Chapter 62 #2
“You’re my little kitten, Jenna. Soft and cuddly. I’m sorry I forgot for so long.”
Sniffling, I lift my hands to dry my eyes. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“It’s okay. Cry if you need to. I’m here. We’re here.”
Ian places his hands on my shoulders, a silent affirmation of Killian’s promise.
“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling so utterly grateful for these two men, unable to believe I’m here—safe between them both.
My trust in Killian is quickly growing as he holds me with aching affection.
It’s like he’s a different person. New but also familiar—the caring boy I once knew and have been waiting for all these years returning to me in a grown man’s body.
“You’re welcome.” Killian kisses the shell of my ear, lingering, relishing the moment the same way I do. When he straightens, he asks Ian, “Should we give her a safeword?”
“We should. Any ideas?”
Killian’s smile is palpable when he asks me, “Do you still hate Bach?”
I nod, smiling against him, loving that he remembers how I complained to my friends when my piano teacher had me playing Bach. Killian would always mock me when he overheard my complaints, but I held firm. I’ve never cared for his music.
“Blasphemy,” Ian says with a huff, but agrees. “Well, Bach it is.”
Ian grabs my shoulders and turns me around, levelling me with a serious gaze, “Anytime you say Bach, we will stop whatever we’re doing. It doesn’t matter what or why, we’ll stop. Okay?”
“I trust you,” I say, knowing I won’t ever need that word when Ian is here.
“And I trust you to let me know if I ever misread you and am about to cross a line. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good girl. Now step in front of the bench.”
Leaning into their steadying grips, I move in front of the bench and let them lower me toward it until the phallus is prodding against my narrow opening.
Pausing, Ian leans close to my ear. “But don’t ever misuse your safeword. The consequences will be dire.”
Gulping, I nod. I would never misuse this safety line they have granted me.
But it’s not because I fear the consequences—part of me is curious about what type of sadistic punishment Ian would come up with—it’s because I can’t bear to disobey these two men who hold me so deep in their clutches that submission becomes like breathing.
“Good girl,” Killian croons with the same affectionate tone Ian always uses. Hearing those words spoken with such sincerity on Killian’s lips sends a sharp surge of emotion through me. I shoot my hand out to grab onto him, needing to feel him, that this is for real.
“Uh,” I groan when the phallus breaches my opening, stiff and unforgiving.
It stirs all kinds of memories, good and bad.
Mostly overwhelming. Having no idea which type to linger on, I focus on Killian instead.
I clutch his arm, feeling his biceps tighten as they lower me into place.
He’s so strong, the effort of keeping me suspended seems like nothing to him.
So much control—mentally and physically. It makes me sink deeper.
They take their time lowering me into place. I think it’s to make me feel it—the helplessness and the phallus going inside me, one slow increment at a time.
“T-too much,” I groan, the stiff feeling no less ruthless even though I’ve felt it twice before.
“Just right,” Ian croons, stroking my back soothingly.
“Nh,” I protest, leaning into his touch, soaking up his comfort, letting it balance the brutal invasion of my body.
I’m panting hard when they finally release me, seated on the bench, rooted in place. I have no idea how I’m supposed to play. My whole body is thrumming with an intense energy that is both unbearable and so damn addictive.
Ian prods a finger between my legs. “Are you wet?” he asks, a rhetorical question.
Killian slaps my thighs apart, and Ian slips a finger deep inside my pussy. I squirm, embarrassment coursing through me at the feeling of how easily he goes, my dripping wet pussy eagerly inviting him inside. New sensations spark, adding fire to the already burning hot sensation at my core.
Ian tuts. “Such a dirty little girl. Now my finger is soaked.”
“I need more,” I groan when he pulls out.
Ian grabs my hair and pulls my head back, spearing me with a demanding stare. “Is that something you decide? When you get more?”
“N-no.”
“No, it isn’t. You only get more when we decide it’s time. And now, I want to hear the piece you’ve been keeping from me.”
“I can’t play like this.”
Killian wraps his hand around my throat, leaning in. “That’s a lie, Kitten,” he says with deceptive softness.
“No, no, no, no, no. I’m sorry,” I pant. “Plea—”
Ian cuts off my plea by shoving his wet digit inside my mouth.
I think I sense something unspoken passing between the two men, but I can’t really tell.
Pinned in place by their hands, I can’t turn my head to look, and I’m too overcome by the musky taste of my own desire and the unforgiving stiffness inside me to focus.
