands splayed on his knees as if she’d bolt at any moment.
Smoothing his hands up her arms, he worked his thumbs along the muscles between her neck and shoulders and urged her to recline against him. “Just relax.”
Bit-by-bit she gave in, melting against him on a soft sigh but keeping her head lolled forward to give him better room to work.
He chuckled and deepened his strokes. “Beck’s a task master with the workouts, huh?”
“Mmm.” As if his touch had totally unplugged her mind and left her floating on some distant cloud.
Which was completely weird, considering he’d never once touched a woman this way in his life. Not unless there was an orgasm imminent and her ass, tits or clit were the objects getting his attention. “You look good.”
The second it was out he nearly bit his tongue in half.
She tried to twist toward him, but he held her in place and kept rubbing. “What do you mean?”
Well, to hell with it. He’d already shown his hand anyway. “With the self-defense. You look good doing it.”
Her fingers pushed and pulled against the denim on his thighs, a mix of nervousness and a kitten kneading its soft bed before she settled in. “When did you see me?”
Fess up, buddy boy. You are who you are. “Only four rooms that don’t have cameras at work—the bathrooms and mine and Beckett’s offices.” He dragged his thumbs along either side of her spine down to her shoulder blades. Oh, yeah. Definitely no bra. And didn’t that make his dick give a celebratory high-five.
“You watched me?”
All. The. Damned. Time. Probably a little too much information, though. Better to hedge. “I watch everything.”
She nodded, but it was more of a tacit agreement not to push any more than confirmation she understood.
He didn’t blame her. Sometimes his incessant need to watch over the people he loved didn’t even make sense to him. Not that he loved Darya. She was just a good person he felt compelled to look out for. No different than any of his other employees—except for his obsessive need to be inside her.
“You and Beckett seem very close,” she said.
Knox shrugged and refocused on soothing the tight muscles along her delts. “He’s my brother.”
“But you’ve known him longer than the others.”
He froze, the unexpected observation jolting him out of the languid place they’d settled into. No one at the office knew about his history. No one period, save his family. “What makes you say that?”
She let her head fall back against his shoulder and lifted her beautiful blue gaze to his. “I don’t know. Maybe because you act like you’ve always known him.”
There it was. The astuteness that always amazed him. That grabbed him by the nuts as sure as her own hand. “Since I was ten.”
Her lips curved in a small smile, sweet as if he’d just given her a thoughtful gift. Before he could fully enjoy it, she rolled her head forward again and closed her eyes. “Were your families close?”
The chuckle that slipped free sounded bitter even to his own ears. “We didn’t have families. Not really.”
“Then where did you live?” Completely conversational. As if they were doing a code review instead of dredging up the worst stretch of his life.
But this was good. Maybe if she understood where he came from, she’d understand his lines a little better. Would excuse some of the harsh boundaries he needed to survive. Surely he could give her that much.
He swallowed hard, eyes on the beer his throat desperately needed, but in absolutely no hurry to lose the weight of her torso against him. “Hung out at Beckett’s house a lot. His mom bailed before I met him. His dad was a nasty drunk, but so long as we stayed out of his way he left us alone.”
“So, you lived with him?”
“Not officially, no.”
“Then where?”
He ran his palms along her shoulders, her uber-soft cotton top tickling his hands. It wasn’t a big deal. Or at least it wouldn’t be if he didn’t make it one. He forced his voice to stay even. “Foster homes.”
With the back of her head resting easy against his shoulder and her eyes closed, he watched her. Waited for some kind of response. A flinch or a scowl.
Her serenity never slipped. Not so much as a blip. “What happened to your family?”
“Don’t know who my dad was. Mom died when I was three. Drug overdose.”
Her eyes snapped open, locking on to his almost as fast. “Is that why you don’t take anything to help you sleep?”
Oh, yeah. Very astute. Dangerously so. As in time to get her on a different topic altogether.
He pulled in a slow breath, dipped his hands along her sides and splayed one against her belly. “You want to talk, tell me about your family.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “My life was very simple growing up. Poor, but simple. I was an only child, but I knew much love when my parents were alive.”
“They’re both gone?” Back and forth, he skated his thumb just inches below her breasts.
Her shoulders pressed gently against his chest. She wanted more. Badly. But she was fighting it just as hard as he was. “My father worked as a machinist. He died when I was thirteen. My mother secured me schooling in St. Petersburg shortly after.”
“Secured how?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and a shudder worked through her, this one having nothing to do with pleasure.
He froze. “Darya?”
She rolled her lips together, swallowed and opened her eyes. She met his stare head on. “My mother was very beautiful. With my father gone and no money, she felt it was better to use her assets in a way that would benefit her daughter than keep her pride. She traded herself in exchange for my education and my keeping.”
Jesus Christ.
He’d never had a family. No one but Beckett until Axel and Jace found them. But at least he’d never lost one. He pressed his palm against her belly, doing his best to let her know he was there and that he understood without crossing more lines than he already had. “Sounds like she loved you very much.”
“It was a tremendous gift.” A ferocity lit behind her eyes, the power of it billowing up like some determined goddess. “One I will never let go to waste.”
His hand moved without conscious direction from his head, sliding up between her breasts until he clasped her throat. Beneath his fingers and thumb, her pulse pounded through her carotid. But all he could focus on were her lips. Could only remember what they felt like against his. Soft and yet firm.
