Only With You (Knights #2)

42

JULIANNA

“I didn’t know she was coming, but I should’ve known. She likes to do this, show up randomly.” He rakes his fingers through his wet hair.

I shouldn’t, but I hyperfixate on the way his tattooed bicep bulges, staring at the deep indent below his deltoid, and my mouth waters at how firm and toned his arms are.

Then I make the mistake of letting my eyes coast down his inked torso and stop at the towel hanging loosely at his hips.

“Are you done eye fucking me or should I put some clothes on?” he arrogantly questions.

I stare at him apathetically, or at least, doing the best that I can. Internally, my mind is in turmoil, uncertain about what I should and shouldn’t be feeling for him.

Everything happened so fast, my brain hasn’t caught up the way my heart has. It’s beating at a pace that should be alarming and concerning for reasons that are becoming harder and harder to ignore.

I settle on, “Doesn’t matter. I won’t be here long.”

That cuts the playfulness in his eyes. “And what if I don’t want you to leave?”

My pulse soars wildly. “Are you just saying that because I brought you those?”

“No, it’s not because you brought them, but thank you. Though I don’t appreciate you making me share them, because I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

Landon sets the Tupperware on his desk and grabs his glasses as he sits on the edge. He puts them on then folds his arms against his chest and ankle over the other.

The connotation in his words makes my head spin and I tell myself not to overanalyze them.

“I can always make more.” I take a seat on the bench next to his piano and stretch my legs out in front of me.

“It’s not about making more. I wouldn’t share them regardless.” His scrutinizing gaze drifts down the length of my body. He drops his arms and grips the edge of the desk. “You look pretty. Were you…out somewhere?”

I’m wearing nothing special, a brown leather bomber jacket, a cropped white top, a denim skirt, and my tall brown boots with the block heel. It’s casual, or it should’ve been, but I might’ve curled my hair, went a little extra on my makeup, and put on the perfume that Landon has subtly complimented me on quite a few times.

I don’t need male validation. I dress for myself and know I look good. But Landon sort of, kind of is the exception. It’s wrong to say that, because no guy should be the exception, but there’s something intoxicating about the way he stares at me.

I don’t know if it’s the dark look in his eyes or the possessiveness that lurks in them, but it shoots a thrill all over my body.

“They’re just treats. You don’t need to get all territorial over them. I promise I’ll make more.” I cross my leg over the other. It’s not intentional, but my skirt hikes up, and his gaze drops to it. “And thanks, but I didn’t go out anywhere. This is how I always dress.”

“I can’t help it, but I’m going to make sure everyone knows they’re mine.” He pulls the top drawer in his desk and pulls out what looks like a Sharpie pen. “And that isn’t how you always dress.”

I arch a brow, snuffing a laugh. “And what would you know?”

“Your makeup, it only looks like that when you go out. You had it like that when you went out on your date . The perfume you have on is for special occasions. That jacket you’re wearing has only been worn a few times, because you said it was expensive. So you only wear it when necessary. That gold chain around your neck is new. And you’re wearing a skirt despite how cold it is, because you said you like how you look in them. But you said you’d only wear it if it’d be worth freezing your arse off.”

I’ve never mentioned any of these things to him. I might’ve said something to Gabby or Polly, but I don’t think Landon was around. Even if he was, I hadn’t thought he listened or paid attention. Even now, it’s not something I see him caring enough to focus on.

Have my standards always been in the pits of hell? Because I’ve never been with a guy who not only notices but seems to appreciate the effort I put in the way I look. Granted, it’s never for them, but it doesn’t hurt to be acknowledged.

“You noticed?” I reach for my brand-new necklace and twirl my fingers around it.

“How can I not? I notice everything about you,” he replies, like my question is preposterous.

He pushes away from the desk and approaches me. I crane my head back as he stands in front of me and my neck strains, but I don’t move. I hold his gaze and drop my hand to my lap.

It’s daunting staring at him from this position, how he easily towers over me and makes the room feel immensely small.

“Aren’t you going to write your name on them?”

“Not them, you. Take the jacket off.”

