Page 43 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“Knox—”

“Tell me what you’d do on a regular night,” he says, his voice almost commanding, rough.

For some reason, I blush. “What? No. That’s boring. And weird.”

“I want to know.” He walks over to me and cups my jaw, glacier eyes serious.

It takes me a minute to be able to answer, and when I do, my voice comes out high, shaky: “Well, I… I guess I’d change into something more comfortable. Probably leggings and an oversized tee.”

“Hot,” he smirks, and I laugh a little. “Keep going.” He takes a step closer.

“I would binge-watch something, probably. Either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Gossip Girl—the original one, not the new one.” It’s an important distinction to make, because the revival is crap and nothing will ever beat the original. Long live Queen B.

“Of course,” he grins, his hand sliding down my neck, my skin heating and bursting into goosebumps at the same time.

“And then I’d probably read a book before bed. Maybe on my e-reader,” I go on, breathing growing shallow.

His eyes widen at my words. “An e-reader? My god. You work at a bookstore. How could you?” he asks in mock-honor, pulling his hand away.

Biting my lip as I stare up at him for a second, I consider telling him the truth. After a short pause, I do what I always seem to do with him: share more of myself than I planned to: “Well, when you read as much as I do and you don’t have a library close by, you need a cheaper alternative to physical books. Plus, there are some novels—romance novels—that I enjoy reading but wouldn’t necessarily love to have on display when my nieces and nephews come over, if you know what I mean.”

His eyes spark with a combination of intrigue and amusement. Suddenly, he stands up straighter and his trademark trickster grin is back. “Oh, yeah? What kind of books are those, then?”

“Just… Some books whose content I wouldn’t want just anyone knowing I enjoy. But you know this about me.”

He raises a brow. “You said you liked to read romance novels. You didn’t specify what kind.”

“I like all romance novels. From the sweetest to the… Well.” I look up at him through my lashes, simultaneously turned on and freaking out. On the one hand, something about this conversation is making me want to throw myself at him. On the other, I want to die for having it in the first place. Are we seriously talking about this?

“Oh, yeah, Pretty Girl? You got some kinks I don’t know about?” We both laugh softly, but I stop as soon as his hands come to my waist, his eyes darkening.

Shit, what is happening?

My heart beats a deafening drum, so loud I wonder whether he can hear it. I can barely catch my breath as I look up at the hungry expression in his eyes—one I’m positive I’m matching, despite my best efforts.

“Maybe I do,” I whisper. Knox’s grip tightens on me as his jaw clenches.

“I don’t remember any specific kinks from that one night we shared, and we had all that time to explore. Shame. I would’ve been up to do whatever you wanted to do.” For the millionth time in the in the past couple of weeks, my brain flashes back to that amazing night. To all the things we did together, the dirty words he whispered in my ear.

It was so good, I didn’t need anything other than him.

The hunger I’ve been trying to control resurfaces with a vengeance. Restraint slipping, the need for him, for us, for this, is too strong to hide anymore. Not that I was any great at it to begin with. All other thoughts have flown the coop, and all that’s left is Knox. My skin buzzes as I think of all the ways I wish he’d kiss me, touch me, fuck me, and I just can’t take it anymore.

“I can help you with those, you know? Acting out your kinks, I mean.” His voice is gravelly when he speaks. He slinks an arm around my waist, pulling me into him with one rough movement. Knox digs the fingers of his other hand into my hair at the base of my neck, keeping me from looking anywhere but at him.

A small gasp escapes my lips as I feel every line of his body on mine. Every curve, every plane. My body recognizes his as if it were yesterday. It knows his, knows what he likes.

Keeping a firm grip in my hair, he uses his other hand to hold both my wrists behind my back, causing my body to arch into his, breasts pressing into his chest.

My breathing is ragged when I’m finally able to speak up: “I don’t think you’d be able to keep up.”

He smiles lasciviously before ducking, skimming the delicate skin of my neck with his nose from the base to the line of my jaw and back down again to my exposed collarbone. He inhales deeply before speaking. “You’d love to think that, wouldn’t you? You’d love to think there’s no way I can give you what you want, what you fucking need. You’d love to think I can’t give you any of those things because then you’d have nothing left to hide behind.”

I stop breathing because he has it the other way around. For a moment, I panic and almost push him away. I’m the one who will never be able to give him what he wants. I’m the one who will never be able to give anyone what they want. I’m the one who is only part of a person—will never be whole.

I will never be enough for anyone, and he thinks I think the opposite.

I start to pull away, but he doesn’t notice, too caught up in the moment. “Knox⁠—”