Chapter 31 Killian
I woke with Chloe curled against my side.
Her bare skin was warm and soft, one heavy breast pressed to my ribs, her leg thrown over mine.
The faint scent of lavender and sex lingered on the sheets—a fragrance that was quickly becoming the only air I wanted to breathe.
For a second, I allowed myself the delusion that she was mine.
She felt like mine.
My body remembered every second of last night—how perfectly she’d taken me, how she’d come apart so sweetly beneath me. But the memory was tainted by reality. She wasn’t mine. I was a stop on her way to a life that didn't include me.
She stirred, breaking the moment and blinking up at me with dark, sleepy eyes.
For a moment she just looked at me, hair tangled, lips still slightly swollen.
I wanted to beg her to stay. I didn’t have the right to.
I stayed silent, my jaw locked tight against the words that would only make me look selfish.
She suddenly shifted, sliding down my body until her face hovered over my morning-hard dick.
“What are you doing?” I stuttered.
“Killian?” Her voice was soft, hesitant. “Can I… do it? With my mouth? I want to learn how to make you feel good like that.”
My heart raced with lust and thudded with the fear that this was another "thank you" I didn't want to accept. My jaw tightened. I looked down at her kneeling between my spread thighs, naked and unashamed. She looked so innocent, yet she was the one holding the knife to my heart.
“You don’t have to” was on the tip of my tongue, but that wasn’t what came out.
“I—yeah,” I said. “If you want to.”
She looked up at me, eyes wide and eager. “Teach me,” she whispered. “I want to do it right for you.”
Something low and possessive tightened in my chest. If I couldn’t have her forever, then I’d have this.
The moment. The imprint of it. I thought about what she’d said that day—about rememory.
How places held things. How moments didn’t disappear; they just waited.
I wanted to be the memory that waited for her.
I wanted her body to hold this lesson so deeply that no matter where she went—what cities she touched, what air she breathed, what other man she met—she would feel me. Taste me.
I sat up against the headboard, reaching down to cup her jaw. My thumb traced the bruise on her cheek—a reminder of the war we were in. “Alright, little ghost,” I said, my voice dropping into a rough, low growl. “Open your mouth for me.”
She parted her lips obediently. I guided the head of my dick to her tongue, sliding in slowly. I wanted her to feel the weight of me, the reality of what she was trying to walk away from.
“Good girl,” I whispered, watching her eyes flutter. “Just like that. Lips around me—tight, but no teeth. Use your tongue on the underside.”
I rocked my hips forward, feeding her another inch. When she gagged softly, I didn’t pull back. I fisted my hand in her messy hair, holding her steady. I wasn't being cruel; I was anchoring her to me.
“Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose. You’re doing so fucking good already.”
She took more, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. I started moving faster, rougher, the melancholy in my chest turning into a desperate, silent rage. Each time I hit the back of her throat and heard those wet, choking little sounds, I felt a sick sense of triumph. You’ll remember this, I thought.
Spit began to drip from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin and onto her heavy breasts. She was a mess for me. My mess.
“Fuck, yes—look at you taking me so deep,” I praised, my voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel. “Such a good girl for me. Suck harder, baby.”
I fisted her hair tighter and started fucking her mouth in earnest—deep, punishing strokes. I wanted to push past her defenses, to get to the part of her she kept locked away. She gagged and her eyes teared up, but she never pulled away. She stayed with me, her body jolting with every thrust.
“You’re perfect,” I growled, my thumb brushing a tear from her cheek even as I drove into her. I hated that I was the one making her cry, and I loved that I was the only one allowed to see it. “So fucking pretty when you choke on me.”
The wet, messy sounds filled the room—the slurping, the gagging, her desperate breaths. I held her head in place with both hands now, using her mouth with a rough, relentless rhythm that felt like a battle.
“Eyes on me,” I ordered.
She obeyed instantly, her watery gaze locked on mine. In that moment, she wasn't a strategist. She wasn't a ghost. She was just mine.
“Good girl. Keep looking at me while I fuck your throat.”
Pressure built fast. The sight of her—lips stretched wide, spit everywhere, her heavy breasts glistening—sent me over the cliff. My balls drew up tight, a low groan vibrating in my chest.
“Gonna cum soon, baby. You’re gonna swallow every drop for me, aren’t you? Like a good little ghost.”
She moaned around me, the vibration nearly breaking my resolve. I thrust deep a few more times, then buried myself as far as she could take and came hard, a low, ragged groan escaping me. Pulse after pulse spilled into her as her throat worked to swallow the evidence of how much I wanted her.
When I finally eased back, she gasped for air, coughing softly.
Her lips were swollen and shiny, strings of saliva connecting her to the man who was secretly breaking for her.
She didn’t pull away. She climbed back up my body, straddling my lap.
Her pussy brushed against my softening dick, a reminder of the heat we’d shared all night.
She cupped my face tenderly and kissed me—deep, slow, letting me taste the salt of her tears and the ghost of myself on her tongue. It was a kiss that felt like a goodbye.
When she pulled back, her voice was quiet but steady. The light in her eyes wasn't for me; it was for the mission. “I have somewhere I need to be.”
The words were a cold splash of reality. She brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, her face beaming with a terrifying sort of hope. She was moving toward her future, and I was just the engine getting her there.
“Come with me.”
I stared at her, my chest still heaving. The morning light caught the flush on her skin and the wetness on her cheeks. I was exhausted, mourning a relationship that hadn't even truly begun, and yet, my body was already rising for her again. I was a fool, and I knew it.
For a long moment, the only sound was the drizzle against the glass.
Finally, I asked, “Where?”