The MC President's Forsaken Wife (Zara and Knox) novel Chapter 233

Chapter 118-2

Clam

I hook my fingers into the material of his tank top, looking up into his eyes. “This too.”

He lets out a slow, heavy breath, reaching up to peel the tank top off, casting it aside. And now he’s completely bare from the waist up

The sight of him always takes my breath away, as always. He’s massive, built like a fortress, every muscle defined and hardened by years of heavy labor and violence.

But as he steps back into my space, his hands coming up to cradle my face, there’s no violence in him. Only a gentleness that feels vast, protective, and completely unreserved.

He bends his head, pressing his lips to the side of my neck, right over my pulse point. His stubble rasps against my skin, a electric, grounding friction.

“Tell me you’re mine tonight,” he whispers against my skin, his lips moving down to my collarbone, laying slow, lingering kisses along the curve of my shoulder. “No club. No Cobra. Just mine.”

“I’ve always been yours, Locke,” I whisper back, my hands sliding over his broad shoulders, my fingers digging into his back. “Even before I knew you.”

He reaches down, his fingers finding the clasp of my bra. He unhooks it with a slow, steady flick of his wrist, sliding the straps down my arms, letting it fall to the floor. His hands immediately replace the fabric, his broad palms cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks, making a soft, helpless gasp slip from my lips.

“Locke…”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he rasps, his mouth coming back to mine. “Always got you.”

This kiss is different from the one in the living room. It’s unhurried, deep, and heavy with a sweet, aching friction. His tongue slides against mine in a slow, possessive rhythm, tasting me, drinking me in as if he’s been starving for miles and for days.

My hands move up to his head, my fingers burying into his thick, damp hair, pulling him closer, anchoring him to me until I can’t tell where my breath ends and his begins.

He breaks the kiss just enough to look at me, his thumb coming up to trace my lower lip, which is slick and swollen from his mouth.

“Bed,” he says against my lips. “Now.””

I nod, and take his extended hand.

We move toward the large bed together. Locke unbuckles his heavy belt, the leather rustling in the quiet room, before unzipping his pants and pushing them down his legs, kicking his boots aside until he’s stripped down to his dark briefs. I step out of my jeans and panties, kicking them away, standing before him in nothing at all.

For a second, we just stand at the edge of the mattress, looking at each other in the dim light filtering through the sheer curtains. There’s a stillness between us, a sacred, quiet space where all the armor, all the secrets, and all the fears of the day simply cease to exist.

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