Page 49 of Knight (Chambers Brothers Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Evangeline

My bare feet are filthy from running through service hallways, my stockings shredded beyond repair. The expensive suit Magdalena brought me is ruined, wrinkled and torn from crawling through maintenance shafts. None of that matters. We got out. We're alive.

My body still thrums with leftover adrenaline, every nerve ending firing at once. The memory of Knight’s hands steadying me as we ran, his body shielding mine, the desperate kiss we shared in the dark—it all crashes through me in waves.

Knight takes a circuitous route back to his apartment, watching for signs we’re being followed. His focus stays sharp, but there’s an edge to his movements now, a coiled tension that has nothing to do with possible pursuit. Every time his gaze flicks toward me, heat pools low in my stomach. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and I find myself mesmerized by the play of muscle in his forearms as he navigates through traffic.

"We’re here." Knight finally pulls into the gated community where his apartment is. "No one followed us."

The events of the morning hit me all at once—security alarms blaring, crawling through air ducts, running barefoot through service tunnels. How close we came to being caught. How much worse it could have been.

Knight's hand settles at the small of my back as he guides me toward his private elevator. The contact burns through the thin material of my jacket, igniting nerve endings I didn't even know I had. His touch is professional, steadying, but there's nothing professional about the way my body responds to his proximity.

The elevator doors slide closed, sealing us away from the outside world. From the danger we just escaped. From everything except this crackling awareness between us. Knight's breathing changes, becoming deeper, more controlled.

And I don’t think … I just move.

I spin toward him, my hands fisting in his shirt as I drag his mouth to mine. He responds instantly, backing me against the elevator wall hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. But I don’t need air. I need this . Need to feel alive. Need him.

The kiss ignites something primal between us, nothing like our frantic contact in the maintenance hallway. This is raw need mixed with the heady rush of survival. Knight's fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth claims mine. Every nerve ending fires at once, my body hyper-aware of everywhere we touch.

The elevator chimes but we're too lost in each other to care. His thigh pushes between mine, the firm pressure making my breath catch. Heat pools low in my stomach when his teeth graze my lower lip, the sharp contrast of pain and pleasure sending electricity down my spine. My knees buckle but his hands are there, solid and sure against my waist.

"Eva." My name rasps from his throat, rough with desire. It carries layers of meaning—a question, a warning, a promise.

My response is to pull him closer, my fingers fumbling with his shirt buttons, desperate to feel skin against skin. The moment my hands make contact with the hard planes of his stomach, something in him snaps. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my skirt bunching around my hips when I wrap my legs around his waist. His dick presses against me through our clothes as he carries me from the elevator, sending fresh heat coursing through my veins.

The apartment door slams behind us and I find myself pinned against it, caught between the cold wood and Knight's burning heat. His mouth blazes a trail down my neck, alternating between sharp nips and soothing kisses that have me arching into him. I tug at his shirt with shaking hands but can't manage the buttons. With a growl that vibrates against my chest, he tears it open himself, sending buttons scattering across the floor.

"Sure about this?" He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes.

"I need—" The words tumble out between ragged breaths. "I need to feel you. All of you."

"You have me." His voice drops lower, a promise that makes me shiver. His hands find the hem of my blouse, and the sound of tearing fabric only heightens my arousal.

When his mouth reclaims mine, it's with an intensity that steals my breath away. His tongue slides against mine while his hands explore newly exposed skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Every touch feels like worship and possession combined.

His hands slide down my sides, thumbs tracing up my ribs. When his fingers brush the underside of my breasts through my bra, my head falls back against the door with a soft thud. He takes advantage of my exposed throat, mouth closing over my pulse and sucking at my skin until I gasp.

"Still sure?" His voice carries an edge of strain, like he's barely maintaining control.

I reach behind me to unhook my bra. “Very sure.”

His sharp inhale sends satisfaction coursing through me. I'm not the only one falling apart here. The scrap of lace joins our ruined shirts on the floor.

The first touch of his mouth on my breast makes me moan, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there. Heat and suction alternate with the sharp nip of teeth, sending jolts of pleasure straight down to my clit. His hand finds my other breast, circling and pinching my nipple until I'm writhing against him.

"Bed," I manage to gasp. "Now."

He lifts me again, strong hands cupping my thighs. The movement brings his dick firmly against me, and I can't stop myself from grinding down, seeking friction. His steps falter and he presses me against the hallway wall, thrusting against me in a preview of what’s to come.

"Keep that up and we won't make it to the bedroom." The warning is rough.

"Would that be so terrible?"

His laugh is low and husky. "I want to take my time with you. Learn everything that makes you moan." As if to prove his point, his teeth find the lobe of my ear and he bites down.

