18. Jhene #2
Killian mentions how he wants to do right by me and take me out somewhere nice. Something upscale that feels like a proper date, as he calls it.
I vehemently shake my head and say, “Please don’t. You know how I feel about places like that. I’d rather you cook for me at home.”
“Don’t be surprised if that’s what happens then. The kitchen might be charred, but I’ll cook you your meal.”
We’re teasing each other as we finish up our burgers and fries and head down the street to the old-time movie theater. I walk beside Killian with my arm wrapped around his.
We feel like a normal couple. Anyone else off the street who lives a normal life.
During these moments, things like the Bratva or the guilt that gnaws away at me cease to exist.
We select a movie that’s a lot less tense and dramatic than Dog Day Afternoon, settling on Roman Holiday with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. Not the type of movie Killian normally opts to see, but he aims a vague smile at me and says it’s time to switch it up.
We’re the only two in the theater, though that’s no surprise.
Killian’s arm is draped around my shoulder as a large bucket of popcorn sits between us and we watch the black-and-white movie.
On screen, Audrey Hepburn is getting her hair cut by an Italian stylist.
In our seats, Killian’s and my hands have started to wander. His slides from my shoulder down to my thigh where he traces idle patterns into my skin.
I tilt my head up to look at him and find his gaze already on me in the dim glow of the projector. His deep blue eyes hold the same spark of desire I’ve started to recognize.
I kiss him first. My lips press to his as I lean over and forget about the movie.
Things turn heated fast. He grabs me by the hips and drags me even closer ’til we’re forced to put up the arm rest and I’m practically in his lap.
His tongue slides against mine, and soon we’re making out unabashedly in the middle of the theater.
Normally, I’d care. I’m not the type to do anything in public but cling to the walls. Definitely not the kind of woman who’s ever been into public displays of affection (though no man I’ve ever been with has brought me out in public anyway).
But with Killian, I find myself not giving a damn. I’m into it as his hands canvas my body and slip under my T-shirt, and I moan against his lips.
His hands on me feel so right. They’re warm and calloused and heavy, so large he can easily cup my breast in his palm.
I draw a sharp breath as he does just that, his palm nudging aside a bra cup and fondling the small mound of flesh.
“I love that sound,” he groans. “When you take in air like that… like you’ve been shocked.”
“It’s what it feels like,” I answer him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “When you touch me.”
“Good touch or bad?” he asks.
A question that’s become our own inside joke as we’ve gotten to know each other.
I release a little giggle and then pull back to stroke his bearded jaw and look him in the eye.
“Very, very good,” I answer. Then my hand drops to the crotch of his jeans where a noticeable bulge has appeared. I give him a squeeze and return to his mouth for another kiss. “Speaking of touch… there’s somewhere else I had in mind.”
His brow creases in question, curiosity flickering in his gaze. But I’ve already slid off his lap and dropped to my knees. It dawns on him where this is going as I unbuckle his jeans and drag down the zipper. His hand covers mine to pry it away.
“Stray, you don’t have to—”
“Killer, I want to. I wanted to that afternoon you got off in front of me. I need to know how you feel in my mouth.”
…who am I right now?
Certainly not the Jhene Prince who flinches when a man touches her elbow and who’s imagined retreating to some cottage in the forest to live as a recluse, away from civilization (once I rescued Eva).
But the desire that burns straight through me only grows hotter. It makes me crave Killian in ways I’ve assumed I’d never crave a man.
I really do want him in my mouth. I want him everywhere.
My hand wraps around his erect dick, and I start stroking him like I’ve learned. Little does he know I’ve paid attention to what he prefers; how he likes to be touched.
His eyes snap shut and he groans in approval. He swallows tightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“Goddamn it… Jhene… oh fuck!” he grunts out despite himself.
His hips buck on their own accord, and a slow smile comes to my face. I peer up at him and watch the pleasure unfold before me.
A powerful man like Killian rendered helpless as I pleasure him. As my hand slides along his shaft and then squeezes at the head.
When I feel like I’ve worked up enough courage, I bow my head and take him into my mouth. His whole body goes rigid. His hand falls to the back of my head, though he doesn’t force me down further.
He’s in shock feeling the wet heat of my mouth and how I flick my tongue to his thick, veiny shaft. I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, but I play it by his reactions.
…which seem to signal he approves of almost anything I do.
