Empire of Sin (Empire #2)(55)

As if his sole purpose is to suffocate the hell out of me.

My lungs burn from the lack of oxygen and I try to thrash beneath him, my nails digging into his arm, but it’s like an ant is wrestling a buffalo. I’m unable to move him even an inch.

And the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to be seeing me.

“K-Knox…” I choke out.

He blinks a few times and he freezes. He doesn’t release me, but he’s not actively trying to suffocate me to death either.

Slowly, too slowly, the golden gleam seeps into his eyes and he pushes off of me with a sudden shove, then scrambles to his feet and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck!”

I drag in copious amounts of air through my nose and wince at the burn of every inhale and exhale.

Before I’m able to get my bearings, strong hands grab me by the shoulders, pulling me into a sitting position. I stare into Knox’s eyes and a wild sense of comfort slams through me.

The thought that I’d lost him even for a moment filled me with damning trepidation.

“Are you okay?” He inspects me, then his face scrunches with pain when he focuses on my neck. “Bloody hell.”

“I’m fine.”

“The red marks on your neck indicate otherwise.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not fucking nothing. I almost choked you to death just now.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Why the fuck did you even touch me? You’re usually out of it until the morning.”

“Wait…does that mean this happens a lot?”

He’s silent, his sharp jaw flexing as if he’s suppressing something.

Inching closer, I place my unsteady fingers on his cheeks, cupping them. “What’s plaguing you so much that you have constant nightmares about it?”

“Why would you care?” There’s no accusation in his tone. In fact, it sounds a bit vulnerable, as if he wants me to care but is scared that I don’t.

“Why wouldn’t I? I don’t want you in pain.” I stroke my fingers over his cheeks and he leans into it.

He often does when I touch him lately, whether I’m reading fantasy books to him or we’re watching movies or bingeing on some crime show. As per his rules, he always gets to touch me until even I can’t concentrate on what I’m reading, but it feels more intimate now.

We’ve fallen into a peaceful rhythm that scares the shit out of me sometimes. It feels too real and too different from the no-strings-attached arrangement we started with.

There are so many strings attached now that I can’t count them.

“I’m fine,” he says coolly, seeming to be more in control of himself.

“You’re obviously not. Tell me, Knox. What is it?”

“If I do, if I bare myself to you, will you do the same?”

I gulp, my fingers freezing on his face. “I can’t talk about my past. It’s dangerous.”

“Maybe mine is, too. So I guess we’ll both leave it at that.”

He starts to release me, but I wrap my legs around his waist to stop him from getting up. “It doesn’t matter.”

Knox gives me a questioning glance but remains in his position.

“It’s okay if our pasts remain in the past. We can just focus on the present for now.”

“For now?”

“My mom once told me we can’t escape our pasts forever. There will be a day when we’ll have to face it.” I brush my lips against his briefly, letting myself taste him on my tongue. “But that day isn’t today.”

He remains silent for a long second, staring, unblinking.

Shit. Did I say something wrong?

I’m about to backpedal or pull away, but he captures my mouth in a long, passionate kiss that steals my breath away.

Then we fall back asleep with his heartbeat against mine.





22





ANASTASIA





When Knox said he’s not close to being done with me, he absolutely meant it.

It’s been three weeks since he ambushed me in my apartment and there hasn’t been a day that he hasn’t shown up at my door.

He basically lives here now, brings groceries, and helps me cook. Oh, and he’s totally in control of cleaning my place, keeping it spotless. The other day, he bought wallpaper and furniture, then remodeled the whole thing, hiding the smoke marks and asymmetrical stars.

But no matter how much he cleans my place, he makes it dirty again with all the sex. He doesn’t get enough, ever. Whether it’s in the kitchen, the shower, or even when I’m sitting peacefully trying to create systems, he just swoops in and fucks me like he hasn’t touched me in decades.

His presence in my living space feels weirdly domesticated, and I’ve been trying not to get used to the company, to keep reminding myself that I’m on my own.

That at the end of whatever fucked-up fixation he has on me, I’ll be alone again.

But it gets harder every day, especially since the little bonding moment we had after his nightmare. We feel closer now, more in tune with each other than ever before.

His presence is like a potent chemical reaction—impossible to ignore and leaves me craving more.

And it’s not only about sex.