Ride With Me

Chapter Twenty-One

He carried her like she weighed nothing. Water ran off them both, leaving a dark trail down the hall, and the towel swung at his side, and his heart knocked under her cheek, steady and fast, and the heat of him came through the wet shirt, and her hands had nowhere to go, so she kept them fisted in his collar and let him carry her.

He shouldered the door open. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, her bag on the chair, her clothes folded on the dresser. He set her down on the edge of the bed like she was made of glass, and the towel came up, and he knelt in front of her and started drying her legs.

"Knox."

"I'm not done." He worked the towel up her calves, over her knees, her thighs, slow and methodical, his eyes following his hands, and the air in the room had gone thick and heavy. "You need to rest. Your body's been through hell today."

"So have you."

He looked up at her. Water still dark in his hair, his shirt still soaked, his eyes black in the dim light—he said nothing, just held her gaze, and for a long moment neither of them moved, the towel forgotten in his hands.

She reached for the hem of his shirt. "Take this off. You're soaked."

"Piper—"

"Take it off, Knox."

He pulled the shirt over his head. Water ran down his chest, over the ink, the scars, the hard lines of him, and he knelt there in the dim room, half-naked, holding the towel, and she reached for him—and he caught her wrist, gentle, and pressed his mouth to the inside of it. "I'm not going to have s*x with you tonight."

The words landed like a stone in still water.

"What?"

"Your shoulder." His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. "I'd hurt you. And I would rather die than hurt you, Piper."

The words sat heavy and warm in her chest. She opened her mouth—to argue, to tell him she didn't care about the shoulder, that she wanted him anyway— and he read it on her face before she could say it.

"I know..." His voice had gone low and rough. "Let me take care of you tonight."

"How?"

He didn't answer with words. He leaned in, and his mouth found hers—slow, deep, unhurried, the kiss of a man with nowhere to be—and his hands came up and cradled her face, and he kissed her until the fight went out of her, until she was melting into him, her good hand fisted in his hair.

He eased her back onto the bed. He worked her legs apart with his knees, slow and patient, and his mouth traced down her body—her throat, her collarbone, the soft rise of her b*east, the valley between—and he avoided the bruise on her left side like it was sacred ground, kissing around it, over it, feather-light, until she was trembling, and whether it was the tenderness or the want, she couldn't have said.

He settled between her thighs.

"All you have to do is let me," he said against her skin, low.

His mouth found her.

Slow.

So slow.

His tongue traced her, broad and warm, learning her, and his hands held her thighs apart, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin, and she arched into his mouth with a sound she couldn't stop. He worked her like he had all day—like he had nowhere to be and nothing in the world more important than this, than her—and the heat built in her belly, slow and inevitable, a tide she couldn't hold back.

His fingers found her. One, then two, sliding into her slick heat, curling upward, finding the place inside her that made her gasp, and his mouth stayed on her cl*t, circling, relentless, and the rhythm of his fingers matched his tongue, and the room narrowed to the wet sounds of his mouth and the sound of his name falling out of her like a prayer.

"That's it." His voice vibrated against her. "Let go, Piper. I've got you."

As the intensity mounted, Piper tried to warn him, her voice a strangled whimper as she struggled to find the words. But they came out as a cry, torn from her throat by the sheer force of her impending release. Her back arched slightly off the bed, her body tensing as if preparing for a storm.

Knox's fingers tightened around her thigh, holding her in place as she tried to clamp her legs shut around his head. But it was no use—the pressure had become too much, too intense. With a final, desperate cry, Piper came apart, her body convulsing in a rush of pleasure that tore through her like a wildfire.

It was different from her previous orgasms—wetter, hotter, more explosive. Her p*ssy gushed against Knox's hand, against his mouth, soaking the sheets beneath them. Piper's thighs trembled, her hips lifting off the mattress as she rode out the waves of her climax, her body no longer under her control.

Shock and pleasure intertwined, her cries echoing in the room as she spasmed and shuddered, lost to the intensity of her release. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he let her go. Piper collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat.

She lay there, shaking, her chest heaving, the wet heat cooling between her thighs, and the horror arrived a second later, cold and certain.

What the hell was that?

She scrambled up, her good hand flying to cover herself, the sheet bunching under her. "Oh, my god. Oh my god, I'm sorry—I didn't—I don't know what—" Her voice cracked. "I've never—that's never happened before. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

“Piper."

"—I don't know what that was, I'm sorry, your face, I—"

"Piper." His hands caught her face. Gently, firmly, turning her to look at him, his eyes were black and soft, and there was no disgust there, no shock, no pity—nothing but a fierce, quiet wonder, like she had given him something he had never been given before.

"Don't." His voice was rough, scraped raw. "Don't you dare apologize for that."

"I—"

Knox looked up at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction and something more—a tenderness that made her heart flutter. "You squirted," he said, his voice low and awed. "I've never made a woman do that before."

Piper's cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and pride. "No one's ever…done that to me before," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her inner thigh. "That's because I understand you, Piper. I know what you need, even when you don't."

As he pulled her close, Piper felt a sense of trust and belonging wash over her. Knox had unlocked a part of her she never knew existed, and she knew that she would never be the same again. With him, she was free to explore the depths of her own desire, to embrace the pleasure and the pain, and to find a love that would last a lifetime.

Her throat closed. The apology died on her tongue, and something else rose up in its place—something that burned behind her eyes, that made her pull him down to her and hold on.

Knox gathered Piper into his arms, cradling her carefully against his chest to avoid putting pressure on her injured shoulder. As he wrapped the towel around her, his hand stroked her hair in soothing motions, and the room fell silent, the only sound their shared breathing.

"It's a natural response to intense pleasure," he whispered, his lips brushing her hair. "When a woman reaches a certain threshold, her body can produce a release of fluid. It's not something to be ashamed of, Piper. It's a testament to how deeply I've affected you, how much you trust me to guide you through your desires."

His words were gentle, reassuring, and Piper felt a warmth spread through her at his explanation. She knew he was right—it wasn't something to be embarrassed about. It was a physical response to the overwhelming pleasure he had coaxed from her body.

"You're amazing, Piper," Knox continued, his voice low and filled with affection. "The way you let go, the way you trust me to take care of you... It's incredible. I'm honored to be the one to bring you to such heights of ecstasy."

Piper's heart swelled with emotion at his words, feeling a deep sense of connection and belonging. With Knox, she knew she could be her true self, without fear or shame. And as she snuggled closer to him, the towel wrapped securely around her, she felt a profound sense of gratitude for this man who had unlocked the deepest, most intimate parts of her soul. "Knox."

"Mm."

She didn't have words. She pressed her face into his chest, into the warmth of him, and his heartbeat was under her cheek, steady and slow, and the bruise on her side throbbed in a dull, distant pulse, and the strip, the sirens, the blood on his knuckles, the EMTs—all of it sat somewhere far away, quieted, like a radio turned down low in another room.

His hand found hers. His fingers laced through hers, and he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, one by one, slow, the way a man says a prayer he never learned in a church.

"Sleep," he said against her skin. "I've got you."

And for the first time in six months, she believed it was enough to close her eyes.