Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Maeve
I stumble against the wall, my abuser’s dead body bleeding to my left as Killian kneels in a puddle of blood in front of me. My leather mini skirt is pulled high, twisted into my fists.
He is a sight, death willing to submit for me.
“Right here?” I ask, eyes wide. I’m literally covered in another man’s blood, his corpse next to us.
“Can’t think of a better place.” He runs his hands over my legs, nails raking over my skin as he pulls the fishnets lower. They pool at my feet, and he carefully takes them off.
He doesn’t stop to remove my heels, dragging one leg over his shoulder, pressing close to my center. Only a thin piece of red silk separates us, and I’m ashamed to admit how wet I am.
Killian sees it, though. He inhales at my pussy, smiling against me.
“You’re fucking soaked.”
“It’s the adrenaline,” I bite out, watching as he kisses my inner thigh. Close, but not where I want him.
“No. I think it’s more than that.” His teeth surprise me, dragging over the fabric, leaving my knees trembling. “I think you like seeing me kneel at your feet. Like a war goddess, covered in the blood of your enemies, being pleasured by your dark god. Does this turn you on?”
The images are fucking hot. Beyond hot. They’re molten. The idea that this man, this killer, would worship me is a power trip.
I grow wetter, and he chuckles. Fucking bastard . He knows what he’s doing to me.
He reaches up, snapping the strings with a bite of pain. Before I can object, he places them in his jeans.
“Souvenir?”
“Definitely. I’ll need something for later when I’m fucking my hand to the memory of your wet cunt.”
My pussy hums as his tongue darts out to take a long, languid lick. My head falls back, ecstasy and relief mixing with budding pleasure. He groans against me.
“You were right. His blood was sweet but not as sweet as this pussy.” He goes back again with long licks that leave me breathless, toes curling.
Deep pleasure starts to well inside of me. He latches onto my clit, lapping at it with hard strokes and, finally, I moan low in the room.
Who cares if the door is open and a dead body is next to me? Killian Linwood is tongue fucking me against a wall, and it feels so fucking right. The world could burn to ashes around us, and I wouldn’t move from this spot.
“That’s it, Princess.” He smiles, chin wet. “Let this entire house know who makes you feel this good.” He goes back, lifting my other leg so only his shoulders and the wall are supporting me.
His tongue flicks and strokes against my sensitive flesh. Teeth nibble around my core, soothing and wicked. My whole body begins to burn. Soon, one finger enters me, and I clamp down.
The intrusion is hard, bringing painful memories to the front.
Of being forced on my back, legs pulled wide…
“Eyes on me, Maeve.” My eyes flicker open. He kisses my inner thigh almost lovingly. “You stay here, with me. He doesn’t get this. This is for us.”
No, Michael doesn’t get this. He’s dead, killed by my own hand. I’m covered in his blood.
I’m taking this back.
Nodding, I lick my lips, mind resolved. “I’m with you.”
“Good.” He locks eyes with me as his mouth descends on my clit and another finger enters me. My body tries to accommodate it, not used to relaxing at the stretch, but I breathe and think through it.
With Killian here, eyes open, I can only see him, think of him, smell him—cool mint and a bare trace of cigarette tobacco—and see the desire in his eyes. Desire for me .
His tongue moves faster in time with his fingers, and soon, my hips are grinding against him, chasing my release.
A fire rages in my gut, dancing up my spine. My vision darkens, focused on the man before me as my body tightens. A loud groan releases from my throat, and the orgasm crashes into me like a thunderous burst, dams weakening, core melting from his touch.
Killian doesn’t stop, moving and drawing it out until a small one shakes me, and I push at his arms. “No, enough.”
“No, Maeve. I don’t hear that safe word.” He continues to lick and suck, drawing a pained moan from my lips. It burns, drawing my body tight again. I want to move away, but I can’t. I won’t. “If you need to stop, use it.”
I don’t want to stop. I can’t. Having Killian’s mouth on me is the sweetest torture, and like hell am I going to use the safe word. Stubborn will be written on my gravestone.
That’s the first orgasm I’ve ever had that wasn’t self-induced. Words can’t describe how fantastic it felt, knowing Killian was actually here, enjoying this as much as me.
“I want another one, baby. Give me one more.”
“Killian, I can’t .” There’s no way I can come a third time, not so quickly.
“You can.” A third finger enters me, and I have to breathe against the ache. My body heats, hips following his fingers. He sucks on my clit, a beautiful mixture of pain and pleasure as my body withers.
Pleasure builds, tempered by the pain of exhaustion, of too much too soon. It rolls through me, hitting my core like a bullet, taking me under. Killian doesn’t stop, moving his mouth lower, tongue spearing into me.
Fuck, I’m going to come again .
“God, Maeve, you taste so damn good.” He sucks harder, pulling my throbbing clit between his teeth. My hips buck, and I whine, moans puffing from my lips. “That’s it, Princess. Just let go.”
His words, his encouragement, unlock something in me. Another hard orgasm rocks my center, wetness leaking from me as Killian laps it up. This one robs my breath, blackening my vision. My body shakes violently, Killian kissing my thighs as I come down.
He drops my legs, standing to his full height.
Fuck. If that’s what he meant by forgetting everything but his name, he wasn’t kidding. I can barely stand.