He never kissed. Not without sex and this was most definitely not sex. This was intimacy. Landmine-ridden, terrifying intimacy.
And he still wanted to claim her mouth. Devour and get lost in her taste.
The kitchen timer buzzed, an angry zing that barely penetrated despite the dangerous terrain. His gaze slipped to his possessive grip at her neck. Amazing how dark his skin was compared to hers, how rough against her soft flesh.
“I should get that,” she whispered.
She should. Because after that all bets were off. “Oh, yeah. It’s time to eat.”
Chapter Seventeen
The dishwasher was loaded. The leftovers were put away and the casserole dish washed and stored in the same brown grocery bag Knox had brought it in. None of it should have been the stuff of foreplay, but with Knox teasing and touching at every turn, Darya’s sex was not only drenched but aching.
The television went silent and the lights in her living room went dark.
She wiped down the counters, skin prickling with awareness. Never in her life had she been so uncertain about how to act around a man. So ready and yet cautious at the same time.
Then again, she’d never been with a man like Knox.
A click sounded from her bedroom and a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that he’d clicked on the lamp beside her bed.
He strolled into view a second later, a lazy jaguar navigating foreign terrain as easily as if it were his own. His hungry gaze locked on to hers and he flipped off the light switch to her pseudo office, leaving her only in the pool of light coming from the smaller fixture overhead.
Her heart kicked. She slid to the sink and rinsed out her sponge, desperate to affect the same casualness he portrayed.
He moved in behind her as she turned off the faucet, his hands unerringly slipping beneath her shirt’s hem along her thighs and skimming up to her hips. While he anchored one at her waist, the other splayed soft at her belly.
Beneath his touch, her muscles quavered, poised and ready for his fingers to delve lower.
Instead he nuzzled the back of her neck. “Place is locked up. You need anything?” The silent before I fuck you hung unspoken in the silence, twice as powerful than if he’d actually voiced the words.
She shook her head, too gripped by the moment to actually speak.
He inhaled deep, slipped his hands from beneath her shirt and turned her with hands at her hips. Still in touching distance, but not crowding her as before, he cupped the side of her face with a tenderness that stole her breath. “Moved too fast last time. Didn’t take the time to talk things out.”
Talk? She could barely think right now. Let alone string together a sentence that would make sense. “About what?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and his hand drifted low enough he could skim his thumb along her lower lip. “I think you were clear you’re good with rough and open to dirty, but is there anything you absolutely don’t want?”
Oh, boy. Definitely a dangerous topic to traverse with her mind so distracted.
Trailing his hand lower, he traced tempting patterns down her neck then across the exposed skin above her neckline.
Her eyes slipped closed, every scrap of attention focused on his touch.
The fabric shifted and the first button slipped free, cool air slipping against the inch of skin he’d revealed. She swallowed hard and willed him to keep going. To peel the soft cotton off her over-sensitized skin and press his body against hers.
“Darya?”
She opened her eyes and his fingers moved on to the next button.
Right. They were talking. About things she didn’t like. Though it wasn’t as if she’d built up a wealth of experience to draw from before she’d run, and the last three years she’d settled on her toys versus potential exposure. “No pain.”
“That include my hand on your ass when you piss me off?”
“Bozhe moi.” My God, she whispered before she could stop it, clutching the counter’s edge behind her as a visible shudder rippled through her.
&
nbsp; Knox chuckled at that and slipped the last button free. “I know zero Russian, but I think I can interpret that as naughty girl spankings getting a pass. Anything else?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t explored that much. I just know what we did felt good.”
He nudged her shirt, leaving her mound exposed and the sides barely covering her nipples. “You ever play with other toys? Nipple clamps? Ropes?”
She couldn’t look at him. Could only watch him drag the backs of his knuckles from her sternum down, down, down.
“Darya, look at me.”
It took every scrap of courage she had, but she did it, her lungs hitching as her gaze locked on to his.
He was hungry. Ravenous, despite what his outward confidence and calm alluded. And all of that need was aimed squarely on her. “You want to explore?”
God, yes. With him she’d try almost anything. “Yes.”
He held her gaze. “Saw the plug in your box. That something you get off on often?”
“Sometimes.”
“Toys only or men?”
“Toys. I never—haven’t been with anyone I trusted.”
Something fired behind his eyes. Challenge, maybe. Or perhaps a promise. He nodded, though whether it was for her or an answer to whatever dialogue was taking place in his own head, she wasn’t sure. “Fair enough.” His gaze dropping to his fingers skimming closer to her mound. “You promise me you’ll share if we do something you don’t like?”
Faster than she would have thought possible, she stopped his hand with her own and squeezed tight. “I will never allow a man to hurt me or push me into something I don’t want. Ever.”
He smiled in a way that said he wasn’t just relieved by her answer, but was proud as well. “That’s my girl.” He slid the hand she’d captured free and wrapped his arm around her waist. His free hand cupped the side of her neck and his lips whispered close enough her own tingled. “Anything in particular you want to go to the top of the list?”
She gave into temptation and let her hands steal under the hem of his T-shirt, the worn soft cotton a stark contrast to the hot hard muscle beneath her palms. “The last time you never let me take you in my mouth. I want to start there.”
Tempted & Taken Page 14
