Page 12 of Knox (The Devil’s Luck MC #6)

CAROLINE

A sshole .

Arrogant, rude, smug fucking bastard.

I hated him. I truly, deeply hated Nathaniel Knox.

But fuck I wanted to know what his lips felt like. Were they softer than that sharp, wicked grin he gave when he enjoyed pissing me off too much? What would his kiss taste like? Blood and tequila, most likely. More than likely.

I didn’t want to want him, but here I was, bone-tired, soul-weary, coming apart at the seams—and horny as hell.

I knew it was really just the need for escapism, but fuck rational thinking. I wanted to feel something that wasn’t pain or fear. A good-looking Devil was just the solution to ease the heat pooling in my core, which was burning hotter than the dying fire pit.

We were just standing there in the forest clearing with his dead father’s trailer. I let him into my personal space, and he was less than two feet away. If either of us just leaned forward a little bit…

I said what I meant, that no sob story was going to make me feel sympathetic, but then Knox told me about how shitty his childhood was. It paralleled how shitty my childhood was.

I wanted to forget that, too. The want to feel sympathetic. I knew it wasn’t pity I felt, and I hated myself for letting him get under my bruised, sliced-up skin.

He let himself get bruised and sliced up. To save me , the least redeemable woman in Reno, Nevada.

Damn it, Knox was handsome. I refused to let the fact sink in.

Deliciously handsome, regrettably. Who cared if it was the tequila talking?

I was perfectly sober at the poker den. He wasn’t a GQ model with that crooked-bridge nose, as if it had been broken.

It wouldn’t be surprising considering what little I knew about him.

I did know that childhoods as brutal as ours led to troubled teenagers.

There was a great chance he’d have found himself in juvenile detention.

And that stubbled jaw? Fuck. What would it feel like scraping over my skin? What would his hair feel like through my fingers? Honestly, I didn’t want to do that. It was still as oily as a ‘60s greaser.

His lips, though?

No. I had to resist. I wasn’t some floozy. But I wanted relief.

When I caved in, I forgot everything. Everything except Knox.

I surged forward and crashed my mouth into his. It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was teeth and heat and frenzy. It was escapism at its best.

I kissed him like I wanted to hurt him, and maybe I did. Maybe I wanted to bruise him the way everything in my life bruised me.

It wasn’t hard considering we were blooming with bruises already.

The kiss hurt . We both had busted lips.

I didn’t give a damn. Knox grunted in pain but didn’t pull away.

He didn’t drop me, either, when I wrapped my legs around his waist, catching the underside of my thighs.

He lifted me, hands under my ass. They supported my weight with ease.

Fuck, his fingers pressing into my flesh felt so good.

The kiss was ravenous. Messy. Not good but also great because everything was great when you were drunk and not dead.

Even though I said I wouldn’t, I dragged my hands up the back of his neck, threading my fingers in the tangle of his hair.

He groaned into my mouth. It sent a shiver up my spine.

I nipped at his lower lip, wanting to hear the noise again.

This time, it was more of a growl, a warning, but it only made my legs wrap tighter around him.

I didn’t let up as he backed us into the side of the trailer.

Something clattered when he kicked it, but neither of us stopped.

My back pressed against the cool metal. Knox trapped me there, kissing me like he meant it.

First on my mouth, then my jaw, then back to my lips like he couldn’t decide where to kiss me first. My whole body ached.

It was more than just the brutality I’d endured in that warehouse office.

This was a throbbing heat that only Knox could douse.

I wanted more. Needed more. I needed to shut my mind off and get lost in this—in him.

“You taste like blood,” Knox said between kisses, voice low and as rough as gravel. “It’s gross as hell.”

“Then stop,” I growled back breathlessly. “I dare you.”

Knox pushed me against the trailer. It was cold between my shoulder blades. I gasped, my eyes flying open. His eyes were wild with desire. I could see that even in the dark. I could feel his want in the way he held me.

My hands slid down his shoulders, slow, torturous. Knox’s brows drew together, and he groaned again. I felt a flare of satisfaction bloom in my chest. The only thing that felt better than a man inside me was knowing I had power over the man.

But Knox wasn’t a pushover. He felt the power shift.

His brows lowered, and the look in his eyes made me second-guess ever thinking I could control him.

I gasped when he bounced me in his hands, like he was adjusting his grip but as if showing all it would take to drop me on my ass and forget this whole thing.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders in a clear, Don’t you dare gesture. I matched him glare for glare, daring him to cut me off. I knew he wanted me just as much as I wanted him. And as soon as he carried me into the trailer, that would be proven.

“Take me,” I rasped fiercely. To encourage him, I rolled my hips against his. Knox’s eyes flashed. “Right here, right now.”

A wicked grin spread across his face like a challenge. “Why should I?”

“Because—”

Knox cut me off when his lips ghosted over my throat. He scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin, then soothed it with a slow swipe of his tongue. I wanted to fall apart. But that made my legs tighten around his hips, the heat in my core hotter, tighter.

“Fuck me, Knox,” I hissed, dragging my lips across his cheekbone. “Just do it. Make me come. Make me?—”

“Not tonight.”

I stilled.

After all that? Is he kidding?

Knox was still nipping at me, cute little kisses to wind down the intensity. I felt him start to set me down. I clung tighter, getting angry.

