52. Killian #2
Her kiss is unbearably soft at first, hesitating, terrified she's going to break what's left of me.
I part my lips to let my tongue flick against hers.
Then it's frantic, messy, and desperate.
Her teeth clash against my bottom lip. Her hands dive into my hair, gripping hard enough to hurt as she holds herself to me, before she releases slightly, forgetting herself.
It's the kiss of someone who watched me die on a ventilator and needs to taste the oxygen in my lungs to believe I'm breathing.
I groan into her mouth, my right hand settling on her hip and dragging her down hard against my cock.
I want to roll her onto her back. I want to cage her under me.
My pulse is rushing hot and fast, hammering painfully against the stitches in my chest, but my muscles refuse to cooperate.
I am trapped under her weight, unable to do a damn thing but take whatever she gives me.
I might be weak as shit right now, but that sure as fuck isn't going to stop me.
She breaks the kiss, her chest heaving as she sucks in air. Her eyes are dark, blown, the gold flecks almost non-existent in the dim light of the room.
"Don't move," she orders, her voice rough. "Don't you fucking move."
She grabs the hem of my t-shirt, working it up slowly over my ribs until she can pull it over my head. When it drops, she goes totally still. She stares at the thick gauze covering my sternum and the raised, puckered scar of the Order's infinity brand burned over my heart.
She knows exactly how close I cut it. The tip of her index finger drops to the opposite side to trace the heavy black work of the Charon's Obol nestled between two downward wings tattooed across my right pec, the final toll demanded to cross the Styx to the land of the dead.
It's my memento mori, and the hope that my soul will cross over quietly rather than wandering the shores for centuries.
A permanent reminder of the damnation I've already accepted.
And she's using it to ground herself, to avoid looking at the reality that I almost had to pay it.
Her hands flatten against the uninjured skin of my lower stomach.
She leans forward, bypassing my bruised ribs entirely, and presses her mouth to the hard ridge of my hip bone, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, claiming her territory.
The sharp sting of her teeth sends a heavy, dark rush straight down to my cock.
"Fuck, Ellie," I grit out as she drags her open mouth lower.
She doesn't look up, her fingers hooking into the waistband of my sweatpants. She pushes the heavy cotton down, sliding her palms under the fabric and shoving it past my hips along with my boxers.
She takes me in her mouth with the same starving intensity she had when she kissed me. I dig my good hand into the mattress, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from thrashing upward. The pain in my chest is a dull roar, but the wet heat of her mouth overrides it.
She swallows me down as deep as she can go in a single heavy slide, her cheeks hollowing out as she bobs her head back up, her tongue massaging the underside of my cock as she moves.
Her hand wraps around the thickest part of my cock, stroking the length her mouth can't reach to keep the friction unbroken.
I groan, my fingers tangling in her hair, gripping her scalp as my hips twitch uselessly against the mattress.
"Fucking hell, Ellie," I bite out, the control slipping out of my hands.
She takes me deeper. I can feel her throat opening to accommodate my length.
Her rhythm is relentless. The sharp pull of my sutures across my chest is completely drowned out by the agonizing pressure building at the base of my abdomen.
I try to hold on, burying my knuckles into the comforter to stay still, but my body has stopped taking orders from me.
"Come here," the words tear out of my throat before I can stop them. "Stop. Move up so I can reach you."
She doesn't pull away immediately. She takes one final, agonizing drag along the length, the warmth of her mouth nearly making me come before she finally releases the head.
My chest heaves, the stitches cutting sharp lines of fire across my sternum, but I ignore it, grabbing the back of her thigh with my good arm and dragging her knee tighter against my hip.
She crawls up the mattress, swinging a leg entirely over my waist to properly straddle me, her wet heat pressing directly down against the taut, corded muscles of my stomach below my bandages.
"You were the only thing keeping me sane in that fucking ICU," I tell her, my voice turning to gravel as my good hand tangles in the hem of her shirt. I fist the cotton, dragging it up her torso until she has to lift her arms to help me pull it over her head.
She drops it onto the floorboards, bracing her hands flat on the pillows on either side of my shoulders. The position arches her back, dropping her bare cleavage right into my line of sight.
I reach up, my palm flattening over her heart. It's beating just as fast as mine. My thumb brushes hard over the peak of her nipple, and she lets out a sharp, shuddering gasp, her hips rolling against my lower stomach.
"Don't move," I warn her, my jaw tight as the friction sends a blinding spike of heat straight to my groin. "If you grind against me right now, this is going to be over before I even get inside you."
Her breathing is ragged. She shifts her weight, her hands digging deeper on either of my head to brace herself. Her thighs tremble as she lifts her hips just enough to clear my rigid cock resting against my stomach.
"Killian," she exhales, her hand drops between us, guiding the thick head to her entrance.
There’s a visible smear of her wetness glistening across my lower stomach, and now her moisture pools against the throbbing head of my cock as she guides it to her entrance.
She doesn't sink down right away. Her eyes squeeze shut, a sharp breath hissing through her teeth as she stretches to accommodate the sudden thickness forcing her wide as I crown her.
The tight, silky walls of her pussy force a genuine, agonizing groan out of my chest. I tilt my head back into the pillows, my teeth grinding together as every muscle in my body locks tight.
I can't thrust upward. I can't set the pace.
I am pinned beneath her, forced to let her take exactly what she wants from me.
And she realizes it immediately.
Her face is a perfect mix of darkness and an intoxicating surge of power.
She establishes absolute control of the rhythm, drawing the friction out as her hips roll against mine in a slow, punishing grind that drags the heat of her walls along every inch of my shaft.
She’s reveling in the fact that I'm completely incapacitated, pulling her weight up just enough to tease me before she slowly sinks all the way back down.
"Fuck, Ellie. Get up here," I tell her, my hand moving to her hip as I fight the instinct to buck up into her. "I'm fucking starving for you. The pillows... get rid of them."
She hesitates for only a fraction of a second. Leaning forward, she grabs the thick pillows propping up my shoulders and shoves them to the side of the mattress, out of the way.
My back drops flat against the mattress, saving my stitches. Only then does she lift her weight off my hips, crawling upward to carefully straddle my chest. She bridges her knees over my bandaged ribs, slowly settling her thighs on either side of my head. The scent of her arousal hits me instantly.
The first swipe of my tongue against her swollen clit drags a high, shattered noise out of her throat.
I wrap my hands securely around the backs of her thighs, bracing her against my face as I devour her.
I trace the broad flat of my tongue deep into her drenched pussy, then seal my lips tight around her to suck and swallow every desperate drop she gives me as she grinds uncontrollably against my mouth.