Faintly, she says, “I can take… more.”
This time, when Killian kisses her, he holds back, lets her tongue meet his in the middle, giving me a peek of it all, a slick tangle of pink joining their mouths. Damn, they look good together. Her thighs cradle his powerful hips like they were made for it, the dark ink of his tattoos a stark contrast to her porcelain skin. The cords of his muscles shift with every thrust, dwarfing her slender, delicate arms. They’re hard and soft, leather and satin, and I can’t help but move with their rhythm, indulging in the friction against my cock.
God, if Killer only realized how lucky he was.
But when she breaks away to gulp in a breath, wrenching her head to the side, her eyes zero in on something and she jerks her gaze away, back stiffening.
The tattoo on his arm.
Rath mentioned she wasn’t aware it was a tattoo of her. Apparently, she’d asked about it, in a roundabout sort of way, but Killer’s too much of a pussy to own up to it.
That’s only one of the many and varied things I’m burning to spell out. It’s then, as they’re lost in the zenith of their kiss and the rock of their bodies, that I put my lips to Story’s ear. “Do you have any idea how much this guy loves you?”
That’s the thick of it, anyway.
Killian rests his forehead against hers, but his face is set into a deep, sharp frown. “Don’t.” He won’t even open his eyes to catch her slow blinking reaction.
I go on, “He can’t help it. It makes him crazy. You know Killer can’t do anything by halves—least of all want you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, snapping his hips hard into Story. It pushes her back against me like a punch.
For the sake of her small, startled cry, I change tacks. “You didn’t mean to upset him, did you?”
She’s still staring at Killer, expression lost, when she breathes, “No.”
“And you’re sorry, aren’t you?” Unable to help myself, I curl my palm around the inside of her thigh, trapped between them as he pistons his hips, feeling how the two of them meet. “You know he just wants to protect you. Make sure you’re safe?”
Nodding, she reaches up to touch his rough, stubbled jaw. “I know.” Killian shudders against the tenderness of the gesture, and Story quietly confesses, “I wasn’t thinking.”
“And Killer,” I continue, easing my fingers up toward her clit. “You overreacted. You know you did.” He makes a curt, gruff sound as I press my fingers into her clit. “Tell her.”
His reply is as mindless as the way he’s fucking into her, eyes glued to her mouth. “I did.”
“There, see?” There’s plenty more to be said, but it’s going to take a lot more than one supervised fuck to cover Killer’s massive, throbbing abandonment issues. “Now fuck like you mean it. You’ve been walking around here wanting each other for god only knows how long. Doesn’t it feel good?”
Story responds by grabbing Killian by the hair and hauling him into a long, breathless kiss. Killian reaches down to roughly palm at her tit, grunting as his rhythm ratchets up. Finally, I just let myself enjoy the sight of them. The way she feels against me. The pulse of them fucking right into my body—against the hand that’s still working Story’s swollen clit. My balls ache with how badly I want to be him, but it’s almost good enough to just watch. To see the way he loses control in a different sense. The gentle way he looks at her between obscene, rough kisses. The swell of her slender throat as she struggles to control her cries. I don’t think I really understood them until right now, witnessing the turbulence of their affection for one another. It’s a fine-edged blade that’s too used to cutting.
Killian is proof that it’s possible to want someone too much. “Look at me,” he demands, voice growing as ragged and deep as the pointed punches of his hips. Story blinks her eyes open, and he slams hard into the cradle of her thighs. “This is mine.”
I wonder if she knows he’s not even talking about her pussy. He’s talking about the current that flows between them, always hot enough to burn. The way he can’t look at her sometimes. The sight of her like this, barely coherent but so fucking rapt. He’s talking about that sweet, vulnerable thing in her eyes as she gazes up at him, and the way she touches his cheek when she realizes she can’t shut him out.
Not from this.
“Show me, big brother.”
And then I watch as he unlocks his own door, letting her watch him come apart. It all makes a sad sort of sense then. Killer’s never wanted her to see how much he feels. It’s no wonder he prefers fucking her when she’s sleeping, because this?