9. Ellie #2
He carries me to the couch, my legs still locked around his waist, before he finally drops me onto the cushions and strips.
I can’t stop looking at him; he’s exquisite.
Thick and heavy, pressing against his stomach.
Nothing like the men before him. My mouth goes dry, trepidation and want twisting through me.
“See something you like, Dr. Hart?” he asks, my title turning filthy in his mouth.
I nod, speechless, as he positions himself above me, his weight balanced on his arms. The muscles in his forearms flex as he cages me in, a reminder of the strength he’s holding back.
“You were never assessing me, Ellie.” He looms over me, his shadow taking every bit of light in the room. “I’ve been memorizing you. I’ve seen every bit of hesitation. Every time your skin flushed when I brushed past you. I knew exactly how this would feel.”
He pins my wrists above my head. His hands engulf mine, his fingers digging into my skin as he anchors me to the couch.
“I’ve been playing this in my head since the moment I met you,” he says. His teeth graze my ear and his mouth drags against the junction of my neck and shoulder. “And now I’m going to make sure you never even want to think about anyone else. You’re mine, Ellie.”
“Do it,” I gasp, my lips brushing his.
He shifts his weight to one elbow, taking his cock in his free hand.
He pumps it twice before he drags it against me, swiping through the wetness.
I gasp at the friction, my hips arching to find him.
I’m breathless as he finally lines himself up and pushes in.
The shock of him being too big hits me all at once.
I hiss into his shoulder, my body already tightening around him. The stretch is a searing burn that makes my skin feel like it's going to rip.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans. “You’re so tight.”
Oh fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck!
Too big. He is way too big. The stretch burns, toeing the line between pleasure and pain, and I can’t breathe around it. Every nerve ending fires at once. Pain, pleasure, I can’t tell the difference anymore. He’s only halfway in.
“Breathe,” he orders, voice strained. He’s waiting, giving my body time to catch up.
But I can’t. My body is trying to adjust to an invasion it’s not built for.
I force myself to relax. His mouth finds mine, and the burn of the stretch sharpens. He fills me so completely that I can’t catch my breath as he hits that deep, heavy thud of pleasure I never knew was there.
“Oh God,” I gasp, nails biting into his shoulders as he bottoms out inside me.
He gets faster, harder, slamming into me until I can feel my eyes roll back.
“Look at me,” he says, his hand coming up to cup my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “I want to see you when you come.”
I can’t look away. I’m trapped by the silver in his eyes and the way his body is taking every inch of mine. I’m shaking, my skin sticky with sweat, my vision narrowing down to just the friction and the heat.
His thumb drags over my clit, rubbing while his cock drives into me again and again. It’s all too much. I can’t hold it. Every thrust pushes me closer, my body trembling on the edge.
“I can’t.” The words rip out of me, completely breathless.
“You can,” he snaps, thrusting harder. “You’re going to come, and you’re going to do it on me.”
The orgasm detonates.
My muscles clamp around him so hard, I lose the ability to move. I’m making sounds I don’t recognize, raw, animalistic cries that he swallows with his mouth. I’m lost in the pressure, the weight, the absolute certainty of him.
He doesn't stop. He thrusts through the tremors, unrelenting, wringing every last aftershock from my body. He finally pulls out, his cock pulsing strings of cum across my stomach with a guttural sound that vibrates through my entire body. I’m shaking so hard I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
He stays over me, his chest heaving, his sweat glistening across his skin. He looks at the mess on my stomach, then looks at me and grins. His eyes are dark, but softer somehow.
Holy fuck, he's beautiful.
“You’re mine now.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. His mouth crashes into mine and his tongue is inside, hot and impatient as it tangles with my own. He’s deep, his breath heavy against my lips as he claims exactly what he came for.
He cleans me with his hoodie, his movements unexpectedly slow, almost careful. He pulls me into his chest, and I let him. I’m too hollow to move. My heartbeat eventually slows, syncing with the steady, heavy thud of his.
“I’ve never…” I start. My legs still shaking beneath me.
“I know.” And somehow, I know he does.
Before I am able to process his words, my phone buzzes on the floor beneath the desk. Reality doesn’t crash back; it detonates like a bomb. Consequences. Career. Ethics. All the reasons this was the worst possible decision, none of which I’m ready to face.
I reach for it reluctantly, Killian’s arm still locked around my waist. The screen lights up with a message from an unknown number. One glance and the blood drains from my face, the afterglow replaced by icy dread.
It’s a photo of me. In my car, taken through the windshield at a stoplight. It’s recent. I’m wearing the jacket I wore two days ago. The angle is close, intimate. Someone was right there, and I never knew. Underneath, the words:
Unknown: Some secrets are worth dying for. Stop digging or join your father.
A second photo loads. This one older, me at the gala, the night my father died. Standing beside him, both of us smiling, hours before everything changed. The message is clear: they know my history, and they’re watching my present.