Tallinneth cardinaCHAPTER 062: Overslept
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Fod missed calls Seven snea
isit up typhoning the sating theob been my thighs, and scan though the trans. Three of the messed calis are from Finn. One is from Harper–my supervisor. The texts? All Finn. All vague. All dramatic.
Are you coming today or not?
though we talked this!
Sloane, serioush!
He’s supposed to be discharged today. I forgot to ask what time.
Shit Shit, Shitt
I quickly thumb out an apology email to Harper, telling her something about a personal emergency and how I’ll be back tomorrow. And then I send a text to Finn saying to stay put as I’m on my way. Then I toss the phone aside and swing my legs out of bed.
Everything hurts, Miy thighs, My core, My ribs, Hell, even rny toes feel used.
I limp toward the bathroom, grabbing the wall for balance. The door’s half–open, and I can smell the faint, comforting aroma of eucalyptus from inside.
No shame, no hesitation–1 reach for Knox’s toothbrush and lather it with his toothpaste. The act surprisingly reminds me of Finn. The last time I did this, I had spent the night at his house during one of his self–destructive breakups with Delilah. At the time, I wanted to taste him, and that toothbrush had been the closest thing at hand. It feels like a long time ago. After brushing, I lean over the counter and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a disaster. My lips are swollen. There’s a faint handprint on my hipbone that reminds me of everything that happened last night.
I should be horrified.
I’m not.
look… flushed, Wild, Marked.
I run a steaming hot bath and sink into it, groaning as the water envelops my aching body. I soak for a long time. Long enough for the muscles in my legs to stop pulsing and for my thoughts to settle into something coherent again.
I think about last night, About the way Knox looked at me. Talked to me. Owned me.
And then I think about Finn.
And my fucking family.
God.
Eventually, I clirnb out, dry off, and step back into Knox’s bedroom. I wrap a towel around myself and head to his closet, rifling through shelves for the clothes I came in.
Nothing. I can’t find them.
Weird.
Successfully unlocked!
After searching everywhere, I start poking through his clothes instead. Knox Hartley has the most extensive collection of black clothing I’ve ever seen. Black shirts. Black pants. Black jackets. Even black socks, all rolled with military precision. I pull on a plain black t–shirt that swallows me and keep digging until I find a pair of jean shorts that barely stay up unless I
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CHAPTER 062 Overslept
wrap a belt around them. Even then, they ride low on my hips, threatening to fall if I breathe wrong.
Whatever. It’ll do.
I head downstairs barefoot, the wood cool under my soles. The smell of bacon hits me before I reach the dining room.
Knox is seated at the end of the long table, his hair damp like he’s just showered, forearms bare, tattoos visible, sleeves of his black shirt rolled to the elbow. In front of him is a perfectly plated arrangement–scrambled eggs, toast, sausage links, avocado slices. There’s even a tiny glass bowl of fresh berries on the side.
He looks up as I enter and smiles. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning to you too, deserter,” I say, “I woke up cold and alone. You left me. And I can’t find my clothes.”
“I took them. You look better in mine anyway.”
“Took them?”
“They are mine now.”
I stop at the edge of the table. “That’s just theft. Besides, why didn’t you wake me?”
“Wake you?” He tilts his head.
“I slept for too long, Knox.”
He pushes his chair back and reaches for me, pulling me into his lap. I yelp slightly at the movernent–more from soreness than surprise.
“I thought you were taking the day off,” he says, rubbing a slow circle into my hip.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “You seem to have forgotten why. I have to go pick your brother up from the hospital.”
His grip tightens.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says. “I’ll send someone to pick him up and take him home.”
“No.”
1 “No?”
“No, Knox. We discussed this yesterday. I said I need to help him so he doesn’t do anything more crazy.”
“And I said we’d talk about it in the morning. When our heads were clearer. I thought about it, and no, I don’t want you near
him.”
“He’s your brother. Don’t you care about him?”
“You must be hungry.” He presses a kiss to my jaw. “I’ll have the chef bring you
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Eat first. Then we’ll talk.”
breakfast.”
I glare at him, but his expression doesn’t budge. He just looks at me, calm and certain, like a man who’s used to getting what he wants.
Fine.
I turn toward the table, grab the plate he’s halfway through, and start eating. I can feel his eyes on me as I chew. When I finish, I drain his glass of water too, then face him again.
“I’m fed now.”
He grins. “Yeah, thief, you ate my breakfast.”
“Let’s talk, Knox.”
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