Page 32 of The Quiet After The Fall

Knox: How I wanted to hold you. To slip my fingers into that slit and drag them up your thigh. Sitting on those steps was torture. Every time you crossed your legs or moved, I couldn’t stop staring.

Me: It’s just a skirt, Knox. They make millions of them just like it.

Except when I close my eyes, I can almost feel his hands on me. I love that I affect him so deeply. It’s shocking, but I’ll take it.

Knox: Not just a skirt. Not on you. I had to sit on my hands the whole way home so I didn’t reach for you.

I bite my lip. The disciplined, restrained version of Knox confessing he was barely holding it together does something to me I don’t want to think about too closely.

Me: You hid it well, Stalker.

Knox: I’m good at hiding how I feel. You should know that by now.

That lands a little too close to all the things we’re deliberately not talking about. But I don’t let it stop me, not while I have him like this. I roll onto my stomach and bite back a moan when my nipples brush against my cool sheets. I didn’t even realize how hard they got.

Me: So what would you have done…if you hadn’t sat on your hands? If you let yourself be bad?

The three dots appear. Disappear. And appear again. I imagine him deciding how honest to be, how dirty…and the wait alone has my pulse hammering in my throat.

Knox: There she is.

I smile, picturing the exact face he’s making. I’m about to goad him some more when another message comes through.

Knox: Pulled you into my lap, slipped my hand up your perfect thighs, and felt how soaked your underwear were for me.

I bite my lip, letting that picture form in my mind. I grab my pillow and slide it under my hips, needing some kind of friction between my legs.

Me: Bold of you to think I’d be wet for you.

Fuck, I’m wet right now. He knows I’m full of shit.

Knox: I don’t think, Thorne. I know. You forget how well I can read you.

I roll my hips against the pillow and gasp into the dark. He’s not even here and he’s got me like this. I should tell him what I’m doing. Make him jealous that he’s not beside me, under me, over me.

Me: You don’t know anything.

But denying is so much more fun.

Knox: No? Tell me your nipples aren’t hard right now. That your hand isn’t sliding up your nightshirt, rolling them between your fingers.

I freeze, breathing hard. I wasn’t but now I want to. I prop the phone and yank my nightshirt off, then with my back arched, I glide my hand over my heavy aching breasts, until I’m lightly grazing my nipples.

Me: Not hard at all. But I bet you are. Poor, poor Knox.

Knox: Liar. Pinch them for me. Pretend my mouth’s on you.

I do and the gasp that comes out is humiliating. I’m so glad he can’t hear how he’s affecting me.

Me: You’re delusional. I’d never let you put your mouth anywhere near me.

Knox: Oh yeah? And I bet your hand’s not drifting lower? You’re not already wet?

My fingers are there before I finish reading. I press the pillow harder between my thighs and grind down against my own hand, hating him, hating how good it is.

Me: No. Never.

Knox: Keep telling yourself that. Spread your legs. Imagine it’s me…my fingers, slowly circling, getting you ready before I give you what you actually want.