Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
James
“Not tonight, please… no talks of what this means, or why I came to talk to you?” There is too much going on right now. I don’t want to lie here, enjoying his tender touch, still leaking his seed every time I move.
“It was nothing bad, I promise you…” I never liked being vulnerable, now it is even scarier, though.
Because right here, right now we are in the eye of the storm.
A storm created by the man I am officially still engaged to.
The eye of the storm is ever only a quick respite, a break before the chaos ensues again.
But I have to be vulnerable, because I dislike the other option more. The option of getting out of his bed, sleeping alone in my own bunk.
“Can I stay the night?” The words rush out, as I am almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Of course, darling, I wasn’t going to let you go back to your hut.
You can tell me tomorrow, after breakfast. Now I am going to draw us both a bath.
We need it.” His smile now is so free, unrestrained.
It makes him look years younger and warmer.
The genuineness of it makes me feel like my heart is being pulled out of my chest. I think it will make me more vulnerable, more exposed.
“Killian we’re never going to fit into your tub together,” I protest meekly…
“Your eyes, they remind me of liquid gold, stunning, warm, desirable, but able to leave a wicked burn,” Killian tells me.
His hook, the cold metal hook that used to hurt me, now gently lifts my chin up, making the compliment even more intimate.
I hate getting complimented, especially like this.
“Here every single time you make a demeaning remark about your body, your weight, or your eating habits. I will compliment you like this. And don’t underestimate me, I do not give a shit about who is watching us.
” He gets out of bed smirking, making his way to his bathroom…
He knows. The son-of-a-royal-bitch knows what he is doing to me. He knows there is no punishment I would hate more than being complimented like this.
“I hate you,” I mumble. There is no heat to it anymore, and not even Herb or Trix would believe me right now.
“Sure… I always let the people who I hate fuck me until I can’t breathe anymore,” he teases me, and I feel my thighs ache, and my cheeks burn. We both know he is right.
He was right about the tub too, because thirty minutes later, we are in the tub together.
It’s snug, but that gives us the perfect excuse to cuddle up together.
My back leaning against his chest. His fingers intertwined with mine.
We both have given up on pretending what this is, just for tonight.
Tomorrow we will go back to pretending that this is just physical, that I have nothing to stay in Silvermist for.
“How are you feeling? Are you sore anywhere?” There is such a tenderness in his words that it is unsettling.
Not because he is tender, not because I do not trust his intentions.
But because I do, and after what I just went through, that is a terrifying realization.
My gut instincts tell me to make a crude joke.
Either one complimenting his size or diminishing how good it was.
My stomach shrinks together, turning into stone.
The cool air in the bathroom chills my back as I stiffen, losing contact with Killian's chest. The guilt is unbearable.
“I am not sore now. Ask me again in the morning because I probably will be. But I am fine, Killian. Thank you for asking.” I force myself to sink back against his chest, enjoying the hand that immediately goes back to drawing lazy patterns on my arm.
This will never last. I have no other choice than to bring Matthew and Barry back to Earth. Killian has no other choice than to stay here with Celeste until he can take her home. Maybe vulnerability is less frightening when it comes with a clear, clean ending ahead of us.
I wake up to the sun peeking through the slit in the curtains.
It takes me a second to realize where I am, what the warm, soothing weight draped around my waist is.
Until memories of last night slam back into me.
How nauseous I felt when I saw Samuel walking out of Killian’s quarters, smirking suggestively and indicating Killian was all mine now.
How I denied that jealousy… until I could no longer.
“Shame, it would be hot if you were jealous.”
“You’re too stunning to ever feel jealous, darling, and I am going to make sure you remember it.”
“I am not a tease, darling, I just like to savor my food, and you’re my new favorite full-course meal.”
“How are you feeling? Are you sore anywhere?”
He was so sweet, so caring, and when we got into his bed, he wrapped his arms around me, spooning me.
Just as he is now. His arms have slackened a bit, giving me enough space to turn around slowly.
I want to watch him sleep like a nutcase, basking in this fantasy we built for ourselves last night a little longer.
“Morning, darling, how did you sleep?” Killian asks, opening his eyes the second I turn to face him.
“I slept fine. How about you?” I mumble, blushing as he kisses the tip of my nose.
“What are you, some kind of lovesick puppy?” I can’t stand this vulnerability. The silk sheets suddenly feeling restraining as I sit up to leave the bed. I grab the sheets to pull them away from me.
“Don’t do this James…” His voice is soft, hurt, yet it’s firm enough to stop me from getting out of the bed, the sheets whispering as they fall back to the bed.
“Do what, Killian? Get out of bed or be honest about what this is?” My voice comes out shrill and whiny. I hate what he is turning me into.