Flick of my tongue? A grunt from him. Sucking at his head? Fingers tangling in my curls. Adding motion by bobbing my head up and down? His hips answer with more uncontrolled bucking.
I develop a routine of sucking on his dick and massaging his balls.
His fingers dig deeper into my curls, and he releases a string of profanities. They rumble from his chest between the thick grunts he lets out and serve to empower me more.
I take as much of him into my mouth as possible—which is difficult considering Killian’s giant and my mouth’s pretty small—but as he reaches the back of my throat, I gag on him.
It seems to feel even better for him as my throat muscles contract against his dick and stimulate the sensitive nerve endings in the shaft.
I do it again a few more times, pulling myself back up and then sliding my mouth down the length of him. The back of my throat protests, reflexes kicking in. But I keep going, loving how his dick twitches in pleasure.
The more worked up he becomes, the faster I go. I pick up the pace, bobbing up and down and sucking and licking in between.
Finally, he can’t seem to hold on another second. His breath comes in ragged pants as his hips jerk against me, and then he unloads.
His hot cum spills into my mouth, and I swallow as much of it as I can, taking in the light salty taste of him. He releases another string of curse words as he does, his grip tight in my curls.
My pulse thrums from how exhilarating it is. Pleasuring this powerful man and making him quake in his seat, all because I sucked him off the right way.
It turns me on even more than I already was. A reward in and of itself.
Seconds go by before Killian regains some sense about him. He grabs both of my arms by the elbow and hauls me back up like I weigh five pounds. Setting me down in his lap, he crushes his lips to mine, uncaring that I’ve got his seed on my tongue.
We return to our earlier heavy kisses, the film on the movie screen long forgotten.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters.
I smile a little. “But it would be worth it, right?”
We leave the theater holding hands, our playful mood lingering in the air.
The instant we’re back home, Killian’s on me. He barely bothers to lock the door before he’s picking me up and walking me over to the bed.
His mouth’s sealed over mine as he kisses me deeply and makes it known what’s on his mind. I quickly give in, melting into him, hands sliding up his chest and around his neck.
We drop to the bed between kisses and tugging at each other’s clothes. He’s slid me under him, crouched over me like a predator that’s brought his game back to his den and now he’s about to dig in. The hunger in his eyes matches this vibe.
He starts his descent down my body, kissing me as he goes.
“Your turn,” he growls.
A small bolt of panic strikes. I squirm in place, hands landing on his shoulders. “Killian… you don’t… I don’t…”
He pauses and then rises back up for a kiss on the lips. “Hey, look at me. There’s nothing to panic about. This is supposed to feel good, alright?”
“I just… I guess… I’m not used to…”
“Stray, with me, you will be. There’s nothing I love more than a pussy in my face.”
That off-the-wall comment is enough to shatter the bubble of panic. A laugh tumbles out of me as I lay back and relax.
I let Killian continue.
He kisses his way down my body, caressing me at the same time. He presses his lips to my bare stomach and then drags them down to my hipbone and then even lower to the layer of fat known as the mons pubis.
As he’s gone lower, he’s tugged my jeans and panties down along with him. Soon he’s pulling both off altogether, and I’m completely exposed.
I close my eyes and will myself to relax. Focus on how good Killian’s kisses feel. How his mouth grows closer to my pussy with every kiss and elicits a shock of excitement in my veins.
My hang-ups from my time with Fedorov don’t belong in the present.
Killian wants to pleasure me; I need to let him.
I cry out when he’s settled between my thighs and swiped at my pussy with his tongue. It’s sudden and warm and feels like a light ticklish pleasure I didn’t know I’d enjoy.
My fingers twist in the sheets, and within seconds, the good overrides the bad known as my panic.
Killian successfully distracts me with his tongue. It circles my clit then flicks away, making it throb harder.
“Oh… that feels… so good…” I moan softly. It comes out almost like a sigh.
I can feel Killian’s grin against my pussy. He says nothing as he continues, lapping away at my pussy as if dining on a meal too delicious to pass up.
Pleasure coils tighter in my core, hot and tingly and quick to spread elsewhere.
Every stroke of his tongue brings me closer.
My head tips up toward the ceiling as the rest of my body arches, and I squeeze my thighs against his head.
The intensity is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. A different kind of pleasurable sensation than when his dick is buried deep inside me.