Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) (15 page)

She fakes a shocked gasp. “No, we should not.” Shelby turns to the guy. “We’ll take an XL bucket of oysters and a fried seafood platter, Roy.”

One thing a man can be sure of—if Shelby Masters is around, he won’t be going hungry.

Our new friend Roy disappears for a minute, then starts shucking oysters into a plastic bucket and placing them directly on the bar. Shelby and I look at each other and shrug, reaching for our dinner and toasting our shells. We slurp down the briny, silky mollusks and pause for a moment with the shells in our hands. He didn’t give us a throw-away bucket.

Roy notices our curious glances, and smirks. “Just chuck ’em over the bar and into the trough.”

We peer over the bar and sure enough, there’s a shallow trough filled with shells on the other side.

“Holy cow, I love it here.” Shelby eagerly scoops up another huge oyster.

I gotta admit, watching her eat is a total turn-on. Maybe oysters really do have some sort of special magic. Our personal shucker is still hard at work, settled into a quiet rhythm. A couple of other people are dotted along the bar, each of them engaged in their own conversation. The music is good, old-school, but not too loud. I almost wish it were a little louder, so I might be able to get away with more.

I slip a hand up under Shelby’s leather jacket and onto the small of her back, wanting to stake my claim to a little piece of her skin. She sits up straighter and reaches for another oyster, tipping it into her mouth and letting the brine and the flesh within slide down her throat in one smooth motion.

I bring my bar stool closer to hers and move my hand down her back, over the curve of her ass. She scoots her bar stool my way and I take that as an invitation, slipping my hand around to the front of her jeans. Even through the thick fabric I can feel her warmth.

Roy sets another round of shucked oysters on the counter between us, and even though I pull my hand away quick, the knowing, sarcastic look in his eye tells me he knows what I’ve got on my mind.

But we’ve got some fried seafood to get through before I can get to the main course I have my eye on.

We grab another round of our appetizers and toast shells once more, our eyes locked, our mouths curved into matching grins as we down them together.

B
eing
out in public with Knox today, holding his hand in broad daylight as we climbed on and off of rides, or shared fresh oysters on the half-shell, felt amazing. Illicit hookups on country roads are sexy as hell, don’t get me wrong, but I’m getting a little tired of hiding in dark corners and sneaking around from backseats to bathroom stalls.

It was nice to just be normal together. Not to mention talking to him about my parents. I had no idea he’d been through something similar. It was good to open up to each other about that.

This trip turned out to be a great idea. But let’s face it—any day that contains a churro is a solid bet in my book.

We’re quiet in the car on the way back to his place, driving away from the salt-tinged air toward the palm-lined city grid. It’s still early. And that’s good news, because an early night with Knox leaves plenty of time for the sport I like best.

When he’s not handling the gearshift, he places a hand on my thigh, a comforting touch that feels equal parts sexy and proprietary. I don’t mind that last part. If Knox wants to claim ownership over me and make this relationship legit, I’m ready.

I trace my hand up his arm, then let it trail along his side. I grin when it makes him squirm in his seat, just a little.

And if he doesn’t want to claim me
? asks a little voice at the back of my head, unable to shut up even though his hand is squeezing my inner thigh, inching higher with every mile we get closer to his hotel room.

Well. If he doesn’t want to keep this going, then we’ll truly have to face the consequences of our little escapade. A lifetime of awkward hugs and fake smiles at social events where he gropes a rotating cast of groupies.

And me? I don’t know. I haven’t been serious with anyone since my parents passed. Which means my last real relationship was Danny Carlson, my geeky high-school boyfriend. I’d hardly say that actually qualifies as “real.” Ugh.

We pull up outside his room, and I lean across the gear shift to catch him in a sudden deep kiss. When we break apart, he’s watching me with his head tilted to one side. “What’s up?” he asks.

Crap. I didn’t realize I was being that transparent. I bite my lip. “Nothing.” I don’t want to talk about when we’re going to tell Jackson. Not yet. Part of me is still afraid he’ll back out if he thinks too hard about all the consequences.

So I do the only thing guaranteed to derail this conversation before it even begins. I slip one hand up his shirt to trace my fingers over the solid muscles of his stomach, while kissing my way down his neck, nipping and sucking gently on his smooth, silky skin as I go.

Sure enough, that catches his attention. Next thing I know he’s hauling me onto his lap over the gearshift. My ass hits the horn, loud enough to wake half the neighbors. Good thing it’s not too late. We both laugh as we tumble out of the driver’s side door, and jog up the steps to his room, ignoring a few angry shouts down the hall.

