12. Maeve
MAEVE
“Safe word.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs, a sound born from Hell. “You already did. It’s the best fucking memory I have of us. Try again.”
His hand shoots out, grabbing my throat, but I’m ready for him. Raising my knee, I kick his stomach, and he groans. I dart to the side, slipping a knife from under my dress.
“I’m almost surprised to see you armed,” he wheezes, clutching the desktop for stability. “I thought you wanted to be normal.”
“I thought you said we didn’t get to be normal.” My knife glints in the moonless sky.
“You’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m not?” I scoff. “You’re telling me how to act, who to see, like you have any right to my personal life.”
“You’re parading around this city like some bitch in heels,” he snarls, slamming his hand into the desk.
“People want to kill you. And you think hiding with that prick will somehow magically make your shit disappear?” He taps his chest. “I know what that’s like, Maeve.
I know those sins. I know how they burden you and make you feel worthless.
Hiding from the ghosts doesn’t stop them from trying to take you under. ”
I fucking hate that he knows.
I hate how my body vibrates with his nearness. How my knees tremble.
How my heart recoils, aches, and yearns for him all at once.
Pushing off the desk, he stalks close, and I react. My fist connects with his jaw—the only thing I can do to feel in control—and his head snaps to the side.
Slowly, he turns back, chewing on his bottom lip. A thin line parts the center, and a smear of red falls onto his chin.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
His pupils widen, lust flaring in their depths. Tongue lapping at the cut, I watch as he seems to shake, pleasure at the taste—caused by me.
“Why? Only want your boyfriend to touch you?” His thumb wipes his chin, and he sucks it.
“He should be fucking thanking me.”
I scoff. “For what?”
Glaring at me, he uncoils, a dog ready to strike. “I’m letting him have—touch—the only thing I would set the world on fire to keep. Something so precious, so fucking mine, that he should be on his knees worshipping me for the privilege.”
A step toward me, and I tense. “How is he, by the way? Does he hold you down and make you take the pleasure you’re owed like I do?
” Another, and I stand taller. “Does he know the soft whimper you make when it gets to be too much?” One more step.
His chest brushes mine. “Does he know how, when you come, you milk my cock until I’m fucking spent inside of you? ”
He tsks, reading something in my face. “Must not be that good.”
I throw another punch—but he’s waiting for me. Snagging my wrist, he bends my arm behind my back, throwing my middle onto the desk. Ass in the air, he stands behind me, hips cradling me as if he has any right.
My whole body melts, pussy wet, and face hot. Fucking Christ, it feels good having him pressed against me, cock hard and mouth to my ear, panting.
“Answer me.”
“That’s none of your business.”
He chuckles, nails raking up my exposed leg. “It is my fucking business, Princess. You stole my heart—and still have it. I’d like to know if the owner of something so precious is being properly fucked.”
My mouth stays shut as his words hit me, a slap to my sensitive face. The holder of his heart? How is that fair to say to me?
“Want me to tell you about the last time he had me bent over like this?” It’s a lie, but I want him to hurt—lose a bit of the edge he’s holding over me. “I could tell you how big?—”
He presses his blade to my neck, his tongue darting out to lick my cheek. Still wet with his blood, he moans with glee.
“I’ll erase every fucking thought of him from your mind,” he vows. The blade trails over my pulse, cool, but he doesn’t cut me. Instead, the knife goes to my thigh. “I wonder what he thinks when he sees my mark?”
I don’t speak—I don’t breathe.
Flipping me over, he presses his hips between my thighs and rips my dress high. With nothing but a pair of black lacy panties hidden underneath, his eyes sear me, hunting for what he wants.
There, at the crease of my thigh and pussy, he touches the scar he left on my body. The only one he ever gave me—his initials etched into my skin. A reminder of who I belong to.
Others might see it as counterproductive—my whole body is covered in marks of a man who thought to own me. But with Killian’s name on me, it infused me with power. No one could touch me—no one could have me. Except for the Reaper who owns my soul.
Late at night, when the dreams get to me, I still run my fingers over the raised flesh as a reminder. That I’m in control—I gave myself to him, and my body is mine to use. Not Michael’s—never anyone else’s but mine.
Grabbing my face, he squeezes my cheeks. “Answer me, Princess. Does he like knowing you’re mine—even when you say you aren’t?”
Narrowing my eyes, I keep my mouth shut.
Chuckling, he licks my bottom lip, moaning at the taste. I whimper, panting at the push and pull of him—his anger, my fury, and the toxic chemistry that won’t die, no matter what I do to eradicate it.
Slipping the knife under my panties, I still. He smirks.
“Safe word.”
“No.”
“You can’t actually want him.” Killian presses the blunt side closer, and I gasp. “He can’t feed that darkness like I can. He can’t succumb to it with you.”
“You left,” I whisper, legs shaking. “You don’t get to be mad that I’ve moved on.”
Have I?
Placing the knife between us, I see the evidence of my arousal on the metal. He laughs darkly. “Moved on? People who move on don’t get fucking wet when their ex’s knife is inside their pussy.”
I open my mouth to refute his claim, but he surges forward, kissing me again. He steals my breath, gulps down my moans, hauling me closer. Blood, mint, and tobacco explode on my tongue, and I chase him, wanting more.
