Chapter 23 Private Moment, Public Man
TWENTY THREE
Private Moment, Public Man
April
Killian's bedroom was quieter than the rest of the house. Darker. The door clicked shut behind them. The noise from the living room—the laughter, the conversations, the humming—became distant.
April stood in the middle of the room, still in the emerald silk, and watched Killian lean against the door like he needed it for support.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He laughed, the sound was strained. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"This." He gestured between them, frustrated.
" I can run a company. I can close deals worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
I can fire people without blinking. But I can't—" He dragged a hand through his hair.
"I've been lying to myself for three years.
And I don't know how to tell you that without sounding like I'm issuing another fucking press release. "
"Then don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't tell me. Stop announcing things and expecting me to just—what? Update my calendar? Put it in a file labelled 'things Killian Blackwood has decided'?"
"I'm trying to be honest—"
“You're trying to manage me.” April advanced a step, heat rising under her skin. "You announce things: STI results, lube requirements, your feelings, and expect me to adjust like it’s a quarterly update.”
"I apologize—"
"I don't want a relationship built on announcements and apologies, Killian." Her voice rose, frustration cutting through every word.
"Then what do you want?" His voice rose. "You wanted me to ask first—I'm asking now—"
Her body moved before the rest of her caught up. Her palm hit his chest, sending him back half a step before she even realized she'd done it.
"You're not asking. You're telling me you want to ask." Her hands gestured like she was trying to physically grasp the right words. "A relationship is a conversation. Both people get to speak. Both people get heard. You don't declare feelings at someone and wait to see if they approve the merger."
Killian stared at her. His jaw working. "I don't know how else to do this."
"Then figure it out. Because I'm not doing the thing where I mold myself around whatever shape you've decided works best."
The words hung between them.
"The last thing I want," Killian said, voice breaking, "is to do the same thing to you. Make you smaller. Make you fit."
"But I don't know how else to do this, I don’t know how to want something without trying to take it. I don’t know how to ask without already writing the next five steps in my head.”
Shoulders tight. Jaw locked. His voice cracked on the last word.
She was still angry. Still frustrated. But she also wanted him. Had wanted him since the supply closet. Since his mouth on hers, his hand at her waist, the way he'd looked at her like she mattered.
The wanting didn’t fix it. But it was there. Insistent.
She should have turned away. Instead, her body surged ahead of her decision.
She closed the distance between them. Grabbed his shirt and pulled him down and kissed him hard.
Killian groaned and his hands were immediately on her hips, pulling her against him like he'd been holding back and finally got permission to stop.
April’s teeth dragged his lower lip between hers in warning. He tasted like champagne and distilled want. Killian groaned into her mouth, and she felt it vibrate through her chest.
His hands slid down her body, rough palms skating over silk, before gripping her ass with both hands. Her fingers twisted into his shirt, yanking at the buttons until they popped loose one after another, clattering to the floor.
Her pulse hammered between her legs, insistent. She shoved the shirt off his shoulders, baring warm skin and muscle. Killian’s mouth found her throat. Teeth dragging against delicate skin. Her head fell back with a gasp, spine arching to give him more.
His breath was uneven, crashing against her collarbone as he pressed open-mouthed kisses there.
His fingers found her zipper. One sharp tug and the emerald silk slid down her body and pooled around her ankles with a whisper.
Killian’s eyes devoured her memorizing every detail.
April reached for his belt. Metal clinked.
He caught her wrists and spun her.
Her back hit the wall with a thud, air knocked from her lungs in a short rush.
His mouth was on hers again, all tongue and teeth, no finesse now.
Her nails scraped against his shoulders.
The wall was cool against her bare back.
His body pinned her in place. She hooked one leg around his hip, pulling him closer.
Killian ground against her, hips moving with precision that made her knees buckle.
A gasp ripped from her throat. Her nipples pebbled sharply against lace.
She clenched on nothing, fabric friction driving her body frantic.
His hand slid up her thigh, skin to skin, dragging under the lace with the slow intention of a man who wanted her to feel every inch
Her nails dug in. His name tore from her in a breathless whisper she couldn't stop.
His fingers brushed through her folds, slick, hot. His whole body stilled for one second. “Fuck,” he breathed into her neck.
She rocked into his hand, searching for friction. Her body already climbing. Her thighs shook with tension.
