Chapter 54
The Breaking
Jenna
I miss Killian with an ache that cuts deep into my heart.
Time does nothing to alleviate it; on the contrary, it seems to aggravate it.
But I might be partly to blame for that, because I can’t stay away from him.
Ian keeps telling me to keep my distance, and I know that would be for the best, but I’m drawn to Killian like a moth to a flame.
Every time I hear him come downstairs, my whole body aches with the desire to go to him.
Sometimes, I manage to quell the urge, often I don’t.
When I give in to the urge and go to the kitchen, I often try to get him talking. “How’s it going with the Rachmaninoff piece?” I’ll ask, or simply ask if he’s seen Ginny.
He always responds with some kind of cruel mockery or tells me to fuck off.
I lap it all up like milk, taking whatever attention I can get from him.
It physically hurts to be in the same room as him without touching—but I’ve learned over the last five months that I’m a masochist. So I keep trying to be near him, hurting myself over and over by constantly stepping close to the flame, needing just a small taste of Killian.
But even the verbal mockery and cruel stares fade. One afternoon, he doesn’t even react when I speak. He doesn’t even look at me.
Pain tightens around my chest to the point where I can barely breathe. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
I step right up to him, feeling recklessly bold. Or maybe stupid, because Ian is away for the night to play a concert. There’s no one here to protect me. But I can’t help myself. “Why are you ignoring me?”
“Dad told me not to talk to you,” he says, not even sparing me a glance.
I gnash my teeth, knowing why Ian did that and knowing I should shut up and leave the room.
But I need something—anything. Just a small taste.
One look. I just stand there, watching as he goes about retrieving things from the fridge and cupboards, the ache around my heart expanding until every beat feels like it takes tremendous effort.
“I miss you,” I finally blurt, unable to keep the words in any longer. And I keep going, even knowing how reckless it is. The desperate need is simply too sharp. “Please, Killian. Just give me something. A hug. A kiss. Anything. Just talk to me.”
“What the fuck would we talk about?” He still doesn’t turn to me as he pops a plate into the microwave and waits for the food to heat.
His rejection is a sharp spear through my already achy heart, but I push on anyway.
“Everything. You hurting and humiliating me, then walking away. Not even wanting to play anymore. Refusing to acknowledge that we were once friends. The way you keep acting like you don’t care about me. But I know you—”
“I don’t,” he cuts me off, gripping the edges of the counter tight, eyes trained on the microwave. “I don’t fucking care about you. I never have.” He opens the microwave to check on the food.
I lower my voice as if speaking to a frightened animal, and that’s the way I’ve started seeing him. Gradually, after Ian told me about Killian’s issues, things have cleared until all I can see is that Killian’s coldness really is just a front—a way to hide a world of hurt. “I think you do.”
He slams the microwave door shut, then finally turns to me, a furious expression burning in his eyes. “I fucking don’t. Stop acting like you know me. You and Dad both. I’m sick of it.”
“Can we at least talk about what will happen after the competition?”
“What’s there to talk about?” He lets out a mocking laugh. “You didn’t think I would suddenly want you to be my sweetheart just because you got me a trophy, did you? You’re still just our dumb pet.”
He takes the food out of the microwave, grabs a fork, and walks past me. But my next words make him pause.
“Killian, I’m moving out. Ian has gotten me a flat.”
Slowly, he turns and says with malice, “He did what?”
I retreat a step. “What did you think was gonna happen? The time is up. I can’t be here anymore. Not when you’re like this.”
His fist curls and uncurls. “And then what? He’s just going to keep you there? His sweet little virgin? Fuck your ass and mouth once in a while when he sees fit?”
“I’m not a virgin anymore,” I whisper, and I know it’s a mistake the moment the words leave my mouth.
A furious thunderstorm flares alive in his eyes.
Everything else goes still. His posture, time, and the very air around us.
And then it breaks with a burst of fury.
Killian slams the plate down, so hard it cracks in three.
“He’s fucked your pussy?” he demands, pointing a threatening finger at me.
He takes a step forward, and I take one more back.
“So now what? He’s gonna keep you to himself? Without even telling me? Our toy.”
“No, he was gonna talk to you; he was just waiting for the right time. You seem so...” I back up further until I connect with the wall, and my breath flutters wildly through my nose as Killian keeps advancing, one slow step at a time.