Killian gets behind me on the bench, slaps his hands onto my thighs, and spreads them wide. Then Ian’s finger is back between my legs, at my clit.
The sensation is brutal. My clit is so sensitive that any little touch drives me wild.
And Ian’s touch is evil. Soft flicks that shoot bolts of electricity through me, making me spasm and jerk.
I try to move away—to alleviate the sensation—but between the phallus and Killian’s hands, I’m stuck in place, spread wide open, forced to take Ian’s maddening ministrations.
I drop my head back, onto Killian’s shoulder, giving up the fight. But my body keeps jerking. It’s simply too much. I moan and yelp, in pleasure and frustration. But even though the pleasure is unbearable, it keeps building, slowly but surely.
“So close,” I pant when the tension ripples through my legs, making my toes curl. I grab onto Ian, moaning loud and wild, about to go over.
But just as the swirling heat coalesces in my belly, about to explode, he steps back.
“Noo.” My eyes snap open, and I stare at him with indignation.
But when Killian wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes his legs into mine, another feeling overpowers me.
Relief.
Bone-deep relief.
“Play,” Killian whispers, and suddenly, it’s just the two of us. My eyes fall shut, and I melt into him. I soak him up—his scent, his strength, his warmth. It’s all around me, overwhelming and heady. A relief so sharp it chokes me up. “Let Dad hear your beautiful music.”
Killian’s warm tone makes me reach for the keys quite automatically. I don’t even need to think. The music is embedded so deeply in my muscles that it flows naturally.
Killian doesn’t join me like I expected him to; he just leans into me, deepening the connection with tender strokes and small motions of his hips that jostle me against the phallus.
I groan and whimper, the desire that fires off into my sensitive nerves driving me wild.
But somehow, it doesn’t impede my playing.
If anything, it drives it to new heights.
At least, that’s how it feels. The moment I release the keys, having played the last note, uncertainty filters in.
I just gave another piece of my heart to Killian.
I gave Ian this new part of me that I’ve carefully kept to myself.
I throw a quick glance at Ian, then squirm on the bench, needing a little distance from Killian. But the motion only brings more bolts of electricity that have me panting. “It’s… It’s—”
I’m about to say that it’s too much, but I don’t need my words.
Killian reads me perfectly. Reacting instantly, he bands both arms around me, capturing my hands in my lap, and hooks his legs over mine.
The position leaves him balancing on the seat with only his core as support, but he easily holds us there, steady and grounded.
“Killian,” I whisper, choking up, the emotions too strong to hold back anymore.
“I’m here, kitten. I’m yours. Always.”
“Killian,” I repeat, needing to say his name, needing the affirmation that follows as he keeps assuring me that he’s here and that he’s got me.
My chest shakes and a few tears spill over, but I don’t sob.
I don’t need that unraveling release. Not when I’m here in Killian’s arms—his touch, his words, the only things that make sense.
Eyes falling shut, I let myself go. The shaking in my chest spreads, through my abdomen, into my arms and legs, until I’m shaking all over.
“K-Killian,” I repeat, unable to hold my voice steady through the turbulence.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you, Jenna. My pretty little kitten. You’re safe here. You’re mine.”
I don’t know how long we sit like that, overcome by the intimacy we’ve both needed for so long. At some point, I remember that Ian is here as well. Lifting my head, I scan the room and find him on the couch by the windows. He looks calm, just watching us, leaning back, hands laced over his stomach.
I reach out and say his name as well. “Ian.”
“Yes, sweetheart, I’m right here.” He gets up and comes to stand beside us, taking my hand and pressing it to his chest—his beating heart.
“That was so beautiful.” His brows knit in an almost perplexed expression at the emphasis.
Shaking his head, he parts his lips, but no words come out.
He’s at a loss. “So, so beautiful,” he repeats and presses his other hand to my cheek. “Just like you.”
“Ian,” I just say, unable to get anything else out, wanting to taste the comfort of his name on my lips.
“It’s all her,” Killian agrees. “Soft and vulnerable. So damn brave.”
Ian hums. “It is. And now, I want to hear it again. Both of you.”
Killian places his feet flat on the ground, abs relaxing, tilting slightly forward. “Will you play with me, kitten?” he asks softly.
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Go ahead and start.”
I turn my head to look at him. “Do you even remember what you were playing?”
A smirk lights up his eyes. “I’ll come up with something.”