43. Ellie
ELLIE
The bathroom door clicks shut, and the silence is worse than the noise in the cellar.
I let out a massive exhale that catches in my throat. I push the air out until my chest burns, then I lean there, eyes closed, waiting for my heart to stop hammer-fisting my ribs.
My fingers are clumsy, fumbling with the buckles of the holster.
I strip, the gear hitting the tile in a heap of blood-stained nylon and sweat.
I catch my reflection in the mirror for a beat.
When I'm completely naked, I feel strangely powerful rather than exposed.
My body bears its own scars now, a roadmap of survival that I no longer feel the need to hide—the fading bruises on my ribs from recent training, the lean muscles I've built back during my recovery.
This body is mine, not a victim, not a vessel for someone else's control; mine to command, to feel with, to share on my own terms.
The bathroom is freezing, the air biting at my bare skin as I stand there, shivering.
I can still smell the burnt sulfur on my skin, the metallic scent of the gunpowder stuck in my hair.
I step into the shower and crank the heat until the water is scalding, letting it beat against the back of my neck until my skin is raw.
Leaning my forehead against the cold tile, I close my eyes and let the water pummel me, trying to wash the whole night down the drain.
The blood on my hands, the noise of the compound, the way everything feels like it's covered in a layer of grime that won't come off. I want to be clean. I want to be empty.
The door slides open.
I keep my eyes closed, my forehead pressed to the tile, but I can feel the temperature in the tiny space spike.
The spray of the water breaks as he steps into it, the rhythm of the hammering heat shifting as he stands right behind me.
He doesn't say a word. He's so close I can feel the heat radiating off his chest.
He stays there, the water hammering into his shoulders and splashing onto mine.
He's so close that when he breathes, I can feel the warmth of it hit the wet skin of my neck.
The water hitting him makes a different sound now, a deeper, hollower thud that vibrates through the floor, a low, steady beat that matches the ringing in my ears.
"Turn around, Ellie."
My heart stutters at the command. My body wants to bolt, but my body also wants to stay. I'm split right down the middle. I force my forehead off the tile and turn, the water running between our bodies, and find his eyes in the steam.
He looks at me, his eyes dark, holding my gaze while the water beats a relentless rhythm against our shoulders.
He's watching the way I'm trembling, not with pity, but with a total, focused intensity that feels like it's peeling me back layer by layer.
He's seeing the toll the night took, every raw nerve exposed in the steam.
His hands find my waist, his fingers gripping my hips and hauling me flush against him.
It's like hitting a wall of concrete. He's soaking wet and burning hot, the heavy muscle of his chest pressing the breath out of me.
I can feel his stomach pulled tight, and the deep ridges of his Adonis belt cut into his lower hips, grinding against me.
There's no room left for anything else. He holds me, his grip unyielding, until the tremors in my legs finally start to settle and my breath starts to even out.
"You're still back there," he rasps, his forehead dropping to mine.
"It was putting a face to the name," I breathe. "Actually seeing the man responsible for every single thing they did to you. The things Grace made me watch... what they made you do. Killian, I'm so fucking angry. I want the feeling of him gone."
"He's nothing." Killian's hand moves to the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against the thrumming of my pulse. "He's an old man locked in a dark room. You're out here, Ellie. You're with me."
His other hand tightens on my hip, grounding me as his mouth finds the curve of my neck.
His teeth press into my skin. Not quite a bite, but hard enough that I can't think about anything else.
I wrap my arms around him, my nails digging into his shoulders, pulling him as close as I can get. I need him here.
He stays there for a long time, his lips hot against my wet skin, until the noise of the night is gone.
When he pulls back, he doesn't break the connection.
He reaches for the soap and begins to wash me.
His hands work shampoo through my hair, his strong fingers massaging my scalp while I stand on my tiptoes to reach his head.
There's a silence to it that I needed, caring for each other's bodies without the immediate demand of sex.