His other hand tangled in her hair, tightening until her head tilted back, baring her throat. He watched her face as his thumb languidly circled her clit.
She shuddered.
The pressure built fast, too fast, every pass of his thumb building the pressure.
Then his hand left her and April made a sound of protest.
Killian's hand reached past her toward the dresser.
He brought the scarf between them without thinking.
He held it up.
Met her eyes.
"Do you want the scarf?"
She stared at it.
Then at him.
Something in her snapped.
She yanked the scarf out of his hand, lifted it back up between them. “Do you want the scarf?”
Killian froze.
His face emptied like someone had cut the power. Mouth opening on instinct, then stopping when nothing came out. His breath hitched, sharp and audible.
April watched him process. Recalibrate. Realize what she was actually asking.
His throat worked.
"I—" His voice cracked. "I've never—"
He stopped. His eyes locked on the scarf in her hands. Then on her face. Then back to the scarf. The realization of what she was offering doing something to him he hadn't anticipated. His chest rose and fell faster now. She could feel him against her hip—harder than he'd been a moment ago.
“Yes,” he said finally, voice unsteady “Yes. I want it.”
Her pulse kicked up. Heat bloomed low and heavy in her belly. She held his gaze.
"Get on the bed."
Killian moved.
He backed toward the bed, eyes never leaving hers, and climbed onto it.
Kneeling. Waiting.
April stood there for a second, still in her bra and underwear, scarf in hand, looking at a man who ran a Fortune 500 company and was currently kneeling on his own bed waiting for her to tell him what to do next.
Okay. This is happening.
You've never done this before but you also never orchestrated eight pranks in one day or wore a family heirloom as a fake engagement ring or had sex with a movie star in a library, so clearly today is the day we grab bulls by horns and figure it out as we go.
She reached behind her back. The bra slipped down. Cool air kissed her nipples into peaks.
Killian's eyes dropped to her breasts. His jaw clenched, hard enough that she could see it from across the bed.
She hooked her thumbs in her underwear, slid them down, stepped out of them. A heartbeat in her throat. A pulse between her legs. A silk scarf in her hand. A man in front of her, hard, trying not to move without permission.
"Finish undressing.”
Killian didn't need to be told twice. Belt. Pants. Boxer briefs. Gone in seconds.
He knelt back on the bed. Naked. Waiting.
Her gaze traveled his body: broad shoulders, cut chest, the tight lines of control that didn't match the want on his face. His cock hard and flushed, twitching as if trying to guess what she’d do next.
Her mouth went dry. That same heat from earlier surged hotter.
"Lie down."
Killian slowly stretched out on his back.
Her eyes flicked to the headboard. Dark wood. Sturdy. Spindles spaced just wide enough
“Hands up.”
Killian's cock visibly twitched. His arms lifted. Wrists together, resting above his head.
April climbed onto the bed.
The mattress dipped under her weight. She moved toward him, scarf in hand, straddling his chest.
She leaned forward to reach the headboard. Her breasts hovered inches from his face, close enough he could feel the heat of her skin, see the tight pull of her nipples.
She looped the scarf around his wrists. Once. Twice.
Killian’s chest rose fast, breathing ragged. His eyes locked on her breasts, swaying just out of reach.
She reached for the headboard, threading the silk through one of the spindles.
His head lifted.
His mouth closed around her nipple.
Wet heat. Tongue and teeth.
The sensation shot straight through her. Her core clenched, tight and wanting.
She pulled back. Just out of reach.
Her nipple slipped from his mouth, wet and aching.
"Did I give you permission to touch?"
Killian's eyes snapped to hers. Wide. Caught.
Something dangerous curled at the edge of her mouth. “Bad boy.”
She finished the knot, gave it a testing tug. The silk held—taut but not painful. His wrists shifted, and she watched his throat move on a swallow.
She sat back on her heels, still straddling his chest. Looked at him.
CEO of Blackwood & Co.
Tied to his own headboard.
Her pussy fluttered around nothing.
“You need to apologize.”
“For everything you did today.”
Killian opened his mouth.
She didn’t let him speak.
She moved. Climbed up his body until her knees braced on either side of his head, her hands gripping the headboard above him.
Lowered her pussy onto his mouth.
Killian groaned.
The vibration went straight through her core.