Chapter 65
The Competition
Jenna
My hands are shaking, my palms sweaty. I clench and unclench them, then shake them.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper to Killian, peering out at the two young men playing one of Dvorak’s Slavonic dances with immaculate proficiency and deep musicality. It’s just the two of us behind the stage, waiting for our turn to perform, and I think I’m going to tuck my tail and run at any moment.
Killian slips both hands around my waist and leans in behind me. “Close your eyes.”
Although he whispers, there’s an unmistakable command to his voice that makes me draw a sharp breath, my eyes falling shut instantly.
“There’s no one else here. It’s just you and me. The crowd doesn’t matter, the judges don’t matter. Those two guys don’t matter. All that matters is pleasing me. And Dad. He’s watching too.”
His words loosen some of the tension twisting in my gut, but it’s not enough to steady my hands or stop the ground from shaking beneath me.
“What if we don’t win?” I whisper.
“We’ll win,” he assures.
I turn around in his arms and repeat with more urgency, “What if we don’t win?”
He slips a hand to the back of my nape, gripping tightly. “Then Dad and I are gonna take you back to the hotel, shove our cocks inside you, and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”
Heat spreads to my cheeks, through my body. But I still can’t forget the horror scenario that this might all be for nothing. “I’m serious, Killian.”
“So am I. Nothing changes if we don’t win.”
“Are you sure?” Suddenly, I realize it’s not the idea of going home empty-handed that scares me; it’s the idea of disappointing Killian. The instinctive fear of him pushing me away is still seated deep inside me. It’s getting better with each day, but there’s still a long way to go.
Killian gives me a small shake, bringing me flush against his body.
“If we don’t win, I’m gonna put a collar and a chain on you—tail as well—and keep you crawling on the floor and eating from a bowl for a whole week.
Just to make sure you don’t forget that you still belong to me.
I’ll even lock the chain to my own wrist and throw away the key to make sure you stay at my side.
” His jaw tics, eyes burning with a feral intensity that scares me.
But the fear is nothing like the one I just felt when thinking about the stage. This fear is warm and urgent, setting fire to a part of me that makes me squeeze closer and burrow my head against him. “Now I don’t want to win,” I murmur.
The audience starts clapping, but I barely notice as Killian grips me tight. “Too bad, because we’re taking home that trophy.” He holds on for a moment, then leans back to face me. “Are you ready?”
I stroke the sides of my hair, checking that no hairs have strayed from the French braids I’ve made. “I’m ready.”
Killian takes my hand and brings me onto the stage.
The gesture is not polite or comforting.
It’s demanding and controlling, and it’s just what I need.
I don’t glance at the crowd or even the grand piano.
I just look at his hand, wrapped around mine, leading me on.
Grabbing me by the shoulders, he steers me in front of the piano bench and makes me sit down.
I should be embarrassed—a whole crowd is watching him boss me around—but I can’t bring myself to care.
When he sits beside me, he places his hand on my nape again—not gripping tightly as before, but the possessiveness is clear. Leaning close, he whispers, “When we win, I’m still going to put you on a leash and give you a tail.”
He releases me, and I stare at him with wide eyes.
He offers no excuse, just a firm nod at the keys and a stern, “Now play.”
I don’t even think, I just act. The instinct to submit to him and obey is stronger than any nervousness.
So I place my hands on the keys and play—for him and for Ian, who I know is watching from somewhere in the crowd.
I drift off into a space devoid of time and place.
All I know is Killian. He’s all around me: his dominant energy, his scent, and his hands flying over the keys, leaping over mine and around my back to catch deep notes.
I still don’t understand how he can play like this and still hit every single beat.
I still don’t understand that I’m here with him.
My bully and the man who ruined my life.
Now the man who says he loves me and, each and every day, proves just how deeply.
But I don’t need to make sense of anything when I’m at his side. I just need to feel. Him and the music. Us.
When we stop playing and the crowd starts clapping, that surreal feeling hits me like a freight train. My hands had just calmed, but suddenly, I’m shaking again—all over.
“Killian,” I whisper, my legs feeling like lead. I have no idea how to even get off the bench.
“I’ve got you, kitten.” Gently grabbing my elbow, he guides me to my feet. “They’re loving it,” he whispers. “Just close your eyes and listen. This is the loudest it’s gotten all night.”
