Bella's POV:
The air is thick, a potent mix of my own fear and his intoxicating scent, cigar smoke, gunpowder, and something wild and fundamentally him. It's the smell of danger, and it wraps around me tighter than his arms ever could. My world has shrunk to this, a void of sensation where every touch is magnified a thousand times by the forced blindness of his glove.
A deep tremor works its way through me as his lips blaze a trail down my throat. Each press is a brand, a claim I desperately want to resist and yet, shamefully, I crave. The arm across my eyes is an iron bar, a prison, but it's also a perverse comfort. It hides me from the intensity I know is in his gaze. When his voice rumbles,
"my mate,"
against my skin, it's not a question. It's a declaration that vibrates deep in my bones, and my own weak, "Knox?" is a plea that gets lost, swallowed by the heated dark between us.
"Shh, bunny."
The command, paired with that demeaning pet name, sends a fresh wave of shivers through me. I want to fight. I want to flee. But my body is a traitor, melting under his relentless assault. The pressure on my eyes vanishes as his hand slides away on a slow, deliberate journey down to my waist. Yet, this freedom is an illusion. My eyelids remain sealed shut. It's a conscious choice now. I am hiding from the hypnotic depth of his purple gaze, safer in the darkness I choose for myself than the one he imposes.
Then, the game changes.
The rough texture of his big, gloved hands slides under my sweatshirt. The sensation is so shocking, so intimate, that my eyes fly open on a sharp gasp. The real world, the dim room, the messy bed, swims into focus for a fleeting second. When his palms cup the swell of my breasts, a frustrated whimper catches in my throat. The barrier of my bra feels like a torment. A sudden, desperate thought screams in my mind: I don't want the leather. I want his skin. I want to feel the heat and texture of him.
My hands fly up, gripping his wrists, but the gesture is futile. I feel impossibly small, my trembling fingers doing nothing to slow his exploration. I am utterly contained.
Then, he closes his teeth over the sensitive curve of my long bunny ear. A lightning bolt of pure, undiluted sensation arcs down my spine, shattering the last shred of my control. My back arches off his chest completely, a silent, desperate offering I never meant to make. The fight is gone, burned away in an instant, replaced by a terrifying, thrilling surrender to the shivers he so effortlessly commands.
The last of my resistance crumbles, swept away by the shivers still racking my spine. I turn my head, my vision blurry with tears that aren't from pain, but from a pleasure so sharp it borders on agony. His pheromones are a physical force, a cloud of cigar, gunpowder, and raw, dominant male that overwhelms my senses, leaving me dizzy and utterly pliant.
I love this. I love how he makes me feel, shattered and remade, powerful in my own surrender.
His deep purple eyes are locked on mine, and in their hypnotic depths, I see my own reflection: a creature of wanton need. He sees the tears, the trembling of my lip, and something fierce and satisfied flashes in his gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his head. He claims my lips in a hungry kiss.
It's not gentle. It's a conquest. A searing brand of possession that steals the last of my breath. His mouth moves against mine with a desperate, consuming fire, and I meet it with my own. My hands, which moments ago were pushing weakly at his wrists, now clutch at his arms, my fingers digging into the hard muscle, anchoring myself in the storm.
This is where I'm meant to be. This terrifying, thrilling darkness is my home. He is my mate, and in this kiss, I finally, completely, stop fighting it.
The world dissolved into a single, searing point of contact. The hungry kiss was everything, a claiming, an answer, a beginning. But he was far from done. I felt a slithery, unnervingly deft movement at my back. In a heartbeat, the clasp of my bra gave way, the fabric loosening.
A gasp was halfway to my lips when his fingers found my bare nipple, pinching sharply. The sensation was so electric, so unexpected, that l broke from the kiss with a sharp cry. Before the sound could fully escape, he caught my bottom lip between his teeth, a gentle, warning bite that sent a fresh jolt straight to my core. His assault was merciless, masterful.
While one hand continued to torment my breast, sending waves of aching pleasure radiating through me, his other hand slid down, under the waistband of my skirt. His knuckles brushed against the sensitive skin of my stomach, and I bucked against him. Then, a single, gloved finger hooked the edge of my underwear.
He didn't push it aside; he teased, pulling on the elastic just slightly, a maddening promise of what was to come. The dual sensation was unbearable. The sharp, delicious pain on my breast and the infuriating, gentle tease below. A broken, pleading moan was torn from my throat. My hips arched off his chest, seeking more of his touch, begging without words.
Never. Never in my life have I felt this way, so completely unraveled, so consumed by raw, desperate need. He was playing my body like an instrument he knew intimately, and i was lost in the symphony.