18. Isla #2
He doesn’t let up. If anything, he doubles down, his grip on my thighs tightening as he holds me open, utterly exposed to his hungry gaze and his hungrier mouth.
I am unraveling, coming apart at the seams under the relentless, worshipful attention of his tongue.
The pressure builds, a frantic, screaming tension that threatens to break me.
Within seconds, my body tightens, a coil wound to its breaking point, and I cry out as I come apart, my release crashing over me in wave after wave of blinding pleasure.
“Killian! YES! Oh, fuck!”
He doesn’t let up. Not even when my thighs tremble, not even when my fingers twist in his hair hard enough to make him hiss.
He groans against me again, the vibration sending aftershocks ricocheting through my bones.
”Fuck, Isla—you’re dripping all over my face like a goddamn dream.
Look at you, taking what you want. Such a greedy little thing. ”
His praise is gasoline on my internal fire. I’m still shuddering when he drags his mouth up my body, leaving a wet trail along my skin. His teeth scrape my hip, my ribs, my nipple, each bite branding me. ”That’s my girl,” he growls, voice rough as gravel.
I’m wrecked and absolutely boneless, but the second his weight settles between my thighs, primal need claws its way back.
My nails dig into his shoulders, dragging him down.
”I want to feel them,” I rasp. ”Your cock.
Those piercings. I want them splitting me open, stretching me.
Fuck, Killian, I need you inside me right now. ”
A shudder rolls through him. His hands are on me, frantic and worshipful all at once, his lips sucking my nipples again one after another, his hands kneading into my skin until there’s nothing between us but heat and want.
He fumbles in his discarded jeans for a condom and I watch in awe as he slowly rolls it over his beautiful cock.
Before I can say a word, he’s moving back up my body, his weight settling between my thighs. He doesn’t push in. He just hovers there, close enough that I can feel the kiss of metal against my entrance, watching my face like he’s got all the time in the world.
“I think you have sixty-two seconds remaining, Haynesy. Those seconds start now.”
“Mmm.” His mouth drags up the side of my neck, unhurried. “Funny thing about that.” He rocks his hips forward just barely, just enough that the piercing catches against me and my body jolts. He pulls back. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”
“Killian—”
“You want to talk timers?” He does it again, that same devastating almost touch, and I hear myself make a sound I will never admit to.
His lips are at my ear now, his voice dropping to something quiet and ruinous.
“The timer doesn’t start, Coach, until I’m inside you, so tell me what you need.
Tell me exactly what you need, and maybe I’ll give it to you. ”
“I need you to stop being a smug bastard and fuck my brains out.”
His laugh is low and raspy. “There she is.” He notches himself against me and goes still, the pressure unbearable. “Say please, Coach.”
“Please, Killian.”
He drives into me, and every thought in my head shatters.
It’s not just him. It’s the cool, smooth glide of metal against my core.
The beads of his ladder create a friction I have never felt in my whole damn life, a rolling, textured sensation that has me crying out before he’s even fully seated.
The ring at the tip catches on my inner walls, a shocking point of pressure, and my entire body clenches around him.
“Ah! Fuck! Kill…Oh, uung God, yes!”
“Fuck, Isla,” he groans, his voice ragged above me, his forehead dropping to mine. “You feel that? Fucking feel me?”
I can only nod, a broken, breathy sound escaping my lips. He pulls back almost all the way, and the drag is exquisite torture, each bead a separate, distinct point of pleasure. He thrusts back in, and my nails dig into his shoulders.
It’s too much.
And it’s not enough.
The rhythm he sets is relentless, every thrust deliberate, every drive of his hips a controlled demolition that leaves me with nothing to hold onto.
I’ve watched him on the mound, wound tight and unreachable, but this is what lives underneath all of that.
Something ferocious and unguarded that he’s aiming entirely at me.
Every stroke is earth-shattering. The piercings amplify every sensation, transforming a familiar act into something entirely new and overwhelmingly arousing.
I am hyper-aware of every inch of him inside me, of the cool unyielding metal contrasting with his velvet-soft skin.
“Right there,” he rasps, his voice thick with a mixture of awe and carnal knowledge. He adjusts his angle minutely, a master craftsman honing his instrument, and does it again. And again. “Fuck, Isla. You’re taking me like a goddamn champ. Tell me you’re okay, Coach.”
“Yes! Oh, God, Killian. Keep going. Fuck me until I can’t breathe.”
His rhythm stutters for a fraction of a second, a broken gasp escaping his lips at my words. Then he drives into me with a new, desperate intensity, his control fracturing completely. “You want me to fuck you, Isla? Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” I sob, my head thrashing against the pillows. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”