Craving The Wrong Brother (Sloane and Knox) novel Chapter 81

CHAPTER 031: Ciao, Delilah

CHAPTER 081: Ciao, Delilah

Her body trembles. Her eyes flutter. Her hips jerk as I bring her to the edge.

I hold her there, my grip on her neck tightening. I know I’m pushing her to the limit. But

I also know she’s safe with me, that I won’t let her go too far.

And then, with a final cry, she lets go.

“That’s it,” I say. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

Her eyes roll into her head, showing only the whites, and her body begins to shake violently. Those inner muscles squeeze me with a force that’s almost painful, but in the best way possible. Her body arches against mine, her back curving beautifully. She‘ s too far gone to fight the sensation of blood rushing downward, the waves of near- death euphoria.

“Fuck, Sloane,” I hiss as it feels like my dick is being mashed.

Her body continues to milk me, the feeling driving me wild. I can’t hold back any longer. I pound into her again and again, chasing my own release. With a final, deep thrust, I let go, filling her completely.

Just as I loosen my hold around her neck, she releases a loud and shaky breath, then sucks in much–needed air. Her face, which had been pale, suddenly rushes with color as blood returns to her cheeks. Her eyes open slowly, blinking like she’s just waking up. Her whole body is trembling–tiny, involuntary shakes that tell me she’s still caught in the aftershocks of that orgasm.

I hold her close, my body still joined with hers, feeling her heartbeat slowly return to normal. Her body is spent in my arms.

“Knox,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and soft. “That was… amazing.”

I lean in and kiss her gently. “Now I’m confident you’ll think of me at work.”

~~~

Almost an hour later, Sloane’s dressed for work, and I’m still under the covers, shirtless, lazy, and completely fixated on her.

She’s standing by the dresser, leaning toward the mirror, applying makeup with calmness and normalcy. Like she didn’t spend the last hour pinned to the shower wall, crying my name and trembling under my touch.

Her outfit is practical and conservative: a light blue, high–neck blouse that covers all the evidence of what I did to her. I know it’s no accident. The way her throat is hidden. The way she tucked her hair just right. She’s hiding the marks.

I stretch, folding my arms behind my head and watching her quietly, studying the shape of her mouth as she smooths in a swipe of gloss. She’s humming to herself, off-

1/4

CHAPTER 081: Ciao, Delilah

key as usual, probably not even aware she’s doing it.

Then I see her reach for the drawer in her dresser. Her hand pauses there a second before pulling out a blister pack..

I see her thumb push one free.

She pops it into her mouth and swallows dry.

“Morning after?” I ask, curious.

“Not exactly. I went to my doctor and got on the pill last week. Last thing the world needs is me accidentally giving birth to another psycho. There are enough of those already walking around.”

I let that sit for a second. “So… is that a no to kids for now, or a no to kids at all?”

She stops mid–zip of her bag. Turns around slowly.

“Why?” she says. “Do you want kids?”

I shrug, but my gaze stays on her. “Don’t you?”

She doesn’t answer the question.

She grabs her bag, slings it over her shoulder, and picks up her car keys from the dresser.

“I’m off to work,” she says. “You can let yourself out the same way you let yourself in.”

I sit up in the bed, letting the sheet fall around my waist. “Not even a kiss goodbye?” She taps her bottom lip with a finger. “It’ll smudge my makeup.”

But then, just as she’s about to leave, she turns at the doorway and blows me a kiss.

When she’s gone, I stare at the drawer she left cracked open. The one with the pills.

And I don’t know why, but I can’t stop staring.

Then I shake my head hard, like I’m physically batting away those demons in my head asking me to put a baby in her.

The moment I roll out of bed and stretch, my phone buzzes against the wood of the nightstand–three short vibrations. I glance at the screen.

Hidden Caller.

I don’t hesitate. When you live the kind of life I do, you get used to people hiding their numbers.

I answer. “Yeah?”

There’s a pause. Static. And then that voice, sharp, high–pitched, like it’s trying too hard to sound composed.