Whoops.

We’re grinning like idiots by the time we crash through the door, and then his hands are on mine, and I forget that anything outside this molten hot sensation exists.

Our bodies act as one, riding the wave of our mutual longing. He unhooks my bra, slipping the straps off my shoulders, bending down to gently lick my hardening nipples. I arch my back, pressing my tit hard against his mouth as I gasp in sheer pleasure. He pulls back, teasing me with the tip of his tongue, his eyes finding and holding mine, a knowing smirk in his. I run my hand down his taut, muscle-bound chest and stomach, letting out a breathy moan when I reach the bulge of his hard cock.
Fuck, I want him.

And he’s more than ready for me. But I wait to open his fly, delaying the moment when I get to hold him in my hands. Instead I grasp onto the next hardest thing I can find—his bicep, and I playfully bite down.

“Oh, it’s gonna be like that?” His smirk kills me.

In response, I nip at him again, a little harder this time.

He fills my mouth with his index finger. I eagerly suck, feeling the heat spread down to my core. My whole body is flushed, every inch of skin alive under Knox’s gaze and touch.

“Know what happens to bad girls who bite?”

The commanding tone in his voice sends a thrill straight through my nerves, all the way down to my core. I have a feeling I’m about to find out. I bat my eyelashes, trying to look as innocent as possible while I shake my head no.

He trails his finger from my mouth down my sternum, over my belly button, unzipping my jeans and wriggling his hand down the front of my panties. I gasp at the feeling of his thick fingers on my skin, especially when he runs them along the length of my slit, finding me already wet and waiting. Without warning, he pushes two fingers deep inside of me. I rock into the palm of his hand, groaning. He kisses me softly, slowly moving his fingers in and out of my wetness as he circles my clit with his thumb. I moan into his throat, wrapping my hands around his neck, knees beginning to tremble as I tighten around him. Just as I’m about to reach the peak, he pulls his fingers out of me. I gasp in frustration, grabbing at his wrist, but he’s already sliding his hand out of my panties, snapping them back into place.

“Bad girls don’t get to finish yet.” He winks, then, fixing me with his deep green eyes, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“I like the taste of you, Shelby Masters,” he whispers.

Before I can reach for his cock to give him a taste of his own medicine, he turns me around and gently peels my jeans down. I step out of them and he trails a wet finger down my back. He pauses at my ass, placing pressure against the opening.

“Hmmm. Just how bad have you been, exactly?”

My heartbeat quickens in a mix of fear and anticipation. No one’s ever touched me there before. I can’t say I’m not curious, though. He hesitates, waiting for my reply, so I wriggle my hips and lean back into his finger, adding to the pressure against my ass. “Oh, I’ve been a very, very bad girl.” I flash him a sly look over my shoulder, only to find him staring at me, pure animalistic enjoyment in his gaze.

Slowly, so slowly, he presses his wet finger into me. I gasp, his mouth against my neck, his other hand reaching around to massage my clit. The blood rushes from my head down to my midsection, the pressure scratching an itch I didn’t know was there. I hear him unzipping his pants and pulling them off, and then I feel his erection pressed up against me, his hands circling around to grasp my breasts. I’m totally exposed and vulnerable, the front of my body naked to the room, with Knox’s hands as my only cover.

We don’t make it to the bed. Or even the couch. Removing his finger from that hot spot, Knox pulls me to the floor and lays me on my back. His hands reach for my breasts as his tongue moves down my body. He bypasses the place between my legs, moving down to my feet and licking his way up my calves. I shiver in anticipation, practically on fire with need for him. I’m so bare, completely exposed, waiting for him to take me on the floor. His mouth moves up the inside of my thighs and finally his warm tongue is lapping against my wetness. He presses his palm up against my mound, pulling the skin tight around my clit as he licks.

When he slides his tongue inside me, I know he’s going to make me come in a matter of moments. I’m so close.

Almost there.

One more second . . .

A loud bang on the door comes at just the wrong moment. We startle, but neither of us move until the knock comes again, this time accompanied by a shout.

“Open up!” a deep, familiar voice shouts. “This is a raid!”

Except it’s not the DEA, and it’s not an investigator from the MLB either.

It’s Jackson.

We fly apart, both of us recognizing his voice at once, as I grab for the nearest article of clothing. T-shirt? Whatever, it’ll do. I fling it over my head and scramble for my jeans. What the fuck is he doing here?

