Page 42 of Knox (The Devil’s Luck MC #6)

CAROLINE

K nox’s place looked only half lived in.

He flicked the lights to reveal a sparsely furnished living room and kitchen.

The sink, a sight of surprising order in the chaos, had plates piled high, yet oddly clean.

The leather couch showed the weight of time with dents in the cushions.

The side tables’ previous owner must have owned dogs because the corners were chewed to hell.

One had a battered lamp. The other had at least six empty shot glasses.

And the TV resting on a coffee table and propped against the wall?

Old enough it didn’t have a flat screen.

Basically, it was a bachelor pad that desperately needed a woman’s touch.

Knox scrubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “It’s, uh, under construction.”

I padded into the kitchen to open the fridge, hoping for some water. I wasn’t surprised to see the light was out, the beer cans and condiment bottles left in the dark. At least they were still cold—he was still paying the electric bill.

As if I owned the place, I went through every cabinet.

It was less about searching for something and more about my amusement at the sheer sparseness of everything.

A sad number of regular glasses, most plastic, paper plates only, and sauce-stained Tupperware.

Damn. He knew how to make spaghetti? Or just ordered local Italian with leftovers.

Knox watched my whole exploration silently from behind the counter with mismatched stools, a blush creeping up his neck. “Welcome to my palace, baby?” he tried to flirt.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by a place that looks no better than a frat house?” I snorted, propping my elbows on the opposite side of the counter. “Let me guess. The bed’s not made.”

“Ding ding ding.”

“Well, I’m not fucking you on dirty sheets.”

“Understood, princess. Clean ones in the closet.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Musty?”

Knox dropped his face in his hands. “Damn, woman, breaking a man down. Please tell me you prefer this over the trailer, at least.”

“Mm.” I pretended to think about it, then said, “Yes. I won’t have to be paranoid a bear will look through the window and decide to join in the fun.”

Knox lifted his head, and I almost laughed at the pleading in his eyes. “Can we at least make out on the couch while I wash the sheets?”

I smiled and snorted. “Fine. Just throw them in the dryer on quick dry.”

“Make yourself at home, baby.” He chuckled, disappearing down a hallway. I heard distant sounds of him fumbling with closet doors and banging his head on the dryer door with a curse.

I laughed under my breath, grabbing one of the glasses and rinsing it free of a layer of dust. I wasn’t so entitled that I couldn’t drink tap water, even if it didn’t taste that good at all. When I heard the dryer finally start up, Knox returned—and he was shirtless.

Fuck, his body was nice. He took care of that a hell of a lot better than his home.

Without the pressure of being on the run and the weight of my father’s shadow over us, I realized we had breathing room to actually take our time. Nothing had to be rushed or desperate.

So I could take all the time in the world to admire him head to toe. Ignoring his still-healing face from Jackson and Mason’s beatings, Knox’s dark hair was mussed and damp, as if he’d wet it. His stubble was darkening into thicker scruff.

And holy shit, how had I not noticed it before—that dusting of hair across his pecs, tapering into a line that led straight down between his abs into a happy trail that pointed exactly where I planned to go—along with the deep V of his hipbones exposed by low-slung sweats he’d changed into.

My mouth went dry. My thighs didn’t.

Heat throbbed low in my belly as every rational thought left my body.

He had more tattoos than the ones I’d traced at the hotel.

A skeleton hand holding a royal flush below his ribs.

A snake coiling around his right forearm.

A rose with thorns on his left wrist. Another date in Roman numerals across from the ones representing his mother’s death.

The Reno skyline on his inner forearm opposite the Devil’s Luck shamrock.

Each one meant something—or nothing at all. And all I had was a brand on my spine.

But that wasn’t important right then. All that mattered was how much I wanted to lick that happy trail beyond his waistband.

I didn’t know what to do with my arms. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I was holding my breath for no reason.

I’d been with men with tattoos, but they were always vulgar. I never had a thing for them. But on Knox? Well, now I did.

“You like what you see, baby girl?”

I blinked rapidly. “Huh?”

“Eyes up here, Care,” Knox said, deep and smooth, crossing the room toward me.

I took a few stumbling steps back. Fuck, I couldn’t think straight.

He just chuckled. It made shivers skitter down my spine. “I walk toward you, and you forget how to breathe? God, you’re cute when you malfunction. You want me bad, don’t you, baby girl? Still want to wait until the sheets are done?”

“Um.”

