16. Jhene #2
Killian’s arm remains curled around my shoulders as he and the others turn back toward the doors. He escorts me out of the old meatpacking facility, no sign of the Bratva anywhere.
Killian insists on taking me to the emergency room to be checked out, but I push back and convince him I’m fine.
Rurik and the others kidnapped me, but other than some chaffing on my wrists and soreness in my body, I’m fine. I’m not hurt.
Apparently, the moment Killian realized I was missing, he went ballistic. It was a full scale emergency that required all hands on deck.
In the middle of the Barclays Center only minutes after his fight, Killian demanded Ronan phone in buttonmen. That they scour the city in search of me.
Then he received Rurik’s call and they rushed to the old meatpacking facility in Sunset Park. The fact that even Ronan came, ready for an all-out confrontation with the Bratva, speaks volumes.
Killian wasn’t messing around.
He was backing up the promises he’s made—that he would protect me. He would fight for me if necessary.
It’s so unbelievable to me I’m still trying to wrap my head around it when we finally make it back to the studio.
We’re both still buzzing from the excitement of the night. Killian’s still bleeding from his boxing match against The Tank, the gash above his brow bright red and fresh. I’m breathless as if still tethered to the metal meat hook, unsure what was about to happen to me.
We’ve escaped another dangerous situation and are now confined to a five-hundred-square-foot space to reconcile that reality.
Weirdly enough, I’m almost… giddy.
It’s not because I don’t still feel guilty—it’s so deep, it’s unbearable at times—or because I wasn’t afraid tonight.
It’s literally the opposite. Those intense emotions are the reason I am feeling a little lightheaded and gleeful. It feels like we finally have a moment to ourselves.
A chance to let loose after what turned out to be a dangerous night.
“You wanted me to go to the ER, but you’re probably the one who should’ve seen a doctor,” I say, turning to face him. I reach up and gently brush a thumb across his split brow, where he took a brutal punch from The Tank.
His hand catches mine and he holds it between his fingers, his dark blue eyes on my face. Our gazes connect, and it slowly registers that we’re not only standing close, we’re touching again. We just can’t help ourselves.
Nerves flutter inside my stomach.
I swipe my tongue at my lips, fully aware he can see me. He’s watching me do so.
I notice the subtlest shift in his gaze as he tracks my tongue and stares at my mouth. The muscle in his jaw pulls tighter as he bites down, likely to restrain himself.
Killian Rourke—Irish mob enforcer, pro boxer, and ever the gentleman, even if most think of him as a brute.
It’s a heady realization.
This giant man who normally crushes bones is trying so hard to resist me. He’s determined to keep his word and not cross any more lines.
But honestly? That ship has sailed.
It’s been long gone from the moment our lips first touched the night we walked home from the Rialto. We’ve just been delusional enough to believe we could fight it.
I’m tired of denying myself even the most basic pleasures in life because of my messed up past.
Sick of spending almost every waking hour worrying and fretting and beating myself up over things I can’t control.
Maybe for tonight—for one moment—I can feel good.
“You won your match. Let’s celebrate,” I murmur. I lean up toward him and press a kiss to the chiseled corner between his jaw and neck. My lips linger a second too long, and his hand lands on my waist, clenching down as if about to wrench me away.
But as I press another kiss into his skin, lips brushing some of the small, coarse hairs growing in from his beard, he doesn’t pull me back.
His grip remains on my waist, then snakes around. It slides down the curve of my butt, and I smile against his skin.
It’s mind-blowing to think about how these small touches feel so incredible coming from the right person. How I can instantly want more so long as it’s from him.
I tip my head back up in time to meet him for a kiss. He’s bowed his head and claims my lips. From how demanding he kisses me, I know he’s feeling the same.
We’re reeling from the night we’ve had and ready for release.
“Fuck,” he grunts between our kisses. “Why is it so impossible to stay away from you?”
I smirk, fingers slipping into his hair. “Probably because we’re sharing a five-hundred-foot living space.”
He gives another thick grunt, then scoops me up into his arms and carries me toward the bed. I use the few seconds to get more kisses in. Fingers deep in his hair, I press my lips to his and tease him with my tongue.
He pauses before we reach the bed and pulls back for a look in my eyes. I see the question in them and reassure him with a peck to the lips and small smile of my own.
“What did you think I meant by celebrate, Killer?” I ask. “I didn’t mean party poppers and cake.”