We do make it to the bedroom, barely. He lays me on the mattress with surprising gentleness before coming down above me. The weight of him feels like an anchor, keeping me from floating away on waves of sensation.

My hands explore the broad expanse of his back, tracing scars and muscle. When my nails scrape down his spine, his hips jerk against mine. The friction pulls matching moans from both of us.

"Eva." My name sounds like a prayer on his lips. His hands slide down my sides to my hips. "Let me touch you. Please."

The plea in his voice undoes me. I lift my hips as he peels away my skirt and underwear, leaving me bare beneath him. His eyes darken as they roam over me, hungry and possessive.

"Beautiful." He presses open-mouthed kisses down my stomach, hands spreading my thighs wider.

The first touch of his tongue against my clit makes me arch up. He flattens one hand against my stomach, holding me in place, while his mouth explores me with a devastating thoroughness. His tongue alternates between broad savoring strokes and quick flicks that have me seeing stars. When he slides one finger inside, then two, curling them just right, pleasure coils through my body.

"Knight, please." I don't recognize my own voice, breathless and needy.

"Not yet." He nips at my inner thigh. "I want to feel you come apart on my tongue first."

His renewed focus sends me spiraling higher until release crashes over me in waves. He works me through it until I'm trembling, oversensitive and desperate for more.

While I'm still catching my breath, he sheds his remaining clothes. I drink in the sight of him—all lean muscle and coiled power. When I reach for him, he comes willingly, settling between my thighs like he belongs there.

The sight of him above me steals my breath. Lines of code trace across his chest and down his ribs, black ink stark against tanned skin. I reach up to trace one that curves around his heart, the symbols meaningless to me but clearly significant to him.

His muscles flex under my touch as he reaches down to wrap one hand around his dick and press it against me. Our eyes lock as he pushes inside, the stretch and fullness drawing a gasp from my throat. He stills, giving me time to adjust, but I can feel him shaking with the effort of holding back.

"Move," I breathe, lifting my hips to take him deeper.

He withdraws slowly before driving back in, setting a pace that makes me cling to his shoulders. More inked code catches my eye there, wrapping around his bicep, but coherent thought scatters as his dick hits that perfect spot inside me.

My nails dig into his back, and the slight pain seems to ignite something in him. His thrusts become harder, deeper, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit with his fingers.

"Come for me again." His voice is strained. "Want to feel your pussy come all over my dick."

The combination of his touch and his voice pushes me over the edge. My release triggers his, and he buries his face in my neck with a groan as he follows me into oblivion.

When my heart stops racing, and I can finally catch my breath, I trace my fingers over the code that runs along his collarbone, curiosity finally winning out over satiated exhaustion.

"What do they mean?"

His hand catches mine, guiding it to the phrase near his heart. "This one? 'Code is poetry.'" His lips quirk. "It seemed profound when I was younger."

I trace another that winds down his ribs. "And this?"

"'Access denied? Challenge accepted.'" He shifts so I can see the one on his bicep. "That one says 'Permission is just a polite way of saying try harder.'"

"Of course they're all about hacking." I press a kiss to the one over his heart. "You really are a code poet, aren't you?"

"More like a digital artist with trust issues." His arms tighten around me. "Though you seem to be bypassing all my security protocols."

"Is that your way of saying I've hacked your defenses?"

He rolls us suddenly, pinning me beneath him again. "That was terrible. I should kick you out for that alone."

"Too late." I wrap my legs around his waist. "I'm already past your firewalls."

"Now you're just trying to annoy me with bad tech puns." But his mouth catches mine in a kiss that quickly rekindles the heat between us.

This time is slower, more about exploration than desperation. I learn the stories behind each tattoo, the way specific touches make his breath catch, how to make him lose that perfect control he values so much.

Afterward, we lie tangled in sweat-dampened sheets, my head on his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat under my ear grounds me in this moment, while my mind tries to process how completely everything has changed between us in such a short time.

From him holding me at gunpoint to … this. Naked and vulnerable, tracing the secrets inked into his skin. The transition should feel jarring, but somehow it doesn't. Maybe because every step that led us here, every choice and risk, has stripped away both of our defenses bit by bit.

His hand catches mine as I follow a line of text down his ribs, bringing my fingers to his lips. The gesture feels more intimate than anything we've just done.

Sleep tugs at me, but I fight against it, not ready to let go of this strange peace we've found. His arms tighten around me, one hand drawing idle patterns on my back.

The last thing I register before exhaustion claims me is how right this feels—like finding that perfect book you didn't even know you were searching for.