My life was burning down. It had been for almost a year, and I had barely noticed—or at least, I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

My father, whom I thought would protect me until I one day ascended to the presidency of the Wolverines, was going mad with power and desperation.

It was a terribly na?ve dream and I was reaping the fucking consequences. I was on the run for my life.

On top of that, I was kissing my sworn enemy and literally the last person on the planet I had business kissing. Let alone fucking.

I wanted a fucking escape . And I’ll be damned if I didn’t get what I wanted.

An escape. Just for a little bit.

My voice cracked. “Please.”

Knox shook his head and said, more firmly, “Not. Tonight.”

The dismissal sank in a little more. After kissing me like he wanted to devour me, after letting me climb him like a fucking tree, he was going to tell me no ?

I felt a cold fury coil in my chest. “You’re kidding me,” I said, voice flat.

Knox flashed a grin. “Nope.”

“Put me down.”

He set me on my feet, steadying me when I swayed. I hated him for the kindness of it.

I kneed him in the balls.

Knox dropped like a sack of bricks, groaning as he curled inward. “Fuck, woman, why?—”

I stepped around him without a trace of guilt and grabbed the handle of the trailer door like it was my goddamm house. Knox’s hand slammed into it before I could fully open it.

“Stop being a brat.” His voice had a hoarse edge, as he was trying to recover from his kicked balls.

I crossed my arms. “Why should I?”

“Because fucking me isn’t going to make you feel better.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You’re drunk and injured. I’m not going to fuck someone as?—”

I shoved at his chest. “As what, Royal?” I snapped. “As vulnerable as me? As impressionable as me? A spoiled little girl who just wants a little fun for once in her fucking life?”

Knox barely budged. Clearly, I had more strength in my knee than in my arms at the moment.

He towered over me, caging me between his body and the trailer, but I wasn’t afraid this time.

I glared at him defiantly. He glared back, but there wasn’t much heat in it—just exhausted annoyance.

“Do you even know what fun is, spitfire?”

“Yes. It’s fooling around with a stranger, getting a good high, and then walking away, no strings attached.”

“I beg to differ.”

I scowled. “Dick.”

“Spoiled brat.”

“Cocky bastard.”

Knox kept glaring, then suddenly, he snapped, “You know what?” Then he was kissing me again, hoisting me into his arms. Reaching behind me, he flung open the door and climbed inside.

We bumped into whatever was inside. Something fell and clattered on the hard floor. I barely saw any of it. All I knew and felt was just his hands squeezing my ass and his mouth burning hot on mine. He tasted like blood and the flavor packet from the ramen.

And then he tossed me down on an old spring mattress that smelled like must. It immediately felt gross.

But I still didn’t give a damn. I snatched his shoulders, yanking him forward to kiss him.

I whimpered when Knox’s tongue swept into my mouth.

His hands pressed into the mattress on either side of me.

So close.

My fingers scrabbled at the waistband of his jeans, fumbling for the button. His hand caught mine, pushing it away. I made an indignant noise and tried again. This time, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them above me.

It would have turned me on more if none of it smarted like a bitch.

I yelped in pain, my wrists stinging. Knox released me and stepped back. “See? You’re hurt. I’m not sleeping with a woman whose wrists are rubbed raw from being held prisoner with goddamn rope for what, two days, probably?”

Knox flicked on an overhead light. I winced, shielding my eyes, which also hurt. Light and being drunk did not go well together.

“I can handle it,” I insisted, sitting up and reaching for him blindly. “It’s nothing I haven’t endured before.”

“Liar.”

I froze. Knox’s voice wasn’t harsh or accusing now. It was quiet. Soft. Hurt. The back of my neck prickled. He knew. The bastard knew my father put me through hell—we had both confessed childhood traumas—and now he guessed that it had only gotten worse with age.

My throat tightened. I tried to dredge up pride and defiance to snap back, but exhaustion had set in. A bone-deep, hollowed-out feeling dragging me down, burning the backs of my eyes.

Knox straightened his jacket. “The bedding is only two days old. I cleaned it out the day of the poker den. There’s no running water, but there’s this thing under here.

” He knelt to open a cabinet and haul out a plastic water container.

It had a spigot that Knox screwed on. “There. Use it how you want. There’s clothes in that cabinet.

” He pointed to the cabinets above the bed. “Just guy clothes. No white pantsuits.”

We locked eyes, and I was ready to lunge one more time and yank him into bed with me, but Knox just gave me a two-finger salute and headed for the door. “Night, spitfire.”

“Where are you sleeping?” I demanded. “This is your bed.”

“Yes,” Knox said with matching sarcasm. “It is. But not when you’re sleeping in it. I’ll crash in the truck.”

“No. Just get in with me, idiot.”

“Nope. Truck sounds better.”

“Stop being petty.”

“Stop being horny.”

Knox was grinning now. Scowling, I grabbed one of the pillows and tossed it. He caught it.

Of course he fucking did.

“Good night , Caroline,” he said pointedly, tossing the pillow on the edge of the bed before flicking off the lights and exiting the trailer.

“I hate you,” I called after him.

“No, you don’t!” he called back immediately.

I didn’t bother with water or even getting under the covers. I just yanked the closest pillow under my head and curled in a ball.

I hated him.

But I really, really didn’t.

I didn’t know what scared me more as I lay in the dark quiet—how much I wanted him to stay close to me, or what it would mean if he wanted that, too.