Chapter 14 Deirdre #2
Thirty minutes later, Gabe and Claire are walking out the door to go to dinner. And then, finally, it’s just me and Kieran.
Weeks of slow recovery, soft touches, and lingering looks. Weeks of him treating me like I might shatter if he pressed too hard.
The silence settles between us. I sit cross-legged on my bed, my fingers absently fiddling with the hem of my sweater, not wanting to break the calm but knowing it’s inevitable.
“Soooo…” I say, attempting to break the nervous silence, like neither one of us is brave enough to make the first move.
Kieran doesn’t move; he stares at the ground, for once, not even looking at me.
After what feels like an eternity, I let out a large exhale.
“What are you waiting for?” I finally ask, losing all patience. “I figured you would have pounced on me by now. Kinda kills a girl’s ego.”
That does it. Every bit of tension, every bit of emotion that he has held back for weeks, finally snaps.
He stands up in front of me. “You think I don’t want you?” he snarls, his voice laced with a primal edge. “You think I haven’t wanted to lose myself inside you every goddamn night since you came home?”
I stand up to face him, bowing up to him like my five-foot-seven-inch frame has anything on him. My pulse starts to slam against my ribs. “Then why haven’t you?”
“Because I’m terrified,” he spits, pacing in front of me like a caged animal. “Terrified, I’ll touch you too hard. That I’ll break something that already nearly shattered under my hands.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault, Kieran. I’m not broken,” I snap, stepping into his space, my fists clenched at my sides. “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”
His eyes burn into mine, searching.
“I need you, Kieran,” I whisper. “All of you. I need to prove to myself that I’m still me. That I still have control over this body, that it’s mine. Not his. Mine.”
He closes the space between us and slams his mouth down on mine, swallowing my words in a brutal kiss. His hands are everywhere, possessive and demanding. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and wraps my legs around him.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasps against my lips. “Say the word, and I’ll walk out that door.”
I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him to me. “Don’t you dare.”
He lets out a deep, controlled breath and pauses for a moment. Then, he sets me back down on the floor. Disappointment washes over me.
“I’m not fucking you in this old, musty dorm room, Miss Ravencroft. Get dressed,” he growls, his voice low and full of grit. “Now.”
He provocatively kneels in front of me, as if he is truly worshipping me, his hands gently grazing up my thighs.
When he reaches the top, he gives them a firm squeeze.
He buries his face between my legs, his nose brushes against my pussy through my leggings as he inhales.
A satisfied groan rumbles in his throat.
“Wear that black skirt. The one that makes it hard for me to breathe.”
A warm sensation floods between my legs as the words leave his lips.
My heart hammers in my chest. “What? W-where are we going?” A chill runs through me, not from fear, but anticipation.
“You told me to take you to church, Miss Ravencroft.” The devilish grin on his face spreads wider. “That’s what I am going to do. My church.”
Salvation.
My whole body hums at the thought as I dart for my closet. I pull the skirt off the hanger and quickly shimmy out of my leggings. Then, I pair it with a thick oversized sweater and knee-high boots.
I am going to freeze in the January weather, but I am sure Kieran will make sure I warm up soon enough.
Quickly, I step out of the closet and into view. Kieran studies me approvingly.
“Now. No more questions until we get there,” he orders.
There come the butterflies.
I don’t question him. I don’t push. I just obey.
The car ride to the club was quiet and tense.
When we arrive at Salvation, Kieran parks in the back and hurriedly ushers me to the second entrance, which leads straight into the VIP area.
It feels odd to be back, even though it is such a familiar place.
Looking around, I see subtle changes. New furniture in the VIP lounge, eye-catching artwork of passionate couples, and more security standing at the VIP hallway’s entryway.
The air inside the club is thick with the bass of the music. Bodies move like they’re possessed, lost in the rhythm. Kieran’s hand never leaves mine, gripping it tightly as he leads me through the intimate crowd like he owns it.
Well, I guess in a way he does.
People part like the Red Sea when we walk through, trying to avoid his intimidating stare.
As we walk down the dark hallway lit by red LED lights, the anticipation in my stomach begins to build. When we reach the doorway, he slips a sleek black key card like a hotel room card into a slot in the door. The door handle flashes green, and I hear a small click.
That’s new.
He opens the door and looks at me before letting me in, smiling. “Prepare yourself for the upgrades, Miss Ravencroft.”
