2. Killian #3
But I made it clear that anyone who touched her would answer to me.
And despite my betrayal, despite the bounty on my head, my reputation still carries phenomenal weight in many circles.
People remember what I was capable of when I worked for Ross.
They remember the jobs I completed, the problems I solved, flawlessly executed.
They remember to be afraid.
So Ellie lived, unknowing and protected, while I rotted in maximum security and planned for this day.
Tomorrow, I trade one prison for another. Instead of concrete walls and steel bars, I'll be confined by an ankle monitor and the boundaries of her property. Instead of guards watching my every move, I'll be observed by cameras, GPS, and psychological evaluation.
The woman who invades my thoughts will be my keeper and my captor. She'll try to rehabilitate me, to save my soul from the darkness that consumes it. She doesn’t realize that I'm already beyond saving, that damnation chose me years ago and I have never known anything else.
What she also doesn't understand is that I don't want to be saved.
I want to corrupt her in the best possible way, to make her mine in every sense.
I want to take her pristine world and wreak fucking havoc.
I want to show her that the darkness she studies academically is far more seductive up close. My dick twitches in sheer anticipation.
I want her to choose me over everything else, her career, her ethics, her stuck-up goddamn boyfriend with his predictable and boring love. I want her to look at me, knowing exactly what I am, and decide that she doesn't care. To belong to me completely.
And I think I can make it happen. No, I know I can make it happen.
For seven years I’ve been studying her, understanding her psychology better than any case file could reveal.
Eleanor Hart saves broken things because she's broken herself.
Her father's death left cracks she tries to fill with purpose and professional dedication.
However, the foundation is still rubble.
I'm going to find those cracks and widen them deliberately until she has no choice but to let me in.
The guards make their final rounds, and the cell block settles into the restless quiet of another night. Tomorrow brings freedom, or as much freedom as I can hope for. Tomorrow, I'll sit across from Ellie and begin the most important performance of my life.
I'll be the reformed criminal seeking redemption. The damaged man who's found hope in her expertise. The dangerous predator who's learned to be tame.
And she'll try to save me, never realizing that I'm the one who's going to damn us both.
I lie back and pull the photo out from under my pillow. Ellie in that blue dress. My hand’s already wrapped around my cock, hard before I even touch myself properly. Seven years of this. Pretending it’s enough. It never is.
I stroke once, slow and tight, just to make it hurt.
My grip rough. Then again, lighter. My grip stays brutal, and I don't let up.
That's how it'll be with her. The way I imagine teasing her until she forgets there was ever anyone else.
Pre-come beads at my tip, and I smear it slowly with my thumb, watching the way it glistens.
I drag my thumb across my tongue as if it belongs to her.
The slick of her arousal, the salt of her skin, the way I imagine she'd taste dragging my tongue through her wet slit.
I let it linger, coating every inch of my tongue, like I'm already between her thighs. Like she's already mine.
I swallow it slowly, savoring every trace like she left it for me.
Soon. Then I let the fantasy take me. Her lips wrapped around me.
Those hazel eyes looking up at me through her dark lashes.
Her voice low and breathy, begging me to fuck her rougher.
I want the version of her that nobody else has ever seen.
I want her filthy. I want her legs spread and shaking, her thighs sticky from how many times I've made her come.
I want her pinned to the mattress while I fuck every sound out of her pretty little mouth.
She'll try to fight it, just enough to make me lose control.
I'll fuck her until she can't remember a time before me.
I'm pumping faster now, my grip harsh, hips jerking into my fist to meet my strokes like I'm already buried balls deep inside her.
The pressure builds, tightening my balls and making my tip swell, until I come with a low, guttural sound, spilling my cum over my stomach.
I bury the groan in the fist I've clamped over my mouth.
I lie still, chest heaving, cum cooling on my skin.
Tomorrow, when Dr. Hart opens her door to Killian Blackthorn, she'll think she's welcoming a patient into her home.
She has no idea she's inviting the devil himself into her home.
Into her life. But she'll learn. She will eventually understand that some criminals can't be rehabilitated; only their desires can be fed.
Some obsessions can't be cured, only consummated.
And some men can't be saved; they can only be loved for the monsters they've chosen to become.
I stare at her smile.
And I know.
Tomorrow, I won't need my fucking hand.