As we rinse the soap away, the touches linger.
I find myself tracing the ink around his ribs again, feeling his stomach muscles flex and cord under my fingertips as I move lower.
I grip his hips and turn us, pressing him back against the shower wall.
He moves without resisting, his back hitting the tile with a solid, heavy thud.
He's usually the one directing every inch of this, but tonight he's still.
Only his eyes follow my every move as he waits for me to take what I want.
I pull his head down and crush my mouth to his, sinking into him as if he's the only air left in the room.
It's a messy, desperate kiss, our tongues tangling as the water drums off the wall and splashes over our faces. I feel the scrape of his stubble, the wet slide of his lips, the groan that he can't quite stifle when I grind my hips against him. I press my stomach flush against his length, and I’m suddenly, violently aware of every inch of him. He’s thick, too thick, and so goddamn hot.
I can feel the heavy, solid throb of his cock against my stomach.
His hands drop to his sides, his knuckles white against his thighs as he fights the urge to take over.
"Touch me," I demand against his lips, guiding his hand between my thighs. "Here."
He follows my directions without hesitation, stepping forward to press my back against the cool tile.
His fingers find me in a way that makes my knees buckle.
There isn't any noise left in my head, only the beautiful friction of him as he slides one finger, then two, deep into my pussy.
I groan into his mouth, my head dropping back and thumping against the tile as his free hand grips the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my wet hair to hold me steady against his palm.
He's not being gentle, but he's not hurting me.
"You like that?" His thumb circles the one spot that makes my entire body vibrate.
"Yes," I breathe, rocking my hips into his hand to find that friction.
The water pounds over us. I don't answer with more words. I sink down to the floor, my knees hitting the wet tile as I look up at him through the steam.
"Ellie," he growls, the sound scraping out of his chest. His hand comes to rest on my head, his fingers threading through my wet hair, but he doesn't push. He's letting me set the pace.
I take my time. I wrap my fingers around his thickness, feeling the heat pulse against my palm.
I run my tongue along the underside, tracing the ridge, tasting the scent of him mixed with the water.
He hisses through his teeth, his hips jerking once before he forces himself still.
Through the steam, I meet his eyes, holding his gaze as I take the head of his cock into my mouth and suck until a gasp escapes.
His jaw goes tight, the tendons in his neck straining as he fights for control.
I take him deeper, inch by inch, feeling him stretch my lips and fill my mouth until I feel him at the back of my throat.
His groan is low and raw, vibrating through the floor and into my knees.
I pull back, swirl my tongue around the tip, and then sink down again, finding a rhythm that makes his fingers tighten in my hair.
"Fuck," he grits out as I hollow my cheeks and take him to the back of my throat again.
His hand fists in my hair, holding on like I'm the only thing keeping him upright.
His thighs are shaking. I can feel the massive effort it takes for him to stay still, to not thrust into my mouth, to not flip me around and take what he wants.
He's letting me have this. He knows I need it. And it's costing him everything.
I pull back one last time, dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock as I go, and watch his whole body shudder.
He won't take. He's letting me give. And I'm giving him everything.
I rise slowly, my legs shaking, and he's already reaching for me. I crash into him, kissing him hard. I let him taste himself on my tongue. "I want you," I breathe.
He grips my chin between his finger and thumb, tilting my face up to his, and kisses me.
His mouth is demanding, his tongue sliding against mine like he's trying to devour me.
I melt into it, my hands gripping his shoulders as the water drums against our skin.
Then his hand drops from my chin and locks onto my hips.
He lifts me without breaking the kiss, pinning me higher against the wet tile.
I wrap my legs around him, locking my ankles at the small of his back.
He doesn't push in right away. Instead, he drags the thick head of his cock through my wetness, grazing over my clit, and I moan loudly, breaking the kiss as my head falls back against the tile.
His eyes are dark and locked on mine, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance but not pushing in. I dig my heels into his back and pull him closer.
He takes the hint.