Chapter 38
The Gentleness
Jenna
I expect Killian to be at school the next morning when I walk into the kitchen, rubbing my wet hair with a towel, so I halt in my tracks when I find him at the kitchen island, making a sandwich.
“Did Dad enjoy the nose hook?” he asks with a smirk.
I shudder at the memory of the horrible thing.
I still can’t believe Ian made me feel desired and even made me come with that thing pulling at my nose.
Even though I hated it, I loved every second of it.
But the reminder that Killian has seen me like that sends cascades of chills down my spine.
I had all but forgotten he was the one who put it on me.
Refusing to let him get to me, I deflect. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”
“First lesson got cancelled. Now answer my question. Did he enjoy seeing you with your nose drawn up, crying like the pathetic little girl you are?”
Fury rises inside me, sudden and reckless. “Fuck you.”
His smirk widens. “Nah, I think you got that wrong.” He lifts the butter knife, pointing it at me.
“See, I was the one who fucked you last night. Not the other way around. I was the one who shoved my cock deep inside that tight ass of yours and broke it in. And you were a good little slut who enjoyed it very much.”
Anger and shame twine and twirl inside me.
My pulse speeds up, and I can’t decide whether I should scream it all out like a mad person or run off and hide.
Neither seems like a good option. Both would be exactly what Killian wants.
So I go against my instincts. Ignoring Killian’s self-satisfied expression and trying to do the same with the fear surging in my veins, I round the kitchen island and grab a mug from one of the upper cupboards.
But Killian is adamant about provoking a reaction.
“Tell me,” he continues, “did Dad fuck you too?” He comes up behind me as I grab the coffeepot and pour a mug of steaming liquid energy.
“Did he come inside you while watching your nose pulled up like a little pig?” He lifts his hand over my head and inserts two fingers in my nose, pulling up.
“Get off me.” I jerk away, holding my finger up in a sharp warning—or rather, weak defense. My pulse beats in my throat, and my hand is shaking. I have no idea what I was thinking. Killian is a loose cannon. He’s not going to stay off me just because I tell him to or because Ian has made rules.
Glancing down at my finger, he scoffs. “Do you really think that—” He pauses when his gaze comes up to my face—to my forehead.
It’s only then that I remember that the letters Ian scrawled on my forehead last night linger as a shadow I can’t scrub away. I’m about to rush off, but Killian grabs my arms. Holding me firmly in place, he tilts his head slightly, studying the word.
“Interesting. He usually writes slut. Hmm. I think I like this more.” Keeping his eyes on my forehead, he reaches for a drawer. “But I think I can do even better.”
“Stop, Killian,” I protest when he grabs a Sharpie. “Let me go.” I try to wriggle free, but he only tightens his grip on my arm, fingers digging deep into my skin. “Ouch, it hurts.”
“Then stand still.” He bites the lid off the pen and aims it at my forehead.
When I keep writhing, he releases my arm and grabs a handful of my hair instead.
Spearing me with a warning look, he pulls my head back.
I want to scream at him, but somehow, I’m frozen in place under his demanding stare.
My hands latch onto his arm. I try to pull it away, but when he starts writing, I hold on instead.
“Please stop,” I beg in a small voice. I hate what he’s doing to me, humiliating me with cruel coldness and making me hot at the same time.
Whatever bravery I had managed moments ago fades fast as the wet tip of the pen moves on my skin.
I can’t tell what he’s writing, and I don’t want to know.
I just want to run and hide and curl up in some corner.
He pushes the pen back into the lid between his teeth and admires his work. “Much better.”
“What have you written?” I ask in a thin voice. I feel small and stupid as I stand here beneath him, wanting him so badly despite the way he’s treating me.
His smirk is gone, his expression serious, when his eyes find mine again. “Can you still feel me in your ass? Can you still feel my dad in there? Both of us?”
“Please just let me go.” I swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat, but it keeps growing. I need to get away. I can’t break down in front of him. I just can’t.
“Please, Killian.” I make one last staggered attempt, appealing to the part of him that cares about me—the part Ian insists is there. I imbue my words with all the urgency I can muster. “Please let me go. It’s too much. T-too much.”
“Can you still feel both of us in your ass?” He pulls me closer and slips a finger up my skirt, touching my still sore opening that both he and his dad used last night.
I’m about to fight him, or maybe scream, but then he jerks at my hair again, making me fall into him. Bracing my hands on his chest, I try to push off, but he tightens his grip, holding me there, pressed to him.
“Hands down,” he tells me.
“W-what?” I stutter, confused as hell and suddenly overcome by this strange emotion that brings me even closer to the brink of tears, even as it loosens some of that tightly twisted shame.