“Feel this,” I ask, tapping the scar on his neck, the scar from where I tried to kill him. “You were under the influence, darling, and I was a scallywag, I get it.”
I don’t know what is more infuriating, the fact that he is so calm about this—that he sees right through my defense mechanism—or the fact that I know now what a scallywag is.
“Killian, you can’t act like this is normal, like we are a couple waking up after a romantic night together.
” He needs to agree with me, tell me I am right that this is going nowhere.
He needs to extinguish this tiny bit of hope for me.
If he doesn’t, it might grow into something too dangerous.
I had hope before, hope when I came here to Silvermist, and I know now where hope gets you.
“We’re not, but we’re not enemies anymore either.
This will never last, James, I know. I am not that dumb, you know.
I just… we don’t need to overthink this.
We are attracted to each other, why not accept it.
We have some things in common. Can’t that be enough.
Do humans not have friends with benefits? ”
Friends with benefits. Of course that is what I am to him. For a second, I want to tell him off. Get angry with him. But it wouldn’t be fair. Killian is right; I have been reminding myself there is no future for this ever since the hate started to shift into something more.
“Sorry. You know what? You’re right. This is all just taking some getting used to, I guess. But there is no need to ruin this by overthinking. Sadly, overthinking is my favorite pastime.”
A deep warm laugh rumbles from his chest. I can feel the vibrations against my own.
His now bright gray eyes shine with unshed tears of pleasure, his head tilted back, exposing an Adam’s apple I just want to lick.
I have heard Killian laugh before, but mostly at my expense, not like this.
Not this raw and unguarded. The sound explodes all through the sleeping quarters, and I am the one that caused him to laugh like this.
“I noticed, yes, that and being a pain in my ass. An anxious, moody brat… exactly my type,” he teases, his eyes crinkling.
“Idiot,” I say, not even pretending to mean it anymore. Then I lower myself on the bed, letting him hold me a little longer, before we need to let reality back in again.
“You like me being an idiot…,” he says. I do. I like how he isn’t obsessed with how he looks or what his reputation is. I am about to deny it when I realize he slept with the hook prosthesis on.
“Killian, do you always sleep with the prosthesis on? Doesn’t it get uncomfortable?
” I ask gently. Not to judge him but out of genuine interest. Yet the hand that had been drawing idle figures on my spine stills before falling away from my body.
I sit up a little straighter, wanting to get a good look at him.
“If you don’t feel comfortable telling me…
it was just a question,” I start, not wanting him to feel bad about himself.
It was a dumb question anyway, another question I just blurted out without thinking about it.
“No, I want to answer you—it does get uncomfortable. I usually take it off before I take a bath, and then I don’t put them on until I have to leave my quarters again. Remember when I walked back into the bathroom after you got to bed?”
I nod to answer his silent question, already knowing what this is going to lead to. What he is going to tell me.
“Killian, tell me you didn’t,” I whisper, stroking his cheek. A touch far more intimate than every heated one we shared so far.
“I did. When I bathe, water gets underneath it, so I took it off, dried my arm, reattached the prosthesis, and got back into bed with you.
“Killian, why would you do that? You know I would not have wanted you to be uncomfortable, right?” He leans into my touch, and I can’t stop. Everything in me is telling me not to break the physical contact between us.
“Because what is left of my arm is ugly,” the confession spills from his lips, raw and direct. Like he can’t bear to hold on to it any longer and at the same time is afraid to let it go. To show me this part of him.
“Killian, you listen to me, I am so sure that there is not a part of you that is ugly,” I try to reassure him. But he pulls away from my touch as he sits up straight.
“You say that now, but…” Metal clicks, and leather swooshes as he suddenly starts to unbuckle the contraption that holds his hook in place. “This is what is beneath the hook,” he says as the prosthesis falls to the bed with a gentle thud.
For a split second, I feel afraid to look at it, scared I will flinch and hurt Killian’s feelings.
But not watching would do the same, and it is the last thing I want to do.
The second my eyes lock onto the arm, I feel relief coursing through my body.
It’s not ugly; it’s just a stump with a red, ragged line on it. No doubt where they stitched the skin.
“Killian, does it hurt? Can you still feel it?,” I ask, hands reaching out to touch him.
“It used to hurt so bad. The nerves in your wrist are way more sensitive. I spend hours slamming my stub onto the desk to desensitize it. I can still feel it though, less than I used to feel my hand,” he explains, and the arm where his hook usually is, twitches.
Like it is missing the weight of the prostheses.
“Why do you ask?” Killian asks me, softly, gently, like he is afraid to be rejected. Like this is going to be something mean. Like I am about to make a nasty remark, his eyes tearing up.