Knox caught my hands in his. They were callused but gentle.

It was almost enough to forget how he’d edged me in that damn hotel room.

He guided my arms around his neck, then took my waist with one arm, slowly pulling me flush against him.

With his free hand, he tipped my face up to his—and kissed me so tenderly that tears sprang to my eyes.

Knox broke the kiss slowly, carefully. “You look good like that. Unguarded.”

My heart lurched. He had said that before—at the trailer, when I was treating him like gutter trash while all he tried to do was make me not feel like shit.

A tear slipped free from the corner of my eye, streaking down my cheek.

Knox wiped it away with a thumbpad. “Do you still think I’m a stupid, egotistic, savior-complex cockroach?”

I couldn’t stifle my laugh, dropping my forehead on his downy-haired chest to hide my embarrassment. “I guess I did call you that, didn’t I?”

“I forgive you.”

“I hear a ‘but.’”

“ But you have to spread those legs for my own goddamn feast once those stupid sheets are done.”

“Okay.” The word came out as barely a breath. Hell, I sounded like some wide-eyed virgin who didn’t know what to do with herself.

Knox laughed again, his hands going to my ass, his mouth nipping my earlobe. “I can take you against the wall first, if you want.”

Holy fucking shit.

I had never been so desperate to get my clothes off. I clawed at my shirt and pants, and suddenly Knox was helping, and I didn’t give a shit about the sound of seams ripping. When I was in my bra and panties, Knox’s eyes flashed with hunger.

“Fuck, woman,” he rasped. “You deserve more than twenty-dollar sheets from Amazon.”

Knox made me feel powerful—gave me room to be myself. And his unguardedness flipped the script.

I took charge. But not like before.

I slipped my bra straps down, teasing the cup but not freeing a tit just yet.

Knox watched every move. “It’s a good thing, then,” I crooned, stepping away, making him want to chase me, “that I know for a fact my father left me every penny of his fortune. I can buy you sheets made of solid gold if you want. Or an actual couch.”

Knox followed like a man possessed. “Thing’s an heirloom.”

“Just the sight of it makes me want to burn it.”

“Have mercy, baby.”

I unclipped my bra and let it fall at our feet, then let him touch me. His thumbs flicked my tits, making me gasp, but I kept my voice a controlled purr. “Make me.”

Knox snarled like a beast unleashed, hauling me off my feet and stripping my panties with one rough yank that burned across my thighs. I yelped, clutching his shoulders as he slammed me back into the wall, caging me with his muscled body.

He didn’t give me time to adjust. His mouth crashed into mine, hot, claiming. His teeth grazed my lower lip, then sucked it between his like he owned it.

Every nerve in my body lit up like fireworks. I moaned into the kiss. My nails dug into his shoulders as his hand gripped my ass—the other moving straight between my legs, a finger sliding inside me all too effortlessly.

“Already wet for me, spitfire?” Knox chuckled darkly against my throat. “That mouth says one thing, but your pussy’s been begging since I walked in.”

I ground against him, knocking our hipbones together, wordlessly begging, desperate. His cock nudged my thigh through those goddamn sweatpants and I needed it—needed him.

“Fuck me, Nate,” I gasped, already trembling. “Knox, just?—”

“Not yet, baby girl.” A second finger slipped inside, and I threw my head back in pleasure. “I want you to soak my hand before I give it to you.”

Being finger-fucked against a wall was never on my bingo card, but fuck , Knox made it feel so good with every crook of his fingers against my walls.

I clawed at his shoulders, writhing as much as I was able in the cage of his muscled body, barely more than a horny mess of putty for him to play with.

I wasn’t trying to take control now. I didn’t want to dominate or wrestle power from Knox. I let go completely. I let him tell me what to do. I let myself just be for once. I let myself trust the man who burned through every lie I told myself and built a new me from the ashes.

Trust .

I never earned it before. I never gave it before.

And damn did both of those feel good.

Not as good as his fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves inside me.

My entire body seized. A cry escaped my lips. Knox kept talking filthy, making my core pulse harder, wetter, damn near painful.

“You feel fucking perfect,” he rumbled against my skin. “So tight around my fingers—fuck, baby, you’re squeezing like your pussy knows who it belongs to. So wet for me. Just for me. No one else. You hear me? Come for me, Caroline, so that I can fuck you right in the bedroom.”

I bucked my hips again, waiting to ride the wave that was rushing toward me with every curl of his fingers.