Crushing me against the wall, Killian’s lips descend on mine. I can taste my release, tobacco, and mint on his tongue. Unlike Michael, this is sweet, intoxicating. Him . Greedily, I dig my hands into his hair, pulling him closer. I need more—more of him, more of this feeling between us.
Because Killian isn’t my hero. He’s the villain who recognizes the villain in me. He’s my harbor, my place to rest my weary head, where I can drop my armor and bask in the dark.
He handed me the knife and stood back, letting me reap my own salvation.
No judgement. No conviction. Just understanding.
He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, tugging sharply.
“You alright?” He’s panting, cock painfully hard against my lower belly.
My mouth waters thinking of him inside me, how thick he feels, hearing his moans as he comes inside me. I need him naked now.
“More than alright.” I smile, watching as his dark eyes glimmer.
“Good.”
Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he wrenches me closer, pulling off my skirt and undoing my corset while his mouth nips and licks my neck.
“Get on the floor, Maeve.”
I do as he commands, not waiting long before his powerful body covers mine. This. This is what I needed to banish the bad memories of this room.
Michael would abuse me in this room. The way Killian kisses me, worships my breasts, crushes my hips in his hands as if I’m something to treasure, is nothing like that. This is desire and lust wrapped up into the promise of safety. These are the memories I needed.
His soft lips trace the scars on my shoulders and on my lower stomach. Every past hurt, he erases with his mouth, as if he can take all those bad memories away.
He drags his shirt off, kicking off his pants and boots.
Black-blue ink catches my eye: intricate designs of a Grim Reaper over his left arm with his Scythe, on the other side a bouquet of funerary flowers on a casket. Over his back are black wings of death, reaching up his neck and over his shoulder blades.
Pierced nipples glint in the roaring flame’s light, and I play with one as he lowers himself over me.
Once his cool skin meets my heated flesh, I hiss in relief.
A gold pendant catches my attention, swinging in my face as the fog of arousal thins.
“What’s that?” I lick my lips, holding it close.
A Dead Head Moth pendant glints in the fire light.
Something foreign wells in my throat. It’s my favorite bug. He would know this because he knows me . He has for years.
“It reminds me of you.” His words are whispered, afraid to be spoken where anyone could hear. “Wherever I go, you’re with me.”
I capture his lips in a hard kiss, saying everything I can’t speak. Emotions and thoughts, things that cause me too much pain to repeat, are forced through our lips, communicated with our tongues. If I could rip open my heart and give it to him, I would.
Everything I have, I would gladly give to him.
He enters me with one, fluid slide. I groan into his mouth, and he swallows it down, greedily keeping it for himself.
“Maeve,” he murmurs into my mouth, pulling back to stare down at me, at where we’re joined. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this.”
“Enough to fuck me in a puddle of blood?”
The smirk he gives me is twisted and deranged. “You look delicious covered in blood, Princess.” He licks my throat, over his bite mark from earlier. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed of having you for years. Under me, over me, however I could have you. I just wanted you .”
The thought is intoxicating that this man, this killer, has only ever wanted me. He draws out before slamming back into me. It’s hard and rough, exactly what I needed. The carpet cuts into my back, his nails ripping into the thin skin of my hips.
My body used to carry the marks of my abuser. Now, I’ll gladly carry the reaper’s marks.
He grabs a clump of my hair, wrenching my head back, arching my body.
“If only you could see what I see.” He bites one breast, thrusting his hips into me. I feel so full, body stretched to the point of pain around him. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Flesh slaps together in a messy tangle of sweat and blood. The heat of the fire is bathing us as Killian pumps into me, holding me still. The pleasure is building, but I need more. I need him.
“Killian, I need—” I moan as he shifts his hips, releasing my hair. He holds my neck, pulling me closer. “I need?—"
“I know what you need, Maeve.” He steals a kiss, fist tightening around my throat. My vision darkens before he lets up. Fuck, my pussy clenches around him with every squeeze, making his movements sloppy. “Remember that, Princess. Only I know what you need. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.” It’s possessive but I don’t hate it.
Because he does. He knows exactly what I need. He always has.
His other hand finds my engorged clit, rubbing small hard circles in time with his hips. God, it’s too much. Too much pleasure, too much pressure. There’s no way I can survive this. I’m going to explode.
“Killian, I... I can’t—” I’m going to die like this—the hold on my neck, the friction, the feel of him. It’s all too much. My words are failing me. “ Fuck, Killian.”
“That’s it, Maeve. Scream my fucking name.” He smiles like the Devil into my neck, inhaling. God, he’s loving this lapse of control. As close as I am, I know he must be. His thrusts are harder, faster, driving me across the carpet. “Let this whole house hear you. Let him hear you in the underworld.”
I clamp down. Let him hear how he doesn’t get this. This is my pleasure, my body. I get to experience this without him hanging around.
I hope he can hear it from wherever he is. This was never his. It was always mine .
My chest heaves, heart thumping as my body tightens.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, letting the wave crest.
“There she is.” He chuckles as my pussy tightens and my mouth opens on a guttural moan. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. Forever. Don’t you ever forget that.”
He thrusts with a savage rhythm, growling his release into me. He collapses on top of me, one hand curling into my hair, the other around my neck.
Ownership. Possession. Safety. That’s what Killian is offering.
And it’s something I want—desperately.