My thighs clench around him, and he growls, pleased.
“You’ve always tried to hide from me,” he says, dragging his lips over my neck. “But you’re a horrible liar. Your pussy misses my cock—admit it. You fucking want me.”
“No,” I moan, and he bites my neck. His teeth clamp down hard, and I know I’ll have another mark from the Reaper come morning.
“One lie,” he whispers into my ear. “You get one lie. That’s it. I won’t let you fucking lie to me again.”
Standing back, he takes the blade to his mark—KAL—and slices the skin. Blood wells up, and my pussy flutters as pleasure surges through me.
Oh. Oh fuck. I’ve missed this.
Swiping one finger over it, he holds it to his mouth, thinks better of it, and paints my lips. Frozen, I watch, absorbing his touch—the roughness of his finger pads, the firmness behind the pressure.
Ripping his head away, he looks up with a dark gleam in his soulless eyes. “I’m not going to be gentle. You don’t get to say no. You’re going to take my cock and fucking remember who owns you. Safe word. Now.”
Inhaling, I say, “Killian?—”
“If you even dare to speak his name, Maeve,” he threatens, “I will go to his house, kill him, and then fuck you on his corpse. You’re mine—never fucking his.”
He unzips his jeans, cock bobbing out, pre-cum glistening on its head. Thick, heavy, and begging, I can’t look away. My mouth waters, the urge to taste him strong.
“Safe word.”
He lifts my panties to the side, swallowing as he looks down at my pussy. It’s like he’s been handed a gift—gaze reverent and hungry all at once. Gripping his forearm, I swallow.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I mutter, holding on to some shred of my control. My rage diminishes under the lust his touch evokes, and the love I hoped to have buried flares, growing hotter the longer he touches me.
“It will,” he vows. “I’m going to make you remember how good it felt to be mine. Remind you why you chose me.”
“If I don’t want to remember?”
The tip of his cock teases me. “Too fucking bad, Princess. You’ve laid claim to my soul as surely as I’ve claimed yours. There is no hiding from fate.”
He slams into me, and I shout, his length too much. A wicked heat burns between us, and I choke on a breath. My heart hammers, and distantly, I know this is a bad idea. But logic never computed with Killian Linwood.
His lips press to my pulse, full seated in me. “You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, voice strained. “He must not be doing a good job.”
My hips shift, silently pleading for more. “Killian…”
“Me,” he mutters. “Only I belong here, Maeve. Only my touch on your skin. My cock between your thighs. You fucking belong to me.”
He stays perfectly still, and I whimper, body weeping with the need for more.
“Safe. Word.”
Fuck. I’m going to break.
“Mors,” I whisper. It’s a confession, admission, and he growls, pleased in my ear.
His hips snap, pushing further in, and I whine. He’s trying to blend us into one, two dark souls looking for their other half.
But then he moves. It’s powerful—savage.
A fucking branding on my heart as he drills into me, over and over.
There is no stop, no pause. His cock buries into me, punishing in its rhythm.
My only hope is to cling to the Reaper. My nails rake under his shirt, cutting open his skin.
I tug on his nipple rings and sigh with his gasps of pained pleasure.
He moans into my ear, a frantic beast, thrusting so hard, my vision blackens. “Fuck.”
My pussy flutters, soaking him, his jeans, and the desk.
“Remember this,” he threatens, pace unbreakable. “Remember how fucking easily your body begs for me. How this pussy only fucking wants me. How, dressed up for some date, you’re soaking my cock and screaming my name.”
His thumb finds my clit with ease and strokes it. Biting my lip, I bury my head into his chest.
“Still hiding,” he snarls. Pressing his lips to my ear, he says, “Last time, Maeve. You don’t fucking hide from me ever again. You’re mine. Now, come.”
My body hums, sharp tingles of pleasure curling around my middle.
His hips don’t stop, his thumb rubbing harder until the wave crashes.
Dropping my head back, I scream so loudly, and the paintings on the wall shift.
Nails clawing into his chest, I go weightless, pussy so tight, he can only get one more thrust before following me over the edge.
His fingers bruise my hip, emptying inside of me. He doesn’t let me move, holds me still, making sure every drop stays inside.
Panting, I shake my head. “Fuck. You can’t—we can’t.”
“Can’t what?” Holding my neck, his blown pupils glare down at me. “Can’t fill you up? Your pussy was begging for it.”
“No, I—” my voice breaks. “I don’t have an IUD anymore.”
Laughing darkly, he pushes the hair out of my face, still inside of me. “As much as I’d love to see you carrying my child, you told me a long time ago you didn’t want kids.” He shifts, and I moan, his still hard cock rubbing inside me. “So I took care of it.”
Blinking, he pulls out, catching his cum. Shoving it back inside, I whimper. “Took care of it?”
“I’m shooting blanks, Princess.” His fingers twist and play, and my body hums, alive again. Fuck. Why am I letting him do this?
He doesn’t seem to mind, grinning devilishly at me.
“You’re mine, Princess. So, make peace with whatever doubts you have.
But you’re going to walk out of this room, dripping my cum, and you’ll feel me when you go to bed.
And soon, we’ll do it again.” He presses a kiss to my lips. “I fucking guarantee it.”