Chapter Twelve
S ometimes we do shit that’s bad for our health. It’s in our nature, to toe the line, wondering if this time will be the last time. Ask any adrenaline junkie, they do it for the rush, for the thrill, but even they know this time could be the last time.
Wearing just a t-shirt in front of Killian is kind of like that.
I could have worn the sweats, rolled them down and tied the string and they would have stayed up but why should I be uncomfortable? Coming out here in just a tee is a risk I’m willing to take.
Killian gives me whiplash.
He’s cold and hostile but I see it. I see the way he looks at me, I felt it. I know I affect him the same way he affects me. The difference between him and I though, is he uses thorns and sharp words to deflect, and they hurt every time they slash against my skin.
You exist.
Yeah buddy, I do, and I know I haunt the shit out of you.
It’s empowering really; to know I have a hold on him, even if it goes nowhere. I’m not going to be in this alone or allow him to belittle me.
And me coming out in just his tee is doing a number on him. The muscle in his jaw has been ticking for the past minute and the hold he has on his coffee mug has his knuckles turning white.
Don’t play games, you’re not ready to win.
But I am ready to win. He thinks he scares me, but he doesn’t. I’ve seen him in every situation, the good, the bad and the damn right ugly. Nothing surprises me. I know what he does, I know there is blood on his hands, but I have never felt safer in another person’s presence.
I stand opposite him, cradling my coffee cup while I wait for him to answer me. When it becomes apparent he isn’t going to suggest anything, I start to pad toward his living room where a huge flat screen dominates the wall above a gas fireplace. Grabbing the remote, I throw myself onto the couch and hit the button, scrolling through to Netflix when it loads. It’s not surprising that he doesn’t have an account, so I log myself in and hit play on the episode of One Tree Hill I had paused on last night .
His steps sound behind me, stopping at the door but not entering any further. I’ve watched this show so many times I can memorize most episodes, but my focus isn’t on the TV. I am so very aware of him, there’s no escape.
“By all means,” He deadpans, “Make yourself at home.”
“Aw,” I don’t dare turn to him, “I already did, but thanks.”
He grumbles something under his breath and then walks further into the room, folding himself onto the couch, all the way on the other side so there’s a whole two seat cushions between us. The TV is barely loud enough to stifle the sound of the rain against the windows, and it doesn’t appear to be letting up any time soon.
I let out a loud sigh and slouch further into the couch, kicking my legs under me to get comfortable before I flick my eyes to Killian, only to find him already looking at me. He doesn’t look away when he sees I’ve caught him.
“Are you ready to accept my apology?” I ask him though I think we are past that now. He came in his pants and then he hurt my feelings, so I think we’re even, but I doubt it’ll be that easy.
“It’s not an apology I want,” He tells me, leaning himself back as he stretches one arm across the back of the couch.
“What do you want?” I pause the TV and turn my full attention to him. His eyes do a slow roll down me, pausing at the bare legs propped against the seat cushions. Everything in me turns hot at the blatant staring and desire that flashes across his face.
Does he hate me because he’s attracted to me?
“Did you like it?” He asks on a rasp, bringing his eyes back to mine.
Outside, a sudden rumble of thunder startles me, making my already racing heart beat a little bit faster.
“Yes,” I don’t lie.
“You wearing only my shirt to get my attention, Savannah?” He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, dropping his eyes once more to my legs and the hem of the shirt that’s ridden up my thigh a little.
“I – No, of course not.” There’s a lump in my throat and not enough air in my lungs. Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.
“Don’t lie to me, Savannah.”
“I’m not!” I defend though my cheeks are burning, and my thighs are aching, my stomach twisting up into knots.
His mouth notches up at the corner and a spark ignites in his eyes as he tuts, “So many lies. But it’s okay, I know, and you have my attention.”
“Killian,” I breathe his name as I squirm.
“I think we can even the score,” He suggests, “Want to play? ”
“What’s the game?”
“Slide your hand into your panties,” His voice is all gravel, “Make yourself come.”
I feel my eyes bug out of my head, “What?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s only fair. You made me come, now it’s your turn for an orgasm but this one is mine.”
My pussy clenches with the idea, my stomach knotting with both excitement and nerves. “Here?”