Pausing in the small space between the bench and the piano, I close my eyes and listen. The sound is oppressive at first, but as I tune in on it and truly listen, I think he might be right. The audience keeps going, clapping and even whistling.
I can’t believe it. I must be dreaming. But when I open my eyes, it’s all still there.
The stage, the crowd, and Killian. I flash a beaming smile at him.
“We did it,” I whisper. “We played my piece.” Suddenly, I don’t care about the trophy.
This feeling, sharing this moment with Killian, finally being on a stage again is all that matters.
“We did it,” he confirms and leans in to press a kiss to my lips before leading me to the center of the stage, where we take a bow.
***
I still feel like I’m walking around in a dream when I leave the stage again an hour later, a trophy in one hand, Killian holding the other tight.
Ian comes up to us but doesn’t say a thing, just pulls each of us in for a tight hug, then places a hand on each of our cheeks, giving us an expression full of warmth, pride, and so much love.
“You have such bright futures ahead of you,” he finally says. “Just wait and see.”
As if on cue, a man comes up to us, asking about the piece we played.
I just nod to confirm that I wrote it and answer briefly when he asks if I have written more.
“A few.” Then I just stand there, baffled beyond comprehension, while Ian and Killian do the talking, easily navigating questions about how long we’ve been playing together and what plans we have for the future, even though the past is full of shadows and the future not yet clear.
My eyes widen with each sentence as it dawns on me that the man wants to discuss a record deal and a tour—with both of us.
Killian holds firmly onto my hand, flashing me bright, happy smiles as surreal as everything else while Ian takes on the role as our manager, saying that he’ll be the one negotiating deals and handling the business side of things.
“We’re gonna be big,” Killian whispers when the man finally lets us walk out of there.
I lean into him when he wraps an arm around me, letting him shelter me from the crowd and the chaos that has become an assault on my sensitive senses. But when I drop into the seat of the rental car, the exhaustion is not heavy or oppressive. It’s just there.
I expect Killian to slide in beside me, but instead, he takes the driver’s seat while Ian gets into the back. Hidden behind the tinted windows, he pulls me into him.
“I needed this,” I say, curling up against him. I’ve been leaning on Killian all night, and now getting to do the same with Ian is like everything coming full circle.
“Me too,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
When Killian carries me from the car thirty minutes later, I’m half asleep. I expect him to tuck me into bed when we get to our hotel room, but instead, he sets me on my feet and takes my head between his hands. “I promised you something.” Glancing over my shoulder, he says to Ian, “It’s time.”
Ian crosses the room and disappears through the door to the adjoining hotel room, where he sleeps.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“A present,” Killian says, stroking his thumbs along my cheekbones.
My stomach instinctively twists at the memory of the last present they got me, and I’m too tired to see reason. “Killian, I’m not in the mood. I just want to sleep.”
“Shh. It’s nothing like that. Sit down and just zone out for a moment. Let me take care of you.” He takes my hands and steadies me as I lower myself to the floor.
Still not reassured, I cast him a nervous look. “I’m serious.”
“Kitten, nothing crazy is going to happen. This is a good thing. I promise.” He places his hand on the back of my head, beckoning me to lean against his thigh. Giving in to him is a great relief. I feel like I could drift off right here.
But barely a minute passes before footsteps announce Ian’s return.
Killian steps behind me and places his hands on my shoulders, firm but reassuring.
My breath catches when Ian stops in front of me and I gaze up at him. Not even my exhaustion can soften the effect of his magnificent dominance. His tall posture, his unwavering attention, and the lines on his face all speak of age and authority. And that suit and tie only add to the heady picture.
I fold my legs beneath me, instinctively taking the submissive position.
Expression serious, Ian holds a square, flat box in front of me.
I barely breathe while I watch his hands—the visible veins and the strong knuckles—as he opens the box, and when I see what’s in it, I stop breathing altogether.
Slapping a hand to my mouth, I just stare at the contents.
A collar of smooth, polished steel with a decorative knot at the front, from which a small ring hangs. It’s simple and beautiful.
“Is that…” I point at it, unable to get more words out.
“For you,” Killian says.