Chapter Twenty-Four #3
He can’t wait until I’m on the bed; his hand flashes out, circling my wrist, and he yanks me down on top of him. His fingers dig into the sensitive and well-spanked flesh of my ass, and I hiss. He smiles. Drags his teeth over my neck, then across my collarbone, sending a chill up my spine.
“Ride me, Little Bird. Make it good and I might let you come.”
Despite the order, he doesn’t give me much of a choice. His hands move to my hips, lifting me and controlling me. I don’t need him to tell me to line himself up with my entrance; I do it immediately and instinctively.
And then his tip breaches me. Filling, stretching, overwhelming me.
I had him inside me just this morning, when he fucked me like he really did hate me, and I’m still sore.
There’s a delicious stretch and burn as I take him in, sinking down and down until he’s so deep inside of me it’s hard to breathe.
“That’s… more like it,” he grunts. His hands move from my ass to my hips, fingers flexing into the soft flesh. He’s hard everywhere I’m soft; we’re opposites in every single way that counts, and yet, we inexplicably somehow fit.
Not just physically. We have other points of compatibility that I try not to think about.
He gazes into my eyes. “You’re mine.”
I know.
His hips come up at the same time he pulls me down; a cry escapes me, and my head falls back.
He fists a hand in my hair and forces me to meet his eyes again. “Say it.” He flexes his hips, hitting a spot inside me so sensitive, it hurts.
“What?” I gasp.
“Say that you’re mine. Admit it.” He leans forward and plants an almost angry kiss on my lips. “We both know it’s true.”
“I’m—” I cut off with a choked moan when he flexes his hips again. His lips tip up in a devilish smile.
“Say it,” he purrs.
I shudder, trying to think past his cock stretching me, filling me until I’m brimming, and clearing my mind of all rational thought. What are words, again?
“I’m—shit,” I cut off with a pitiful wail when he grinds my hips down. My clit tingles, and a full-body shudder briefly makes my vision go black.
“Hm?” Killian mocks, his voice slightly strained. “What was that?”
“I’m yours,” I rush out, tears sparking in my eyes.
He hisses out a breath. “Look me in the eyes when you say it.”
I force my eyes open. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. “I’m yours,” I cry out again.
He grins. “Good fucking girl.” Rather than letting me come, he pulls me off his cock, flips me around, and grunts, “Hold the headboard.” That’s all the instructions I get before his cock slides back inside me, and he starts fucking me in earnest. I grip the headboard, bracing myself with each thrust, little whimpers and moans scarping my throat raw.
He fucks me hard, each forward surge almost angry, the slap of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room.
His hand snakes over my hips, fingers finding my clit. “Don’t you ever fucking forget it,” he grunts. “Come.”
God help me, I do. Round after round of almost painful convulsions wrack my body, my entire being.
Liquid fire lights me up from the inside out, and I lose myself to the sea of pleasure I’d happily drown in.
My hands grip the headboard so hard they hurt, my toes curl, and I’m left with nothing to do but brace myself until Killian finishes.
It’s not long before he stiffens, and his motions turn from outright angry to jerky and uncontrolled.
Then, he stills. Folds himself over me, and kisses the back of my neck.
My pussy convulses again, and I moan lowly.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing my neck again. “Fuck, I love you.”
My eyes flash back open, and my stomach drops. What did he just say?
As if he can hear my thoughts, he repeats, “It’s true.” He curls a hand through my hair and pulls me upright, then carefully maneuvers me until I’m on his lap again. He brushes damp strands of hair out of my face. I stare at him with wide eyes.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this afraid of him.
At first, I thought Killian King had a passing infatuation with me. Then, it developed into an obsession that I was sure would kill me.
I’m far more comfortable with those things than I am with love. Is Killian capable of love? More, what does his love look like?
Eternal obsession. Being property. Being owned, wholly and completely, by him. The answers flit across my mind with rapid succession. Each one frightens me more than the last.
“I… don’t know what to say,” I whisper.
He leans in and seals his lips to mine in a deeply passionate yet somehow gentle kiss. Maybe it’s the orgasm or just pure exhaustion, but it takes me less than a heartbeat to melt into him, sagging against his chest. “Say you’ll never leave,” he murmurs, pulling back.
It clicks just then. Everyone he’s ever loved has left him—namely, his family.
His grandfather and parents died. The dog he grew so attached to was torn from him.
I don’t think Killian’s let himself love anyone since, either for fear of losing them, or just from the deep detachment that overtook him.
I don’t respond. Killian’s hold on me tightens, as if that’s enough to keep me with him, and his gaze cools rapidly. “Say it,” he repeats.
“Would you let me even if I tried?”
“Never.”
I swallow and lower my gaze to his chest. “Then you have your answer.”