22. Isla #2
His hands cradle my face, tilting it up to meet his gaze.
The gold flecks in his hazel eyes catch the lamplight, and I’m struck by how vulnerable he looks in this moment.
My throat tightens with emotion because I want so badly to say it back.
I want to tell him I love him too, that he’s become the center of my world but what happens when he’s done with me? What happens if he gets hurt…or worse?
What happens when he leaves me?
“Killian…I—”
“Just let me love you, Isla,” he practically begs, his breath warm against my skin as he tenderly kisses my neck and shoulder. “Not because I have to. Not because someone is watching, but because I want to. I need to.”
I can’t breathe.
His words wrap around me like a vice, squeezing until I’m certain my ribs will crack under the pressure. Every fear I’ve been running from crashes into me at once, and I’m paralyzed by the weight of it.
But I don’t pull away.
Because the truth is, I want him too.
I need him.
My hands find the waistband of his pants, fingers trembling as I work the button free.
The zipper follows, and then I’m pushing everything down, needing to feel his skin against mine.
Killian steps out of his clothes, kicking them aside, and when he stands before me completely naked, I feel my heart stutter in my chest.
“Please, Kill,” I plead, though I’m not even sure what I’m asking for.
Killian understands. He always understands. His arms wrap around me, lifting me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom. The city lights stream through the windows, painting his skin in silver and gold as he lays me gently on the bed.
He follows me down, his weight settling over me in a way that feels like coming home.
His lips find mine again. There’s no urgency, no desperate need to consume.
Instead, it’s slow and deliberate, each movement of his mouth against mine showing me how he feels.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him, letting him in, tasting the truth of everything we’re both feeling.
His hands move slowly down my body, worshiping every inch of me. When his fingers hook into my thong, he pauses, his eyes finding mine in the dim light.
“Tell me what you want, Isla,” he tempts against my lips.
“You,” I breathe, my voice barely audible. “I just want you, Killian.”
Something shifts in his expression—relief, maybe, or hope—and then he’s sliding the last piece of fabric down my legs, leaving me completely bare before him except for the heels on my feet and the bracelet wrapped around my wrist. His pupils darken as they roam over my body, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world and nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, his voice reverent. “You’re perfect.”
“Make me yours, Killian,” I beg him. “Take me. Claim me. I’m all yours.”
He kisses me once more and then his mouth leaves mine, trailing down my neck, across my collarbone, until he reaches my breasts.
He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, and I arch off the bed, a moan escaping my lips.
His tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, and the pleasure is so intense it borders on pain.
His teeth graze the sensitive skin, and I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Oh, God, Kill!”
“You want more, Coach?”
“So much more,” I whimper, my voice laced with desperate need. “You make me want so much more.”
Killian seems to understand. His mouth continues its path downward, trailing kisses across my stomach, over my hip bones, until he reaches the apex of my thighs. His breath is hot against my most sensitive skin, and I tremble with anticipation.
“Look at me, Isla,” he commands softly.
I lift my head, meeting his gaze over the landscape of my body.
His eyes are dark with desire, but there’s something else there too, something tender and real that makes my heart ache.
I gasp when I feel Killian’s warm tongue trace circles around my entrance, his hands gripping my hips as he devours me.
My body arches off the bed, a desperate moan escaping my lips as Killian’s tongue works its magic.
“Oh, my God, yes, Killian. Just like that.”
He hums against me, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through my core.
His tongue delves deeper, tasting me, claiming me, and I’m lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly wanted.
The pleasure builds quickly, a tight coil of sensation that threatens to snap at any moment, but Killian doesn’t let up.
His tongue finds my clit and doubles down, flicking, licking, sucking, until my vision blurs.
“I don’t ever want to go a day without tasting the best pussy I have ever eaten again. Do you hear me? Never. Again.”
When his fingers join his mouth, sliding inside me with practiced ease, I cry out, my hips bucking against his face.
“Never again!” I hear myself repeating his words as the pressure builds, a frantic screaming tension that threatens to rip me apart.
When my first orgasm hits, it crashes over me like a wave, stealing my breath and leaving me trembling in its wake.
Killian takes every drop and then some. When he finally pulls back, he presses a gentle kiss to my inner thigh and then moves back up my body.
His skin, hot against mine, his erection pressing insistently against my hip.
I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around him, feeling the cool metal of his piercings against my palm.
“Fuck…” he gasps at my touch.
“I’ve got you,” I promise him, my fingers still wrapped around him, feeling the weight of him in my palm. “Let me take care of you.”
Killian’s breath comes in short, sharp pants as his head tips back, a low groan escaping his throat while I stroke him slowly, remembering the feel of the smooth beads against my fingertips.
The cool metal is a stark contrast to the heat of his skin, and I find myself fascinated by the way his whole body responds to my touch, the subtle hitch in his breath, the way his jaw goes slack.
“Isla,” he groans, his hips bucking slightly into my hand. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I interrupt, my voice firm despite the tremor in my fingers. “I want to feel you.”
When his gaze finds mine again, dark and hazy with desire, what I see written across his face makes my heart stutter. Love, need, vulnerability, all of it laid bare and almost too much to hold.
“Then feel me,” he urges, his voice rough with want. “Feel all of me.” His arm reaches past me toward the nightstand drawer and I catch it, pressing his hand flat against the mattress.
“No condoms, Kill. I want to feel you. Just you.”
His whole body goes still. “You’re…you’re sure?”
“Just this once. Please, Killian.”
I know the risks. And I know I should probably be more responsible, but I don’t care.
There’s a desperate need for me to be able to experience feeling him inside me, claiming me.
Making me his. And when he settles between my legs again, his eyes lock with mine, I feel something shift between us. Something fundamental and irreversible.