“Always,” he starts, then pauses to smash a kiss to my mouth. “Such a,” he continues with another abrupt kiss. “Smartass.”
He finishes with his longest kiss yet, simultaneously lowering us to the bed.
I reach for his T-shirt and pull it up over his head. The only reason we break our kiss, both of us with a drunken look on our faces. It makes us both chuckle as we fuss with the buttons and zippers on our clothes.
We undo his jeans that he must’ve thrown on after the fight. I sit up long enough to lose my blouse, shyly blinking at him as the fabric slides by the wayside.
It’s the first real time he’s seen me like this. In nothing but my bra.
The breath he inhales is deep and audible. His broad chest rises and falls as if he’s forgotten how to breathe properly.
But as another frisson of nerves ripple through me, I decide to keep going.
There’s no use hiding anymore or being shy when I’ve come to trust Killian with my life. That includes my body too.
My hands still slightly shake as I fumble with the hook on my bra. I’m only human, and usually if I’m undressing in front of someone, it isn’t by choice.
Killian doesn’t hide the fact that as the bra slides away, he’s going for a glance at my chest. Another thing that would usually make me cringe and desperately want to cover myself.
His gaze is different from the others though. It isn’t predatory or salacious in a way that feels like I’m an object about to be used and then discarded.
It’s pure, unfiltered desire that radiates in his dark blue eyes. It’s appreciative and lustful but in a way that makes me feel… sexy?
“Fuck,” he grunts again under his breath.
My cheeks warm, and I decide to use his own past words against him. “That a good fuck or a bad fuck?”
A grin cants his lips. “It’s a I-can’t-wait-to-take-those-tits-in-my-mouth-and-kiss-and-suck-and-lick-them-’til-you’re-writhing-with-pleasure-and-begging-me-not-to-stop fuck.”
We meet again for heated kisses. I lay back down and Killian’s body weight presses against me. The weight of him on top of me feels good. He’s still careful to balance himself, keeping most of it off me, but laying under him and feeling the muscled weight of his body is a turn on.
It reminds me how Killian’s built for battle. He’s a fighter through and through and takes pride in it.
We finish undressing each other in less than graceful motions. I laugh at one point when he pulls back to take off his jeans and then swears as the denim catches on his foot. We work mine off together, me shimmying my hips as he drags the pair down my legs.
Then our underwear comes off.
Killian boldly shoves down his boxers. His engorged dick springs free and damn near takes my breath away. I’d been overwhelmed the other night when I’d seen him for the first time and we’d pleasured ourselves together.
He was so sexy, like a god from some mythological story the way his body was sculpted—the peak of a human physique with his abs and bulging muscles he’s spent years working toward. Right down to the deep V-cut on his hips that points straight to his huge, throbbing dick.
Then there’s me—small boobs and no real hips or ass. Slim but also kind of skinny-fat with no tone or definition to my body at all. I’m not exactly a pin-up model.
You’d never know it by how Killian’s staring at me.
I slide off my panties and watch his pupils dilate. His blue eyes darken ’til they’re almost black, and he absentmindedly strokes himself like he’s already imagining he’s inside me.
“Um… I’m not on the pill. Do you have…?” I start slowly. I’m distracted by how smoothly he strokes himself. Sort of like he seems distracted by me merely laying naked in his bed.
“A condom—yeah, I’ve got ’em.” He grabs at his jeans, then pulls a condom from inside his wallet.
Even watching him roll it on makes me draw a shallow breath. I’m hyperaware of how my pussy aches and clenches at air. If I were to reach between my thighs, my fingers would probably come away slick…
Killian finishes putting on the condom and then leans forward to take my lips in a kiss. It’s slow and affectionate, as if he wants to remind me we’re going at my pace. He breaks away to let me know.
“This goes how you want it to go,” he says, cupping the side of my face. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop.”
“And if I don’t?” I smirk at him as he cocks a brow.
“Then we’ll fuck like rabbits and have the time of our lives.”
A rare giggle escapes me as we come together to kiss and settle in his bed.
I focus on letting my hands explore him. Usually I’m stiff in moments like these, lying dead still and waiting for the act to be over with. My eyes are closed and I’m disassociating from the present.
With Killian, I’m deep in the moment.
My hands slide from his shoulders to his chest and then down to his stomach and abs. I even feel the muscle and how firm his hips are, like he doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him. Then I’m wrapping my fingers around his dick and feeling how rigid and smooth he is, even through the condom.