One More Taste (One and Only Texas #2)(43)

Without thinking, she reached out and touched his tie. The back of her hand scraped against that ever-present five o’clock shadow on his jaw as she loosened the knot, then unfastened the top button of his shirt. Needing to feel his skin, she flipped her hand over and cupped his cheek. And then the whole world unraveled before her eyes.

*

Different bedroom. Same woman. Same crushing hunger for her that had swept through him that first night she’d cooked for him, when he found her lying on his bed. What was it about Emily Ford that drove him to the brink of devastation every time he was in her orbit?

If he were honest with himself, that was the real trouble with getting that text from his old friend wondering why Knox’s mom was flaunting his ‘girl’ Emily around church without him. As though they were an item. As though she really were his to flaunt around his hometown.

When she’d skulked up to his bedroom, he’d followed her, prepared for a confrontation. He hadn’t expected the tinge of sorrow behind her eyes or the glimpse into her soul that she’d shared. It was a sorrow that mimicked the grief he’d struggled with after his dad’s passing. When her eyes had turned glassy, he’d wanted desperately to draw her into his arms and take on the burden of her sorrow, whatever the source. In that instant, it was tempting to see her as a different person from the confident chef who’d flung soup into his lap, but she was exactly the same woman as that fateful day—with the same heart on her sleeve, the same impetuous passion. He’d never met anyone quite like her, and the intertwining of their lives that had happened in the days since had only whetted his appetite for more.

With fingers that trembled against the sensitive skin under his chin, she loosened his tie, then unfastened the button at his collar. The release of pressure from around his neck left him gasping for air, as though he’d been holding his breath for too long without ever being aware of it. Then she touched his face. After a life spent perfecting the art of never losing control, with one touch, Emily transformed him into a man enslaved by his urges, erasing a lifetime of discipline.

With stiff, stilted movement, he snared her waist with his arm and drew her up against him. The sheer force of the emotional storm raging inside him rendered him incapable of smooth moves or intelligible thoughts. She came willingly and brought her other hand up to his face, cradling his cheeks as she released ragged breaths against his neck. Cupping her neck to lock her against him, he pressed his lips to her forehead and breathed his need into her skin.

Her hands roved over his body, as though memorizing the shape of him by feel. His chest, his arms, his waist. As her hands moved, her lips touched his jawline, sending electric currents sizzling through him. He gritted his teeth, enduring the sensations, and yet needing so much more.

He willed his arms to move so he could match her movements. His hands molded against her back and down over the flare of her hips. The dress fabric was thin, but still a burden. He needed her skin under his grip. He bunched the fabric of her dress until the hem was high enough that his hands could reach her leg. At the first contact of his palm splaying over the back of her thigh, he heard a guttural growl in the back of his throat. On a whimper, she melted against him. He slipped his hand higher, breaching the hem of her panties and filling his hand with soft, supple flesh. Her hands sank from his chest to his waist. She gripped his belt and tipped her head back, eyes closed, and gave herself over to his touch.

“I need…” she began as a whisper. Her fingers delved behind the waistband of his pants, letting him know exactly what she needed.

“More,” he finished for her.

She tipped her head up. Her eyelids were heavy with desire, her cheeks flushed, a goddess of sensuality, the sexiest goddamn woman he’d ever seen in the whole of his life. “Yes. More. Now.”

At her words, everything Knox had thought he was, a man of reason and purpose and control, surrendered irrevocably to the drumbeat of raw, primitive need. He reached between her legs and grazed his hand over her panties. On a whimper, her body shifted, and she pressed herself more fully into his touch, sinking his fingers against the wet fabric. He groaned along with her at the intimate contact. She gripped his belt tightly as her body undulated against his hand.

Her lips parted in a silent cry. She released a hand from his belt and molded her fingers over his still-clothed erection. The caress rocked through him so intensely that his knees buckled. He collapsed back into the desk chair, pulled her down to straddle him.

With her curly brown hair cascading in waves around her face, she unlatched his belt, then his pants. He watched her work, marveling that the same hands that were so capable and confident in the kitchen were so unsteady now. He leaned back in the chair to give her more room to work, but bumped the chair back into the desk. Something tumbled from the desk to the floor. A Dukes of Hazzard action figure, reminding Knox where they were. Not his current house, not his apartment in Dallas either. His mother’s house. Which meant …

Shit.

He forced the fog of desire to clear from his mind insomuch that he could speak. “I don’t have…” Damn it, he couldn’t get his mouth to form words. “There’s no protection here.” Every sound had to be forced out from a sandbag tongue and concrete jaw. “So I’ll need to…” The sentence dissolved into an almost angry growl of pleasure as she tugged his briefs down, freeing his heavy, swollen cock. He couldn’t think past being inside her, past achieving that profound connection with Emily—this maddeningly intense, ferocious, singular woman who was so much a reflection of his own famished soul. Right the hell now.