Saturday I knocked like I had a right.
Knox opened on the second knock. No sweatpants joke. T-shirt. Bare feet. He looked at my mouth first.
“Say it again.”
“Break the rule. Take it. I don’t want it saved if it isn’t you.”
He pulled me in. The door shut. He kissed me like the kitchen counter had been a delay he regretted. Hands under my dress. No underwear — I had learned. He found me wet and swore into my mouth, two fingers sliding through my folds, not in yet, just spreading the slick I had walked over with.
“Last out,” he said against my teeth. “You want to keep it for a husband, leave.”
I didn’t leave.
He took me to the couch, not the bed, like a bed would make it a love story. Dress off. He stripped. I saw all of him in the afternoon light — the c**k I had come on from the outs
