Page 82 of The Quiet After The Fall

His head falls back against the tub as a groan leaves his lips. This is nothing. We’ve touched like this. Done more. I can make him feel good.

He sighs in relief and my mind is made. I take over, jerking him off slowly, watching his chest rise and fall as he fights to stay still. Then he’s reaching for me, finding the hem of my shirt and slipping his fingers beneath.

Water drips down my stomach, soaking my clothes as he glides his way up my curves, cupping my breast. He teases my nipple, pinching lightly until I bite back a moan.

“Feels so good,” he says, lifting his hips slightly, splashing water over the edge. “Faster. Please.”

It’s the please coupled with the sensation of his fingers that has me lost in lust. High on the sounds of him sucking air through his teeth. I want to rip off my clothes and straddle him. Ride his thick cock until I’m screaming with pleasure.

I up my pace, swiping my thumb over his crown, collecting his precum before it washes off into the bathwater. His breaths are ragged, his eyes scrunched in concentration. I could stop right now. Punish him. Make him beg and plead to come.

“Sawyer.” He says it like it’s the only word he knows. The only name that exists in his world.

“Come for me,” I say, pushing away the thoughts. I want this as much as he does.

His cock twitches, balls drawing tight, right before he groans, spilling over my hand, threads of it clouding into the bathwater.

Then he’s boneless, chest heaving, as he relaxes lower into the water. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, eyes still closed.

“Pretty sure Moretti’s guy already one-upped me there.” I rinse my hand off, and immediately regret bringing it up when his face shutters, that easy, loose look from a second ago morphing right back into something guarded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“No, you’re right.” He opens his dark eyes and finds mine. “We can’t just pretend that didn’t happen because it’s easier.”

“Yeah,” I say, annoyed with my big stupid mouth for ruining the moment. I push up to stand. “I’ll let you finish up. I’m⁠—”

“Sawyer,” he interrupts. “You’re right. I mean it.” I can already see his muscles shifting back to his baseline, tight with anxiety. “We’ll talk when I’m done. Figure some shit out.”

I nod, hating that we have to deal with this. I’m just so tired. It’s hitting me. Tired and fucking horny now. “I’ll grab you a towel and leave it on the counter.”

I leave him to it, giving him time to wash away the blood and sweat, and by the time he’s toweled off, boxers on, and back in bed, the adrenaline’s finally draining out of both of us in one long exhausted wave.

I curl up beside him, careful of his ribs, and my phone buzzes against the nightstand before either of us speaks a word about Velocity or fathers or anything else too heavy to deal with.

“That’s probably Gia,” I mumble, not moving an inch to get it.

Knox reaches over me to grab it instead. He somehow already knows my passcode, and reads the message. “She says she can get you to Miriam’s tonight. Wants you packed by six.”

“Mmm. Good.” I burrow deeper into his side, half asleep already. He’s warm and comfortable and everything I need right now. I’m floating in that space between dreaming and lucidity, and it feels incredible. “Should ask my dad.”

“What?”

“Mmhm.” I’m babbling at this point, riding the edge of sleep. “David…He’d know. Always knows.”

“Sawyer?”

I fall into darkness.

Chapter 21

Knox

Sawyer sleeps for hours. She needs it. I still can’t believe she watched me all night. Not a second of sleep. I can’t help but do the same, moving in as close to her as I can, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.

My ribs are a dull, constant throb no matter how still I stay, sharper when I breathe deeply. I’d give anything to be able to lie here all day feeling sorry for myself, blaming someone else for what happened and shutting down to wallow.

It’s my own fault. All of this is. And no amount of wallowing or self-hatred will change that. Time isn’t on our side anymore and the only thing left to do is work out the problem—not with my wrecked body. With my mind.

Should ask my dad. David…he’d know. Always knows.