Page 95 of Hard Bargain

His pulse thudded everywhere at once. Each beat whispered the same promise Dominic had uttered in that deep voice: I need to fuck you.

Knox shoved upright and paced. Five strides carried him to the window, five strides back. Each turn dragged a fresh wave of adrenaline across nerves skinned raw.

Then his father’s venom shoved its way into the room.

His voice crawled up from the worst corners of his memory, thick with beer and contempt. Filth. Sick. The words slithered through Knox’s head until his skin felt too tight and bile crept up the back of his throat. Shame coiled in his gut, a nauseating lump that made him want to scrub himself raw, to prove he was still the kind of son his father wouldn’t spit on.

He pressed a palm to his sternum, but it didn’t help. Every inhale tasted like guilt. The room swayed, dim walls closing in, echoing with slammed doors and the razor-sharp words that had shadowed his childhood.

Had the old man seen this part of him all along? Was that why he kept drilling the poison in—because he’d already guessed? The thought curdled Knox’s stomach. If his father had suspected, then Knox must have spent years burying every flicker of curiosity so deep he couldn’t feel it himself.

I suppressed it, a small voice whispered. I shoved it down so far I forgot it existed.

Knox let that thought settle. The brutal possibility of it.

It almost crushed him.

Almost.

Because even now, alone in his room, he could feel the ghost of Dominic’s gaze, the heat of it searing through the shame. He remembered the way his entire body had answered without hesitation, like it had always known the truth, even when Knox couldn’t face it.

“Enough.” He said it out loud because he needed to hear it.

His father was dead. Ash in the ground, a voice that only had power if Knox let it. But Dominic? He was out there, alive and waiting, offering something fierce and exhilarating.

He crossed to the wardrobe, grabbed a towel, and headed for the bathroom. Each step felt weighted with intention and purpose. Each step felt like shedding a layer of the past—leaving the poison of shame and self-denial behind. Each step felt like moving toward the fire that made him feel more awake than he ever had before.

It was a choice, and for once, Knox was making it with his eyes wide open.

* * *

An hour later the elevator opened and Knox stepped into Dominic’s loft. Everything smelled faintly of cedar, leather, and a darker note Knox couldn’t name but had come to associate with the man who owned this space.

Dominic stood barefoot near the windows, grey sweats riding low on his hips, a plain white tee soft over his shoulders. He held a tumbler of whiskey, city lights flickering across the glass.

The sight knocked a breath from Knox.

He’d never seen Dominic look so unarmored, and the contrast made him more dangerous, not less. Uneven stitches traced his bicep, the small imperfection only sharpening the rest of him.

Dominic’s gaze tracked Knox from feet to eyes. Heated. He lifted a spare glass from the sill. “You want a drink?”

Knox nodded. His throat was too dry for words. He crossed the room and Dominic pressed the glass into his palm, their fingers brushing, heat darting up Knox’s arm.

“You came,” Dominic said.

“I said I would.”

Dominic’s eyes searched his. “Do you still want this?”

Knox’s heart pounded hard enough to shake the whiskey. He met that dark stare and breathed, “Yes.” The word rasped out before he could second-guess it.

Heat flickered across Dominic’s face. He set his glass down with a soft click and pushed off the window, closing the gap until Knox had to tilt his head back to hold his gaze. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked.

Knox shook his head. “Not with a man.”

Dominic nodded, like that matched what he’d expected. Knox’s own question tumbled out. “Have you?”

Dominic’s jaw flexed. “No. Always thought I was straight.” His mouth quirked, half-bitter. “Then you walked in and ruined my math.”