“Can I move again?” she asked.
“Jesus. God. Yes.”
And then she was riding me, working my cock like it was a stallion in need of breaking. Every slick slide, every little moan, every time a fingernail bit into my skin, I felt the rest of the world recede a bit more until it was just Naomi and me.
Sweat beaded on our skin. Our breath mingled as we panted together.
There was nothing like being fully seated inside her. Nothing like claiming her and being claimed.
“Naomi.” I gritted out her name as I felt her start to flutter around me again. Tiny little pulses that drove me out of my fucking mind.
“Knox. Yes. Please,” she whimpered.
I took her nipple on a long, deep pull. It was too much for both of us. As the first wave of her orgasm took her, I lost control, pumping into her hot, tight channel as if my life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
Because when that first hot spurt wrenched its way free. When she screamed my name for the world to hear. When she closed around me and milked a second and a third burst from me, I felt born again. Alive. Hollowed out and refilled to overflowing with something I didn’t recognize. Something that scared the ever-living hell out of me.
But I just kept on coming, and so did she, our releases endless.
This. This was why once wasn’t enough. This was why now I wasn’t sure what was enough.
TWENTY-NINE
KNOX’S HOUSE
Knox
“Nice place,” Naomi observed as I locked my front door behind us and flipped on the lights.
“Thanks. My grandfather built it,” I said on a yawn. It had been a long day followed by a long night at Honky Tonk and I needed sleep.
“Really?” she asked, her gaze lifting to the loft above the living room, the timber ceiling and the antler chandelier that hung there.
The cabin was small and leaned toward rustic. Two bedrooms, one bath. The floors were pine. The stone fireplace needed a good scrubbing but still did the job. The leather couch was finally broken in just the way I wanted it.
It was home.
“Are these your parents?” she asked, picking up a framed photo on one of the end tables. I didn’t know why I bothered keeping it. My parents were line dancing at a picnic in Liza J and Pop’s yard. Smiles on their faces, feet in sync. Happier times that, in the moment, seemed like they’d go on forever.
It was, of course, a lie.
Happier times always came to an end.
“Listen, Daze. I’m beat.”
Between my brother getting shot, the sudden onslaught of orgasms, and work, I needed a solid eight hours of sleep before I’d be worth anything.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure,” she said, carefully putting the photo back on the table. Though I noticed she’d angled it toward the couch, not away from it like I’d done. “I’ll head home. Thanks for the backup today with Way’s teacher…and my parents. And then all the orgasms and stuff.”
“Baby, you’re not going home. I’m just telling you why I’m not makin’ any moves when we go upstairs.”
“I should just go home, Knox. I have to be up early to get Way at Liza’s.” She looked as exhausted as I felt.
I hadn’t given it more than a passing thought in the past, but my girls at Honky Tonk dragged their asses home at two or three a.m. and on weekdays had to be up again by six or seven depending on the usefulness of their significant others.
I rememb