My chest rises and falls faster. “You’re not going to write on my body.”

He grips my chin. “I am. Take it off.”

A flutter bursts in my stomach and dips down between my thighs. “This isn’t how it works, Landon. Just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean you have the right to do whatever you please with my body when we’re not. Would you let me write on yours?”

He lets go of my chin, holding the Sharpie in front of my face. “Wherever you want.”

I gape in shock. “Anywhere I want?”

“Anywhere you want.” He steps back.

I take the pen and skim every inch of his body, debating where I want to mark him, but his chest and arms are covered in ink. I consider his lower body. He has a few tattoos, but I don’t want to mark him there. Then I zone in on the spot on the right side of his neck.

“Switch with me.” I stand and he takes my place on the bench and tips his head back to look up at me. “Anywhere I want, right?” I ask again.

He must’ve known where I was going to do it because he angles his head to the side, giving me access.

I stand between his parted legs and uncap the pen. Air gets caught in my lungs when he grabs the back of my thighs and pulls me closer.

I make the decision of what I want to write before he changes his mind, though it seems doubtful it’ll happen. He doesn’t move or look regretful. Occasionally, his cold fingers dig into my thighs, his calluses scratching me, but he doesn’t pull away.

“So, what was the special occasion?”

“My test score, of course.”

Grabbing his bearded chin, I shudder at the way the coarse hair pricks my skin and a flashback of him between my thighs resurfaces. He smirks and I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.

I grin and drag the black pen on his inkless skin, right below where his beard ends. “And maybe you.”

“For me?” His voice deepens and he tugs me closer.

My body reacts to him the way I yearn for water during the hottest summer. Except I know that no amount of water will be enough to stop the thirst, just like him touching me isn’t enough. Even though I want more, I keep myself restrained and continue working the tip of the Sharpie on his cool skin.

“Yeah, figured we could celebrate . After all, you’re the reason I passed and I owe you, right?” I bite the inside of my cheek when his jaw flexes and palms rise, sliding beneath my skirt. His fingers glide under the curve of my ass and he cups one cheek firmly while the other slides between my thighs. “Stop moving. I’m going to mess it up.”

I swallow back a moan as his finger brushes between my lips through the lace.

“Landon.” It’s meant to come out as a warning, but it comes out as a breathy plea.

“You owe me, right? After all, I’m the reason you passed. If it weren’t for me, you’d be failing, right?” His gruff, condescending questions irritate me, but also cause my thong to dampen and my nipples to harden. “You were so desperate to pass, you agreed to let me use your body the way I want, right?”

Landon hisses when I dig the tip of the pen into his neck, but he doesn’t stop me or move away. He digs a finger between my lips, teasing my entrance.

“Right, Julianna?” he thickly rasps.

I shamelessly nod and grind into his hand. But I only feel a small, euphoric shock before he removes it.

I huff an aggravated breath. “I really can’t stand you.”

“The contract didn’t state we had to get along,” he noncommittally shrugs, bringing a hand to the button of my skirt. “I get to have your body the way I want, yes? Mine to use, mine to fuck, mine to do whatever I want, right?”

It’s embarrassing how his words excite the depraved part of my brain. My heart races, blood pumps fast, working overtime at how wanton I feel.

“Right.” I cap the pen back, done with my design, and he takes it from me.

“Take your clothes off and lie on the bed.”

I don’t blink when my eyes land on his erection tenting the towel. It still baffles me that he’s that huge. It’s unnerving, but in a good way because I know how good he feels. My pussy protests because it didn’t feel that way the next day.

Locking my eyes with his, I take my jacket off and hand it to him because it was, in fact, expensive and I don’t want it on the floor.

He lays it carefully on top of his piano and watches me as I remove my boots and set them on the side.

This shouldn’t be as erotic as it feels, but everything I do with Landon is new and it feels invigorating. The way he stares at me keenly, laser-focused on my every move, the way his eyes singe my skin even though he’s not touching me, and the way the pulse between my thighs heightens.

I hand him all of my clothes and stand naked in front of him.