“Right fucking here,” His dark eyes devour me, but he doesn’t move, he keeps himself rooted to his side of the couch. There’s a tremor in my muscles as I shift on the couch and unfold my legs, placing both feet on the cushion next to me. My nipples press onto the soft fabric of his tee, and I let my thighs fall apart a little to give me better access.
His jaw clamps tight as he watches my hand descend, fingers tugging the hem up enough I can slide my hand down the front of my panties.
I’m already wet and at the first touch of my fingers to my clit, my pussy clenches, a rush of pleasure shooting down my spine. I’m barely able to stifle the moan that wants to escape my throat.
Slipping my finger lower, I gently tease it into myself, my muscles already beginning to tighten. It’s the way he’s looking at me, the hunger on his face as the air turns electric between us. His fingers have curled into his palms and his own muscles have grown taut, as if he is barely holding onto his restraint .
I shouldn’t do this.
We shouldn’t do this.
I’m not even sure how we got here. Thirty minutes ago, I was fleeing after he insulted me, now my legs are spread while I pleasure myself on his couch in front of him.
“Keep going,” He whispers, entirely focused on where my hand moves against my pussy, two fingers rolling tight circles over my clit. It’s a slow build, a gentle climb that moves me higher and higher toward the peak. “How does it feel?” He asks.
“Good,” I whimper, head rolling back as the pleasure courses through me.
“Look at me, Savannah.”
I snap my head back up at the command in his tone.
“I want to watch you when you come,” He demands, “You’re close, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I breathe shakily.
“Good.”
“I want to–”
“No,” He cuts me off before I can finish the sentence, already knowing what I was going to say.
Touch you.
“Slide your fingers into your cunt,” He orders, “Fuck yourself, Savannah, I want to see you soaking those panties.”
“Killian,” His name is a moan and a plea.
His chest moves rapidly with his breaths, and I can see the clear outline of his cock beneath his sweats, hard and tenting the front of his pants. I could help him, but I do as I am told instead, sliding my fingers back down until I can slip them inside. I am drenched, my arousal soaks my hand and the material of my underwear. I’m so fucking wet I’m a little worried I’ll leave a wet spot on the couch beneath me. But I can’t stop, not when it’s right there.
“Spread your legs wider,” He commands, “Show me.”
My thighs widen which allows me easier access and I press the heel of my palm to my clit, adding some friction as I continue to pump my fingers in and out of myself.
“Fuck,” I cry out, “Yes.”
“That’s it,” He urges, “Come all over your fucking hand.”
“God,” My head thumps back, no longer able to stay up as my climax ricochets through me, my pussy spasming around my fingers as I pulse, the orgasm tightening every single muscle in my body.
Slowly, I bring myself down, gently easing my fingers out of my pussy and then my underwear and look up to find Killian closer than he was before.
His eyes narrow before they flick to the hand still glistening with my arousal.
His fingers wrap around my wrist and then he brings my hand toward his lips, his mouth wrapping around the fingers that were inside of me. My breath stalls and a whole new wave of desire has me panting, desperate for more. He sucks my fingers clean before he leans in, his lips brushing across my cheek, toward the shell of my ear.
“Don’t play games you’re not ready to win, Tiny Dancer,” He whispers before he shoves away from me and storms from the room, leaving me wet and breathless on the couch.
That’s how it remains for the rest of my time here, as the rain comes to a stop and the skies begin to clear, I sit in silence on the couch, not hearing or seeing Killian once in the five hours it takes for the storm to stop.
And when I go in search of him, to let him know I am leaving, I find my clothes folded and in a pile outside of his locked bedroom door. I can catch the hint.
My cheeks burn as I gather up my clothes and get changed in the bathroom, leaving his t-shirt folded on the bathroom counter and then I gather my things, and grab my keys.
The air is cool when I step outside, but it doesn’t do anything against the heat in my face or rushing through my body and even when I’m in the safety of my car and on the road, sorrow and humiliation sting my eyes.
Killian Archer is a wound that just won’t seem to heal. I shouldn’t want him the way I do, and everything between us right now is a toxic, festering mess but still, I go back, desperately seeking solace in the pit I have dug.