16. Isla #2
Killian swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “I can’t—” His voice comes out rough. “I’m going to fuck it up. I always fuck it up.”
“Fuck what up, Kill? Tell me.”
“The game. My career.” His big round eyes finally meet mine and I can see the fear swimming inside them. “And you.”
“Me?” I shake my head and place my other hand over his knee. “Killian, I’m good. I’m here. I’m fine. See? You didn’t fuck anything up. I’m okay. I promise.”
“Every time it matters, I…” he tries to take a full breath. “I find a way to mess it up. The front office matters. The game matters. You…matter.”
I recognize the rapid descent into panic that I experienced myself for years after the accident. The way your thoughts become a whirlpool, pulling you under until you can’t come back up.
His breathing is still too fast, too shallow.
I have to help him come back up.
He needs me.
“Killian.” I use my free hand to gently turn his face toward mine.
His beautiful hazel eyes are wide; the gold flecks dull with anxiety.
“I need you to come back to me.” Remembering the exercise my therapist used to do with me when I was having an anxiety attack, I try it for Killian.
“Hey, I need you to do something for me, okay?”
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“I need you to name five things you can see about me,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite my own racing heart. “Can you do that? Can you look at me and tell me five things you can see?”
I know the exercise is to find five things he can see in general but I’m hoping if I make him focus on just me, maybe it will distract him from his own negative thoughts.
When he doesn’t answer right away, I squeeze his hand. “Please, Killian. Five things.”
His gaze finally moves over me slowly and deliberately. “You…in my T-shirt.”
I nod and give him an assuring smile. “Good. Yes. Okay. Four more.”
“The freckles on your nose.” He cringes slightly and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, Isla.”
“No, no, no. My nose is fine, Killian. I’m good. Don’t worry about my nose. You’re doing great. Three more things you can see about me.”
“Your green eyes,” He states softly, his gaze locking with mine. “They’re the exact color of the grass at the stadium in spring.”
My heart flutters at his words, at the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this moment. I squeeze his hand again. “Two more.”
He drifts lower. “Your legs,” he says, his voice still rough but steadier now. “They’re all toned and…and sexy.” He hesitates, his gaze lingering on my chest. “And the peaks of your nipples poking through my shirt.”
Whoa. Okay. Not where I thought he’d go with this but okay. I’ll take it. Maybe I should be embarrassed, but instead I feel a rush of warmth spreading through my body. “Good,” I manage to say, “Can I come closer? So you can touch me?”
He nods silently and lowers his knees. He lets go of my hand long enough to circle my waist and tug me forward onto his lap so I’m straddling him.
We sit this way for a silent few seconds and then I reach up to cup his face with my free hand.
“Now touch me and tell me four things about me you can feel.”
Killian’s hand trembles as he reaches out, his fingers hovering near my face before he gently traces the outline of my swollen cheek. “The softness of your skin,” he breathes, his touch feather-light against my bruise.
I nod, encouraging him to continue. His hand moves to my hair, fingers threading through the strands. “Your feathery hair,” he says, his voice steadier now.
I feel a shiver run down my spine at his gentle touch and the tenderness in his voice. “Good,” I whisper. “Two more.”
His palm slides down my side to my waist, resting there with a gentle pressure that causes my breath to catch. “The curve of your body, and...” He lets go of my waist and moves his hand to my chest, hovering just above my heart. “Your heartbeat. It’s steady.”
It’s so not steady but at least he can feel it.
“You’re doing great,” I tell him. “Now tell me three things about me that you can hear.”
“Your calming voice,” he says, his thumb tracing small circles against my skin. “And the way your breath catches a little bit every time I touch you.”
“I like when you touch me, Killian.” The confession slips out before I can even catch it, but he probably won’t remember that I said it, so I move on. “And the third?”
His lips quirk into a shy smile. “Those little whimper noises you make when I kiss you.”
Unexpected yet again but okay.
“I’m not making those sounds now, am I?”
“No, but I still remember exactly what they sound like,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky acknowledgement that sends shivers down my spine.
His breathing has slowed, but his eyes haven’t left mine. Those hazel depths, now clearer, more focused, are studying me with an intensity that might otherwise scare me, but today, I welcome it.
“Okay,” I say, trying to maintain my composure despite the way my heart is hammering against my ribs. “Tell me two things about me that you can smell.”
Killian leans forward slightly, his nose nearly brushing my neck as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer. I feel his warm breath against my skin as he inhales deeply and I’d be lying if I said the gesture wasn’t a huge turn-on for me.
“Laundry detergent,” he states, his lips grazing my collarbone. “And your hair after last night’s shower.” He pulls back slightly, his expression suddenly apologetic. “I’m sorry it wasn’t the strawberry scent.”
The tenderness and apology in his voice make me want to cry. Even in his spiral, he’s thinking about me. “You…you remembered,” I stutter, surprised.
“I remember everything about you, Isla.”
His words hang in the air between us and I’m suddenly aware of how close we are. His hands have stopped trembling, but they’re still gripping my waist like I’m the only solid thing in his world. I swallow hard, my voice shaking slightly, and say, “One more. The last one is—”
“I know what the last one is,” he interrupts, his voice rough. His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel my mouth go dry. “One thing about you I can taste.”
I should pull away. I should stick to the agreement that was my idea in the first place, the boundaries I insisted on. But his hands are warm on my waist, his eyes are clear and focused on me now, and I don’t want to move.
“Yeah,” I breathe, though it comes out sounding more like a plea.
He doesn’t hesitate. He closes the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s nothing like the ones we’ve shared before.
This isn’t for show, isn’t for the cameras or the front office.
This is just us, real and startling in its intensity.
I know kissing is not the cure for a panic attack but if I can be a distraction for him…
a way for him to let go and get out of his own head for just a minute, I’ll give myself to him freely.
Because fuck it.
I really do care about Killian Haynes.
His lips are soft against mine, moving with a gentle urgency that makes my head spin. I feel his hands tremble slightly as they cradle my face, careful to avoid my bruise, and it’s his unique tenderness for me that has me melting against him.
The taste of mint toothpaste and something uniquely Killian fills my senses as I part my lips, inviting him deeper.
The sound that escapes my throat when his tongue meets mine is exactly the whimper he mentioned; soft, needy, completely involuntary.
Killian responds by pulling me closer, one hand sliding from my face to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.
I’m vaguely aware that I’m sitting in his lap, wearing nothing but his T-shirt and boxers, making out with him on the floor of his gym, but I don’t care. All I care about is the way his lips feel against mine, the way his hands are exploring my body like he’s memorizing every curve.
His kiss deepens, becoming more insistent, more desperate, as if he’s trying to pour all his fear and anxiety into this one moment of connection and I respond in kind, my fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him closer.
His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips as he shifts beneath me. I can feel him hardening against me, and the realization sends a bolt of heat straight to my core. My body responds instinctively, pressing against him, seeking more contact.
Oh God…
“Killian,” I whisper against his lips when we finally break apart for air. His breathing is ragged, his pupils darkened with desire as they search mine.
“Isla,” he drawls, his voice rough with need as he peppers kisses across my jaw and down my neck.
I should stop this. I should honor the agreement we made. It’s what I asked of him. It’s our safety net so feelings don’t get in the way. But his hands are warm on my skin, his expression pleading, and I can’t bring myself to deny what we both clearly want. Rules be damned.
“We shouldn’t,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can reconsider. “Your game tonight—”
“I know,” Killian says, his lips still brushing against mine. “We shouldn’t.”