“What’s going on?” I hiss at Knox.

“I have no idea.” He’s scrambling too, buttoning his fly and trying to get a spare shirt over his head.

“Open up,” Jackson repeats. “C’mon, your car’s in the lot. Are you in there with someone?”

“If I was, would it even slow you down?” Knox calls back, a hint of anger in his voice.

Jackson must not notice. On the other side of the door, he laughs. “Not really. Sorry, bros before groupies.”

I manage to get my clothes ninety percent on, and kick the remainder under the couch. Bra? Who needs that? My heart is beating fast, my breath shallow. Even dressed, how will we explain this situation to Jackson? I shouldn’t be in Orlando at
all
, let alone Knox’s hotel room. Hell of a way to break the news.

“Fine, bro, but let me put some pants on first,” Knox is saying. “Unless you’re dying to see me in my skivvies.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”

On the other hand, I think, watching Knox straighten his mussed up hair in the mirror over the bed, this will finally get everything out in the open. We have no choice now. We’ve got to choose. Move forward or end it here. Either way, no more hiding. No more creeping around in the shadows and in closets.

Knox, however, seems to have a different idea. He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the closet at the far end of the room.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“Shelby, I’m sorry . . . but I don’t know what else to do.” He opens the door to the closet with a hangdog expression on his face.

“Oh, so now we’re just going to hide in the literal closet?” I’m angry now, and I know I sound it, though I keep my voice at a whisper nonetheless. “Why don’t we just talk to Jackson now? We said we were going to. Now here’s our chance.”

“We need to think this through.” Knox runs a hand through his hair nervously. “If we surprise Jackson, he’ll freak out.”

“
He’s
surprising
us
,” I mutter. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Shelbs, I’m sorry.” He nudges me toward the closet, bending to kiss my forehead. “ I’ve gotta get the door.”

He stands there, expectant, watching me. I wrench away from him without returning the kiss, and fold myself into a corner, between his overcoat and a smelly gym bag of workout clothes. With that, my prince charming shuts me into his hotel room closet.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“What the hell took you so long, you putting on cologne for me or some shit?” Jackson says, followed by the unmistakable sound of two guys slapping their backs in one of those bro-hugs.

“Gotta make sure my pad looks nice for the unexpected guest.”

“I’m disappointed,” Jackson says. “I could’ve sworn I heard voices.” My body tenses. “You almost had me believing you had an overnight guest after all,” he adds with another bark of laughter.

“What, is the possibility so unbelievable?” Knox grumbles.

“Nah, course not. Just, you haven’t seemed so into the hookups lately.”

I freeze in place, pressing my ear to the crack in the door. I wish there were a keyhole or a slat I could peek through. I wonder what Knox’s facial expression looks like in response to that. Hah.

“What brings you into my new neck of the woods?” Knox asks as he opens the fridge in the minibar. I listen to bottle caps hit the floor, and I glare at the door. Really, you’re gonna have some freaking beers now, while I’m locked in here?

“Had to check up on my mixed-use development down this way, figured I’d come down a day early and say hi before I’ve gotta go bury my head in more work tomorrow.”

Shit. I forgot all about that job site.

“Well,” Knox says. “I was just about to hit the hay, actually, early training tomorrow . . . ”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s like 9 p.m., what are you, an eighty-year-old woman?” There’s a clink as someone sets a bottle down on a counter. “These hardly count as beers, anyway. They’re what, half size? One drink, then I’ll leave you alone.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause from the other end of the door. I continue to glare at it, hoping Knox can feel the burn of my disapproval.

Alas, my powers don’t seem to be that strong. “One beer,” Knox agrees. I listen in disbelief to the jingle of car keys, and then the slam of the door as they depart the room.

Only then do I tumble out of the closet onto all fours—far less pleasurable a position to be in when you’re alone. I shake my neck out and peer through the curtains at the boys, climbing into Knox’s car.

A moment later, my phone dings.

K
nox
.

I’m so sorry babe, we’ll talk about this when I’m back. I’ll make it quick
.

Babe?

Seriously? Like springing a term of endearment on me is suddenly going to make me feel warm and fuzzy after being interrupted mid-sexytimes and
shoved into a closet
.

Little Shelby, left behind to wait on the big boys. Quite the abrupt end to this fantasy trip. Maybe it’s all been too much of a fantasy. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Knox never saw me as a real possibility anyway.

I slump onto the floor and start fishing under the bed for the remainder of my clothes.