Chapter 36 Killian
Chloe was riding me hard in the back seat of the rental Range Rover in the parking lot of the steakhouse we’d just eaten at.
Her skirt was bunched up around her waist with no panties underneath, her shirt pulled down, freeing her breasts.
Her soaked pussy slid up and down my dick in fast, greedy strokes, the wet, filthy sounds filling the cramped space.
The car rocked with every bounce of her wide hips, her heavy tits straining against her dress as she braced her hands on my chest.
My hand was wrapped firmly around her throat, feeling her pulse hammer wildly under my palm. The sight of her—lips parted, eyes glassy with lust, heavy tits bouncing—made my dick throb even harder inside her.
“Fuck… Chloe,” I groaned, voice strained.
I was close, drawing closer as her pussy squeezed me relentlessly.
Each downstroke dragged her swollen clit against me, and the obscene wet sounds of her juices coating my dick and dripping onto the leather made my head spin.
Heat coiled low and vicious in my gut; every nerve ending was on fire.
“That’s it, little ghost,” I growled, thumb stroking along her jaw. “Take every fucking inch.”
She obeyed, grinding down deeper, her inner walls fluttering and pulsing around my length.
The pleasure was almost too much—a burning, electric rush that made my thighs tense and my abs clench tight.
I could feel my dick swelling inside her, leaking steadily; she was milking me with every roll of her hips.
My heart hammered against my ribs, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
I thrust up to meet her, pounding deep and fast. My grip on her throat tightened instinctively as the pressure built unbearably fast, a white-hot coil tightening at the base of my spine.
“Goddamn.”
We came almost at the same time. Chloe shattered first, shuddering violently.
Her orgasm pushed me over the edge right after her.
My vision blurred, every muscle in my body locking up as pleasure crashed through me like a freight train, spilling thick ropes of cum deep inside her until my toes curled.
For a long moment, we stayed locked together, foreheads pressed close, both of us panting heavily.
“I’m going to miss you when you leave,” I said.
Chloe pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes softening even as her chest heaved.
“What do you mean?” she panted, still catching her breath. “I’m not leaving, Killian. You on the no-fly list or something? Been to Paris too many times?”
“What?” I was confused.
“I knew you got the wrong idea from me saying I wanted freedom and no marriage or kids. You saved me. I feel safe with you. I want you with me, if you can be. But none of it matters until everything is settled.”
Before I could respond, she carefully lifted herself off my dick. My cum immediately started trickling down her inner thigh as she climbed back into the front passenger seat, smoothing her skirt down and fixing it neatly, like we hadn’t just fucked in the back seat.
“We need to get back to the house. Elara, her husband, and Grandpa left at least twenty minutes ago.”
I followed, tucking myself away and sliding into the driver’s seat, my legs still shaky, heart still pounding from the intensity of it all. She pulled out her phone and unlocked it.
“Oh shit,” she said as she scrolled.
“What?”
She handed it over to me. It was an Instagram post about Olivia making an appearance at a Black-owned bookstore in Brooklyn.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” she said quietly, watching my reaction. “Olivia’s too vain to give up the spotlight, even at a time like this.”
Chloe reached over and laced her fingers with mine, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Can you go to New York with me, or do I need to ask Elara?”
I stared at the screen. The image of Olivia smiling in front of a display of "her" books made my blood run cold. She looked perfectly composed for someone who had stolen her sister's words.
"I'm going," I said, my voice finally finding its weight. "You don't need to ask Elara. I'm not letting you out of my sight, especially not where Arthur's reach might be."
He had been calling and threatening her.
"What's the plan?" I asked, starting the engine.
"She’s doing a live reading of her first indie poetry collection, followed by a Q&A at 7:00 PM in two days."
"I’m going to walk into that room. I’m going to let her see me. And then I’m going to read the original draft—and I'm going to point out that the poem she's reading is an acrostic for Chloe."
"You want to ambush her in front of her fans," I stated. It wasn't a question.
"Yes. I’m going to take back my words in the place where she feels most powerful," Chloe corrected. "I want the recording to go viral. I want every person who ever bought a book with her name on it to know they were reading the diary of a prisoner. I’m going to post my blog with all the poems she stole that tell my story, then sue her for intellectual property theft. I want the public to be on that bitch’s head. "
I studied her for a second. This wasn’t the girl in the attic. This wasn’t even the girl from a week ago. She was developing before my eyes.
“Alright,” I said finally, pulling out into traffic. “Then we do it your way.”