I hesitate at the threshold of room seven, fingers grazing the doorframe like it might burn me. It’s strange—how familiar the hallway feels, and yet, how different. Like everything’s shifted just slightly off axis, as if the club’s heartbeat has changed since I’ve been gone.
My curiosity piques as I peer inside, only to be met with sheer awe.
The room that was once poorly lit and smelled like old carpet now smells faintly of smoked cedar and leather.
It’s decadent and inviting. Not sterile, not cold like the hospital.
I step in, curious, taking in the new scents and elements of the room.
The low amber lights flicker on with my entrance, casting the room in warm gold and shadows dancing on the walls.
I remember this room.
This is where I first waited on Kieran. Where I tried not to care that he was someone else’s obsession, where I thought I could just clock in, do my job, and leave without looking back.
But this?
This isn’t the same room seven.
My heels sink into the plush, dark carpet as I walk farther in.
The walls, once stark black and impersonal, are now a deep gray.
The old red curtains are replaced with a bold purple textured velvet fabric.
Now, in the center of the wall is a large, low four-poster draped with sheer fabric.
At the head of the bed, there are black satin ties tethered to the posts.
There’s a black nightstand beside the bed, and what’s on it makes my pulse catch.
A single black candle, still burning, wax pooled at the base.
A long white feather.
A silver pinwheel glinting under the glow of the lamp, its tiny spikes teasing across my imagination.
A crystal tumbler filled with ice, already beading with condensation.
And above the foot of the bed, thick cuffs dangle from the ceiling, wrapped in black silk.
I exhale shakily. My body waking up to how these things are making me feel. My heart is already pounding wildly in my ears, almost too aware of what this room is now meant for.
“I—” My voice catches as I run my fingers along the edge of the nightstand. “This isn’t how it used to look.”
I hear the door click behind me, and I know without turning that it’s him. His presence fills the space like it always does—calm, certain.
“No,” Kieran says softly, walking toward me. “It’s not.”
I turn to face him. He’s so close that he’s towering over me. His eyes are full of dark desire, but there’s a warmth in his expression tonight, not the practiced distance I have seen in them the last few weeks. There’s something raw in his eyes, like he’s seeing this place through me.
“Ya know, that night I waited on you, I couldn’t understand why you always came in here,” I confess. “You looked miserable. Like you weren’t really here...in your body.”
His jaw flexes at that.
“After I saw you for the first time, I began to hate this room,” he admits.
“For a long time, it was the only place I could go to stop feeling. Or at least, pretend I wasn’t haunted, but then being in here with another woman made me feel guilty.
And I didn’t even really have the right to feel that way. You weren’t mine then.”
I look at him, then at the cuffs, then back again. “So...why change it? Why bring me here?”
He walks past me to the foot of the bed, fingers brushing the fabric like he’s grounding himself. “Because I want you to have a safe space to reclaim yourself, to explore with me, for us to have a place cut off from the prying eyes of the world.”
I stay quiet, watching him.
“I spent ten years drowning in memories of Alexis in this room,” he says.
“Using people. Using pain. Trying to prove I could still feel something when I couldn’t.
” He turns to me now, his voice low, honest. “And then you walked in with that tray and those sharp little eyes...and the ghosts didn’t stand a chance. ”
My throat tightens.
“I’ve redone the room,” he continues, “because I want to build something new here. With you. If you’re ready.”
He walks toward me, slow and deliberate, until he’s close enough that I feel his breath against my cheek.
Suddenly, feeling the butterflies flit around in the pit of my stomach, I glance back at the bed. My heartbeat trips.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for everything,” I admit.
“You don’t have to be.” He kisses the side of my temple. “We’ll go slow. Or not at all. But this room will wait for you. However long you need.”
I swallow hard. Because he means it. Because there’s no pressure in his tone, no demand—just the offering of something unspoken, something sacred.
I nod, breathing him in. Warmth. Safety. Fire.
For the first time since that night, I let myself believe my life could be more than shadows that haunt me.
It could hold beginnings.
My eyes glance over the items on the nightstand.
“We can go slow?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
His hand comes up to gently brush my hair behind my ear.
“I’ll go at a snail’s pace if that’s what you need.
” He notices my eyes stuck on the pinwheel.
“The feather, the pinwheel, the candle, the ice…” he murmurs, eyes dragging over my face like a caress.
“Those are for exploration. Not just sensation. This room isn’t about forgetting anymore. It’s about reclaiming.”
“Show me, Professor.”