CHAPTER 25: SLAPPING HIM

EMBER'S POV

Then the door flies open.

Knox is there like an avenging demon. He doesn't hesitate or ask needless questions. He grabs Gale by the front of his sweater and flings him across the room like he weighs nothing.

Gale crashes into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, and Knox positions himself between us, every line of his body radiating violence barely contained.

"I warned you once already," Knox says, and his voice is death itself. "This is the last time I'll use words. Next time, I'll let my claws do the talking."

"She hit me," Gale sputters, struggling to his feet. "Did you see that? She assaulted me."

"What I saw was you grabbing her wrist hard enough to bruise." Knox takes a step toward him, and Gale actually backs up. "What I saw was your hand going for her throat. What I saw was a pattern of abuse that apparently didn't end when she left you."

"I was trying to help her. Trying to protect her from—"

"From what? From me?" Knox laughs, and it's a terrible sound. "That's rich, coming from the man who beat his wife for four years."

"I never—"

"Breaking and entering." Knox ticks off the charges on his fingers. "Attempted assault on an omega under royal protection. Violation of guest conduct at a Summit event. And when I'm done, I'll be reopening the investigation into every bruise, every hospital visit, every time she showed up somewhere with new marks she couldn't explain."

Nathaniel and the security guards are already moving, already dragging Gale toward the door while he protests.

"I was just trying to help her! Just trying to protect her from the real monster in this room!"

"Get him out of my sight," Knox says. "And Nathaniel? Make sure he understands what happens if he comes near her again."

The door closes behind them, and the penthouse goes quiet.

Knox turns to face me. His gray eyes are dark with something I can't quite identify. Rage, certainly. But underneath it, something else. Something that looks almost like fear.

"What did he say to you?"

I consider telling him the truth. Consider mentioning Celeste, the murder accusation, the doubt that's now sitting in my chest like a stone.

But I look at Knox's face, at the barely contained violence still thrumming through him, and I remember what Gale said. Murderer. Capable of killing his own mate.

Is it true? Does it matter if it is?

"Nothing important," I lie. "Just his usual manipulation tactics. He is trying to make me doubt you."

Knox studies my face like he knows I'm holding something back. Like he can see the uncertainty flickering behind my eyes.

"Did it work?"

"No," I lie again, and I hate how easily it comes out. "I know who he is. I know what he does."

Knox doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. He just pulls me against his chest and holds me while my adrenaline slowly stops spiking.

Except the adrenaline doesn't fade.

I slapped Gale.

After four years of flinching, cowering, apologizing, making myself small, I finally hit back. And it felt good. It felt powerful. It felt like reclaiming something I thought I'd lost forever.

I pull back from Knox's chest and look up at him. His eyes are still dark, still carrying that barely leashed violence he couldn't fully unleash on Gale.

We're both buzzing with it. Both vibrating with energy that has nowhere to go.

Our eyes lock and the air between us detonates.

I fist the front of his shirt and yank him down, crashing my mouth into his like I want to punish him for making me feel this much.

He kisses back harder, teeth scraping my lip, hands clamping my hips so tight I know I'll wear his fingerprints tomorrow.

I can feel him hardening against my stomach, thick and insistent, and the knowledge that I did that to him makes me feral.

"Against the window," I pant into his mouth. "Right fucking now."

He doesn't speak. He just growls and walks me backward until the icy glass kisses my shoulder blades.

An hour ago we were teasing, flirting, pretending we weren't dying for this. Now there's no pretending left.

Knox twists me around so I'm facing the dark, snow-drenched mountains, the moon painting everything silver.

Our reflection stares back: me in nothing but his shirt, nipples already pebbled and pushing against the thin fabric, him looming behind me like a goddamn predator.

His chest is heaving, his jaw tight, his eyes black with want. He looks like he wants to devour me whole and I want to let him.

"That little slap you gave Gale," he rasps against my ear, breath hot, voice filthy, one hand sliding up my stomach under the shirt, rough palm dragging over my skin, "watching my good girl finally bare her teeth?"

His fingers find my breast, rolling my nipple between them until I whimper.

"I almost dragged you against the counter and fucked you raw in front of him so he’d know who you belong to."

His fist knots in my hair, yanks my head back until my throat is bared and my back arches hard.

Teeth sink into my neck, sharp, perfect pain that shoots straight to my clit. I'm already soaking, already clenching around nothing, already desperate.

"Do it now," I beg, voice shredded. "Fuck me where anyone could look up and see. Bruise me. Use me. Make me feel you for days."

His eyes go molten in the reflection. "You want to be my dirty little girl pressed against this glass, baby? Want the whole fucking mountain to watch me split this pretty pussy open?"

"Yes—please—"

He rips the shirt over my head, leaves me completely naked, skin prickling against the freezing window.

My nipples harden instantly, aching, begging for his mouth. Knox fists my hair again, jerking my head to the side so I'm forced to watch us in the glass while his other hand shoves his pants down.

His cock springs free and I watch it in the reflection—thick, flushed, the head swollen and leaking, a vein running up the underside that I want to trace with my tongue.

It slaps heavy against my ass, hot and hard, and I push back against him instinctively, needy, shameless.

"Look how wet you are," he groans, running his cock through my folds, coating himself in my slick, the head nudging my clit and making me jerk. "Dripping all over my cock and I haven't even put it in yet. Such a desperate little thing."

"Knox, please—"

One brutal thrust and he's inside me, no warning, no mercy, stretching me so wide I scream, palms smacking the glass for balance.

The burn of him filling me is exquisite, that delicious ache of being split open by something too big, too much, too perfect.

He sets a vicious pace from the first stroke, hips slamming into me, the sound of skin slapping skin obscene in the quiet penthouse.

Every thrust forces my tits to mash against the cold window, nipples dragging on the glass, the friction making me dizzy.

"This what you needed?" he snarls, each word punctuated by a punishing drive that jolts my whole body, makes my ass ripple with every impact. "To be fucked like a desperate, cock-hungry slut who can't get enough?"

"Yes—fuck—yes—"

He yanks my hair harder, arching me until I'm staring at the ceiling, throat exposed, tears of pure overwhelmed pleasure leaking from the corners of my eyes.

I can feel every inch of him dragging against my walls, hitting spots I didn't know existed, the head of his cock kissing my cervix with every deep stroke.

"Look at yourself," he growls, forcing my head back down so I see us again.

And god, the sight—my tits smashed against the glass, my mouth open and panting, tears starting to roll, and behind me Knox with his jaw clenched and his abs flexing with every thrust, muscles rippling as he rails me into the window.

"Pussy dripping down your thighs, getting railed like a filthy exhibitionist whore. Anyone could look up right now and see how perfectly you take my cock. You'd let them watch, wouldn't you? You'd come harder knowing they're jealous."