“You were always going to be mine,” he grunts, holding me painfully close as he punches his hips into mine. Beside us, something clatters to the floor, but neither of us pay it any attention. “I knew you were mine then, the same way I know you’re mine now.”
I gasp against his lips, fingernails scrabbling for purchase against his shoulders. “Oh my god!” All those nights staying up on the phone with Dimitri—all those afternoons on campus, pressed against Tristian as he kissed me senseless—couldn’t have prepared me for how good it feels to finally have one of them inside me again.
Killian is hard and thick, and he fucks me in these short, brutal bursts of power that would have me sliding up the desk if it weren’t for his arms, crushing me up against the expanse of his flexing muscles, forcing me to take it. “Unlock your door tonight,” is his gnashed demand, pounding into the cradle of my thighs. “Let me fucking in.”
My fingers curl around the edge of the desk, holding on for dear life. Killian is not a man used to being denied and those restless nights outside of my room surge through him in hard, fast, thrusts. His arm winds around my back, pulling me close to him, holding me steady as he fucks into me over and over. I’m surrounded by his scent, his heat, his breath and want. The past falls away, and everything is consumed in this moment. Me. Him. Us.
There’s no room for anyone else. No other history. Just what was always supposed to be.
Story and Killian.
“Killian,” I breathe into his mouth, clamping my teeth on the soft flesh of his lower lip. “Don’t stop, don’t stop—please—oh, god—” Shuddering waves roll down my spine, and my walls clench around him just as tightly as my thighs. I whimper from the force, and he swallows my cries with his kiss, keeping me quiet—keeping me to himself.
The rock of his hips grows impatient, erratic, thrumming into me with wild abandon. It feels so good, so deep, that it borders on pain, but I hold on to him and don’t let go, because as long as we’re like this, there’s nothing else out there. No perverts, no hit men, no murderers, no dangerous thugs. There’s no complicated past, or painful reminders of what was—what could have been. There’s just his body and my body, and how it feels when we’re like this. Wild—feral—primal. And within that moment of mindlessness, a thought comes to me, unbidden, but so true that it settles into the very marrow of my being.
Killian and I were made for this.
We were made to fuck.
To be together.
“Let me in,” he grunts, burying his head into my shoulder as he drives into me. His fingertips dig into my soft flesh, making his own bruises into the marks his father had made. His voice is all hard viciousness, but there’s something buried below it. A plea that stretches with desperation. “Let me in, let me in, let me—fuck.” He goes rigid, and then I feel it: his dick pumping me full of his hot come. He lets out a growl that tapers off into a long, pained groan. “Goddamn, little sister. You’re trying to fucking kill me.”
It’s only when he pulls back, face red and pinched, that I realize. “Oh my god, I didn’t—are you okay?” He can barely handle a necktie with his gut wound, and here I am making him fuck me.
His fingers, still clamped around the junction where my leg meets my hip, massage into the tendon there. When he speaks, he pitches his voice so low that I have to strain to understand it. “You know he’s going to see this, don’t you?”
I hold his gaze, surprised to see the dread swimming within it. He’s worried I’m going to freak out or blame him. But the truth is, I’ve become so conditioned to being watched that it’s just second nature to assume anymore—and especially in this house. In the back of my mind, I wonder where exactly the camera is, but the brief flick of his eyes to the bookshelf to our left is proof enough.
Tilting my head, I answer, “Of course.”
He looks almost as shocked as he does relieved. “You want him to,” he realizes, eyes searching my face.
I bite on my lip, still thrumming even as I feel Killian softening inside of me. “Does that bother you?” It’d be fair if it did. I won’t let Killian into my room—not yet—but I’ll use him to make his father angry. To show Daniel that I don’t belong to him. To take back whatever sense of self I’d lost here, trapped in this room as a na?ve, powerless little girl.
Killian’s answer comes in the form of a slow, malicious smile, easing his hips back and leaving me empty. Only I’m not really empty. He reminds me of this when he straightens the crotch of my panties and then presses his palm into my center, whispering into my ear, “Sit in my cum through the rest of dinner and we’ll call it even.”