He releases my ass to shove one of my hands off his chest. “Hands down,” he demands with a sharp tone that makes me drop my other hand to my side as well.
His command is cold, but the feeling as he holds me there, pressed against his chest, is anything but.
I try not to lean too much on him, not wanting to seek the comfort I know he doesn’t want to give.
But when he spits on a finger and circles his arm around me as he slips it into my panties, it gets harder.
I have to strain awkwardly to avoid leaning into him.
And when he starts circling my tight opening, awakening all the sensitive nerves back there, I can’t help it.
I feel so damn small as I lean into him.
But this time, it’s not in a bad way. It’s in that same intoxicating way I feel with Ian.
Once again, it’s difficult to remember that Killian is the same age as me.
He’s so much bigger and stronger, and the deftness he moves with—the authority in his voice—doesn’t fit a guy who’s just reached adulthood.
I don’t know what happens to me. The thought is like safety. But there’s nothing safe about Killian—there shouldn’t be. Yet, I can’t help giving in to him. Slowly, my muscles loosen, and I lean more of my weight on him.
He doesn’t say anything; he just keeps rubbing, pushing just the tip of his finger inside, then massaging again.
“Touch your clit, my little ass slut,” he whispers in a tone that’s strangely intimate.
I only hesitate for a second before I slip a hand into my panties.
The moment I touch my clit, sensation starts bursting and building everywhere.
I start to shudder. Because it’s not just physical sensation.
I’m overcome by the feeling of Killian. His scent, the steady beat of his heart, and his warmth.
It’s everything I’ve craved. For years. I don’t know if it’s comfort—probably not—but it feels like it.
I start sniffling, trying to hold back the tears.
But as the sensations build at my core and I remain pressed into his chest, it gets harder.
“Shh. Be a good little ass slut and come for me.”
My mind reels. I have no idea whether I’m supposed to latch onto his degrading words or the soothing lilt of his voice.
When he pushes his finger deeper inside my ass, I stop thinking altogether.
My free hand comes up to his chest, clutching onto his shirt.
I start jerking as pleasure overcomes me.
I’m so close, yet it’s too much. My jerks become spasms, and suddenly I can’t hold back anymore.
The tears break free, and so do my moans.
Just like with Ian last night, I’m crying and moaning at the same time.
“Shh,” Killian repeats. “Show me what a good little ass slut you are.”
“Y-yes.” I rub harder as I lose myself to Killian.
I inhale deep drags of his scent, clutching onto him as the pleasure builds higher and higher.
“Yes,” I moan, pressing myself into him with reckless abandon.
I know the shame will be horrible the moment I’ve come and he gives me the cold shoulder, but I can’t help myself.
“Killian,” I moan over and over as I rise toward the peak.
“Come for me,” he orders in a steady tone that seems to counterbalance all my vulnerability and insecurity effortlessly.
I give in to him, pressing my head against his chest to muffle a long scream.
I buck and jerk, making my scalp sting as I inadvertently pull at my own hair.
But the pain only adds to the pleasure. Because Killian’s grip is everything I crave.
Steady, unwavering control and possession.
I know it won’t last, but I soak it up like it’s my last meal.
And then I collapse. The tears come in earnest as I wait for him to release me and let me drop to the ground. I clutch onto his shirt, pressing myself into him, taking what little I can get before he’s gone.
But he doesn’t release me. He doesn’t hold me either. He simply drops the hand that was fingering me to his side, keeping his other one lodged deep in my hair.
“P-please,” I whimper, having no idea what I’m begging for.
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t push me away either.
The realization is startling. For a minute, it only fuels my tears, and I press my hand to my mouth as I sob in earnest. It doesn’t last long, though.
When he still doesn’t let me go, I cling to him again and lean into him as I let it all spill out.
I have no idea how long we stand here, me pressing myself into Killian, not daring to wrap my arms around him, and him just holding on to my hair, pinning my head to his chest.
Finally, my tears run dry, and Killian grabs my upper arms. “Sit,” he says, guiding me onto the floor, where I lean against the kitchen counter.
He doesn’t meet my eyes. He simply turns to the fridge, pours a glass of juice that he hands me, followed by a few wrapped chocolates. And then he’s gone.
I just stare into the orange juice for a minute, baffled and confused.
But not as shaken as I thought I’d be. The shame doesn’t come rushing the way I expected.
My mind remains fogged over, and I just sit here, drinking the juice and eating the chocolates, swiping at my nose every now and then.
Somehow, I feel shaken to the core, yet calm.