《Craving The Wrong Brother》全部章節：第 61 章 - 第 70 章

I wake up sore all over, having no single idea how I ended up back in Knox's bedroom.The room is bright as sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting long, pale rectangles on the wood floor. I’m in his bed, tangled in the sheets, my skin sticky with sweat and something else. The air smells like him—like clean soap, expensive cologne, and the raw scent of what we did last night.Except… I don’t remember how it ended.The last thing I recall is him unlocking me from the guillotine in that dark, red-lit room, my legs shaking so violently I couldn’t stand. I think I remember him wrapping a blanket around me. Maybe. After that? Nothing.I push up on my elbows with a wince. Every muscle in my body complains, a deep, pleasant ache settling low in my belly, between my legs, my thighs. Even my jaw hurts a little. Jesus. Did I faint? I must have.Honestly, with the way he wrecked me, passing out is probably the most reasonable response.The bed is cold beside me. Knox isn't here. I rea

Knox doesn’t move when we pull into the hospital parking lot.His fingers stay curled tight around the steering wheel, gaze forward. The engine is off, but his body hasn’t caught up. The tension in his arms is visible, humming under his rolled-up sleeves. Even the little lines around his eyes seem sharper.I unbuckle my seatbelt and glance at him. “Aren’t you coming?”He shakes his head once. “No. I’ve got some things to take care of.”“Work stuff?”“Mmhmm.”I don’t press. Instead, I lean toward him, dropping a kiss on his cheek. But the moment I start to pull away, his hand shoots up, tangling into my hair and tugging me back to him.His mouth crashes against mine with zero warning—hot, rough, claiming. His teeth nip my bottom lip, just enough to sting, and his tongue follows to soothe it. I moan, helpless against the sheer heat of it, my fingers bunching in the front of his shirt.When he finally releases me, I’m breathless. Unsteady.He doesn’t say anything at first. Just reaches i

***~~KNOX~~***I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.I hate crowds. Hate the way strangers talk like they know you. Hate the endless smiling. The pointless conversations. The artificial pleasantries.But more than all that, I hate the thought of sitting at my club while some overly polished, pastel-shirted pretty boy slides into Sloane’s life.So here I am.At a damn backyard barbecue hosted by Jade—my club's manager and also the stepfather to the only woman I can’t seem to stay away from.He invited the entire city, it seems. Maybe the next state too. There’s music playing from portable speakers. Tables lined with drinks and food. Laughter from corners of the yard. Faces I see every day, and some I’m not familiar with, all pretending to be nice and decent folks. I barely recognize some of my employees with those buttoned-up t-shirts, baseball caps, and dad jeans.And of all the poor pairings that could’ve happened today, I got stuck on a cornhole team with Hunter.He's still p

I look at his outstretched hand, wanting nothing more than to go to him. But I can’t just leave. Not like that. “I need to say goodbye to my mom,” I say. “And a couple of other people. Maybe catch my sister before she leaves. She’s upset, and I need to—” “Erase her memory?” Knox’s voice is calm, but I can hear the impatience underneath. “Come on. Let's go.” “I can't.” “Do I need to come get you, Bunny?” I roll my eyes. There’s no winning with him. And honestly? I don’t want to fight. Not today. Not after everything. So I go to him, gripping the top of the fence like I’m actually going to hoist myself over. He doesn’t let me. Strong arms wrap around me, and I’m lifted clean off the ground, pressed against his chest in one smooth movement. I gasp and instinctively wrap my arms around his neck. “You love getting your way, don’t you?” I murmur, the world suddenly quieter this close to him. “I do,” he says, mouth brushing the edge of my hairline. He leans in and breathes in deep.

My breath comes out shaky. I force myself to glance at the phone in my hand. The site looks like it was built in the shadows—dark background, bold red names, icons flashing like they’re breathing. The two fighters are listed with codenames: Red Reaper and Goliath. Beneath their names, odds glow in bright numbers—Red Reaper: -180, Goliath: +220. The slimmer man, Reaper, has better odds. A favorite. Fast. Deadly. And it’s the bulkier one, Goliath—who looks like he could crush a skull with one swing—that is surprisingly the underdog. Next to their names, there’s a pulsing red button that says PLACE BET—$100,000.Knox is betting a hundred grand?What the hell?It should be simple. Just one or two taps and I’ll be done with placing my bet. But Knox is still touching me.His thumbs tease the tight peaks of my nipples, and I squirm in his lap, trying to keep the phone steady as my body trembles. I swipe clumsily between the fighter bios—not that it matters. I’m supposed to be picking the rig