His gaze slowly trails over every inch of my body, but lingers on my breasts the longest. They feel heavy, aching desperately to be touched, and my thighs become slick with my arousal.

“Bed.” He jerks his head to it.

As I lie on my back, I hear his towel hit the floor, and when I look up, he’s making his way to me, then crawling onto the bed until he’s hovering above me. His chain dangles in front of my face, the cold metal brushing my cheek when he leans down to my ear, and his warm breath fans it.

“I kiss it, it’s mine,” he whispers.

I shakily breathe as his dick brushes my pussy. I buck my hips for more, but he moves.

“Not yet. This first,” he teases, dragging the cap of the pen around my nipple.

I fist the sheets, eyes fluttering as he goes down and kisses the top slope of my right breast, and his beard scratches me. I writhe beneath him, but my eyes pop open when I feel the tip of the pen on my breasts. I don’t make out what it says before he’s pulling back and doing the same to the other.

Raising my head up, I read what it says and laugh.

Landon Taylor’s Property.

“Really?”

His face is back to mine, chain again dangling in front of me. His expression is serious, eyes dilated and dark. “Yes, I’m serious. I like knowing you’re mine.” He rasps against my lips, the deep vibration of his voice touching my hot skin, sending a chill down my spine. All of my humor dissipates when the crown of his dick teases my entrance. “And I want you to remember it, too. I want you to remember how fucking desperate you were when you came to me for help. How willing you were to give up your body so I could help you pass. How easy it was for me to have you like this because you get off on this shit. Isn’t that right? You’re drenching my cock, lifting your hips, spreading your legs for me.”

My lips part to say something, but nothing comes out. My body is on fire, burning with humiliation because he’s not wrong.

I swallow past the thick knot, push up on my palms, and arch my back. He looks smug because he knows what I’m doing. For the next few minutes, he kisses and writes the most demeaning things all over my body and when he’s satisfied, he throws the pen on the nightstand.

I wait for him to do the most degrading things to me, but then he pushes away and saunters over to his dresser, opening the drawer that I know has his boxers.

“Get dressed. We’re going out.”

“No, the fuck you did not.” I groan, dropping back.

He nods, pulling his boxers over his legs. “Yes, the fuck I did. That’s for teasing me the other day.”

“The other day? What are you talking about?”

“Buying another guy’s jersey.”

“Are you serious?”

He continues getting dressed, then grabs my clothes and sets them next to me. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going to go celebrate. You look too pretty to let it go to waste.”

“You’re an asshole,” I frustratedly spit out and get dressed.

I sound irrational, because Landon just complimented me, but I also know he’s being an asshole because his accent sounds snobbier than usual.

“We’ve already established this. I’m not sure why you’re surprised?”

“Stupid petty asshole,” I mumble under my breath as I put my boots on and snatch my jacket from his hand. “You better be glad I’m actually hungry,” I say as I stand in front of the mirror to make sure the words aren’t peeking out, but that’s when I notice somethings off about it. “What happened to the other mirror?”

He stands behind me, eyes meeting mine through the mirror. “Saint took it back, so I bought one. Is it okay? If you don’t like it, I can get a different one.”

“You got this for me?”

“Yeah, I figured you’d need one whenever you stay over. I also got you a few things, so you don’t have to be carrying all your stuff back and forth. Unless you want to, then that’s all right.”

The air ceases to exist because did he just say whenever I stay over?

I spin around. “What stuff?”

He eyes the bags in the corner.

How did I not notice those?

“I didn’t set them out because I know you like your stuff in a particular place. You can put them wherever you want.”

I grab the bags and look through all of them. My heart races once again, but for a different reason and the stampede in my stomach returns. He got all of my skincare products and stuff I use to shower with. From the size of the bottle to the brand.

“You didn’t have to—thank you.” I don’t think when I slip my arms around him and hug him. He tenses, caught off guard, but then wraps his arms around my shoulders. “You’re still an ass, though.”

He chuckles, the rumble of his throaty laugh vibrating against my chest. “I like it when you’re mean to me.”

“You’re not supposed to like it. Can you at least pretend to be upset about it?”

“No, come on. You pick where we’re having dinner.”