“So what?” he demands, stopping right in front of me, staring me down with livid eyes that seem to hold a world of hurt.
“Angry,” I whisper.
Bracing one hand on the wall, he cages me in, then scoffs and looks to the side. When he meets my gaze again, I want to sink down the wall to escape the rage that seems to be seeping from his very pores. “You think I’m angry?”
I give a careful nod.
Wrapping his other hand around my throat, he leans in. “You think you know how I fucking feel?” When I don’t reply, he raises his voice to a rumbling demand. “Do you?”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I’m scared now.
Truly scared. I’ve grown comfortable around Killian, thinking his arrogant mockery is just a means to convince everyone, including himself, that he doesn’t feel anything for me.
But now, I’m not so sure anymore. And the fact that Ian is not home keeps echoing through my mind.
“Please let go of me, Killian.”
“Please, please, please,” he mocks. “Stop. No. It’s always the same with you. Pathetic little protests when all you want is to have something stuffed inside that wet cunt of yours.”
“Stop,” I whimper, unable to help myself.
He shoves a hand up under my skirt, pushes my panties aside, and shoves two fingers straight inside me. I let out a pained whimper, the motion scratching at my dry walls.
“Hmm, you’re not wet.”
“I don’t want this, Killian. Not when you’re like this.”
He takes his hand out and swats my cheek a couple of times. “Sure you do. Just give me a few minutes and you’ll be dripping all over.”
Keeping his grip on my throat tight, he steers me through the living room and into the hall.
“You don’t trust me, princess?” he says when I grab onto his hand, seeking some kind of purchase as I’m forced backward.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a choked voice when he pushes me into Ian’s bedroom and shoves me onto the bed.
He goes to the closets and opens the two left ones where Ian keeps his toys. “Seeing what kind of shit Dad has wasting away in here, too depraved for his innocent princess.”
“Just stop,” I implore, pushing up to sit. “You can’t do this. He hasn’t approved it.”
He pulls out a drawer, picks up a toy, throws it down, and does the same with another. “Well, I didn’t fucking approve that he could move you out and make you his own fuck doll, did I?” His voice goes deadly. “I didn’t fucking approve that he could fuck your pussy and not tell me about it.”
I glance between him and the door. If I’m quiet, maybe I can slip out before he notices. As carefully as I can, I scoot off the bed and tiptoe toward the hall. The moment I reach it, I set off into a run.
Only a few seconds pass before Killian gives chase, his feet pounding behind me.
My lungs screech from the effort as I put in all my strength.
Somehow, I just know that I need to get away—this won’t be like any of the other times if Killian gets to have his way with me.
I have no idea where I’m going until I’m in the entryway, facing a choice between the living room, Killian’s upstairs domain, and the front door.
I don’t have anywhere to go outside, but there’s also no place to hide here. I really only have one choice.
I rush to the front door, hearing Killian’s feet right behind me as I grab the handle. Locked.
“No,” I cry, grabbing the lock to turn it, but it’s already too late. Killian snatches me by the waist and throws me onto his shoulder. A dull gasp escapes me, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.
I keep protesting as he brings me back to Ian’s bedroom, but there’s nothing I can do.
He’s too strong. I barely even manage any meaningful struggle when he sets me down on my knees.
He just squeezes his thighs around my head, forcing me forward in an awkward position.
I’m trapped. All I can do is shove and scratch at his thighs, but even that is useless.
Within seconds, he has grabbed the restraints he needs and is behind me on the floor, snapping metal cuffs onto my wrists and ankles.
Then he pushes me onto my stomach, pulls my legs up behind me, and snaps the two sets of cuffs together, bringing me into a hogtie.
“It hurts,” I whimper, the metal digging into my skin. I try to pull my legs farther up to relieve the pressure, but I can only hold it for a moment before the strain of the position requires me to slacken my muscles.
“That’s kind of the point,” Killian says, returning to the closet and the drawers he has pulled open.
“Has he used this on you?” He holds up a harness that looks like the one he put on my head when using the nose hook. Only, this one is pink. And it has something else attached. Long, wide pieces of leather, tapered and pointed to resemble… ears. I gasp at the realization.
“Has he?” Killian demands when I don’t respond.
“No,” I exclaim with alarm.