24. Maeve #2
“Unless you want me to fuck you raw on my bed,” he says, voice holding nothing but blackest desires, “don’t do that again.”
“You fucking told Lex about the assassins,” I accuse, shoving my finger into his chest. Black wings cover his shoulders and neck, a mockery of what they are and what he does. But fitting for how he killed something inside of me when he left.
He looks down at my hand, dryly. “I never told Lex anything. I merely asked for him to listen to chatter at his club.” His gaze snaps to mine, smirking slightly. But it’s not in jest. It feels dangerous. “Lex, now is it? Awfully friendly with the enemy.”
Pushing him away, I scoff. “He’s my brother-in-law, you fucking jackass. I can’t believe you told him.”
“If he’s family, it shouldn’t matter.” He steps close, and I copy him, keeping distance between our bodies. Oh no. He’s not pulling that crap on me now. Last time that happened, he fucked me on my desk. “You came up here to fight over what I told Lex?”
“You’re meddling.” He comes close again, and I dart to the side. “Clearly, you don’t trust me to handle my clan. You have no business sticking into my affairs. No right?—”
“And what business would that be, Princess?” Crowding me against the bed, I sidestep. Being near a bed right now would not work out in my advantage. “When I saved you from almost dying? When I kept you alive for fucking years? When I killed your father for you?”
It’s a bullet to the heart, and I gasp. He killed Ferguson, but I never thought it was for me.
That can’t be. Ferguson was his mentor—the father he always wanted. He would never choose me over him. Never.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?” He grins. “Don’t, what? Make you admit that the only reason Ferguson is dead is because I chose you over him?”
The room stops, and my heart pounds in my chest. My throat dries, and a ringing overtakes my hearing, blocking out all noise.
There’s no fucking way…
Stepping closer, he asks, “Afraid, Princess? Afraid to admit that you fucking matter to someone? That you might actually be worth fighting for, saving, and not someone to discard when they’re no longer useful?”
I swallow hard. Every dark fear being spoken is a lash against my heart. Of course, he’d use it against me. He knows my fears—all my issues. He sees it all.
He inhales. “How do you feel now, Princess? Now that I see every fucking fear, and you can’t hide behind that damn mask you show everyone else.” His eyes flash. “Are you afraid of me now?”
“No.” It’s a soft whisper. “I’ve never been afraid of you.”
“Good.” Quick as a snake, he wraps his fingers around my throat, pulling me close. Mint, tobacco, and the fine scent of blood hang around me, and I inhale—it’s distinctly Killian, and I melt against him. “Why are you really here? What are you mad at?”
My hands fist at my side. I refuse to touch him. “You.”
“I got that,” he agrees casually. “But this feels like… something more.” He brushes his nose against my body, and I shudder—fucking traitorous body. “What are you really mad at?”
“You.”
Throwing me against the wall, he crowds me, knees parting my legs. Inhaling at my neck, I feel his deranged grin.
“You’re not mad at me,” he taunts, voice dark. “You’re mad at yourself.”
“Like fuck?—”
“You love me.”
I snap my mouth shut.
The asshole laughs, a rich sound my body reacts to. The hair on my arms rises, my body shudders, and my nipples tighten. One sure finger draws up my sternum, thumb ghosting over my chest. My back arches, begging for more.
“That’s why you’re so angry.” His teeth rake over my throat. “Not because of me. Not because I told Lex about the leak. You’re mad because finally—after all these godforsaken months—you see what I’ve always seen. That you fucking love me.”
“I don’t?—”
“No more lies,” he growls. Pulling back, he slides his hands under my skirt, gripping my thighs. “You’re going to tell me exactly what you want, Princess. Exact words. No more denials—no more fucking hiding.”
His black eyes blaze down at me. “What do you want?”
I could deny him—push him away. Ignore how my heart seizes with love and how I fall apart as his fingers press into my flesh. How the beat of his heart seems to echo the one in my chest—we’re two halves of one twisted whole.
I remember begging him to replace Michael’s hands with his own. I remember his words in the night when I awoke from nightmares. I remember his confidence and care.
“Did you really kill Ferguson for me?”
“Yes, love,” he breathes, deflating. “He hurt you. No matter what he did for me, no matter how I felt, he hurt the one thing in this world I would kill to protect. I had no choice.”
Rubbing his nose to mine, he says, “If Michael were alive, I would’ve killed him too. But it was so much better watching you have your vengeance.”
The last of my restraints falls, and my blackened heart comes alive.
With sure hands, I grab his hair, yanking him closer. He moans, a delicious sound I’ve missed. Licking his bottom lip, I hold his gaze and say, “On your knees, Pup.”
“Fuck,” he groans. Falling forward, he wraps his arms around my waist, crushing his lips to mine. He’s not tentative—he demands I open my mouth, plunging his tongue through my lips. He takes and tastes everything he can touch, nibbling on my bottom lip.
Roughly, he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that from you.”