13
Harlow
We get back to the mansion, and I am drunk.
To be fair, I had three-Killian sized glasses of wine, which is almost a bottle. Unlike him, I’m a lightweight.
We don’t make it to the elevator.
I grip Killian’s forearm tightly, using him for balance. My hand clamps over my mouth, my voice muffled.
“Bathroom.”
He leads me fast to the nearest one. As soon as I see the toilet, I fall to my knees and throw up. He moves fast, holding my hair back.
I’m shameless, because when I finish, I glance up and don’t act cool.
“I am the worst! I’m supposed to call your dad because you can’t behave, and here I am throwing up in his house.”
“Bad girl, Harlow. Just trash.” He hands me a towel for my face.
I push on his shoulder and roll my eyes. “You did this on purpose.”
“I did,” he admits, equally shameless.
I wince and clutch my forehead. “Everything’s spinning.”
He helps me to the vanity, pours some mouthwash, which I swish and spit. I’m a mess in the mirror. I don’t stare at my reflection for long. As I head out of the room, I wobble. He scoops me up and carries me to his bed.
“Killian! No! The couch!”
“Relax, I won’t try anything.”
Pfft.
He sets me on the mattress. I curl into a ball, hugging one of his pillows.
“This sucks,” I whine. “Don’t tell Clark.”
“Chill. I won’t.”
After getting me some water, he lies beside me. I stay still for a while. The room drifts when I move my head, but my stomach eventually stops trying to escape through my throat. I glance over, and meet those devastating eyes. He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Feel any better?”
“A little. Thanks for taking care of me. Even though this is your fault.”
He laughs. “The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, Harlow.”
I scoff, but then snicker. “Your ex is pretty.”
“Pretty fucking crazy.”
“Is that why you two didn’t work out?”
“Sure.”
“So it was your dealer who cut your face? I heard you tell her that.”
“Mm-hm. God, you both want to talk about heavy shit.” He takes out his pocketknife and flips it open. “The worst part? That asshole used my own knife to cut me.”
“Aww, I’m sorry,” I murmur.
He lies there, staring at the light dancing on the metal blade. “My best friend gave this to me. Well, he was my best friend. We’ve had a rift.”
“What happened?”
“He said something he couldn’t take back. I haven’t forgiven him. Not entirely.”
“I haven’t forgiven Evan for the hell he put me through.”
He points the knife at me. “Hey, no talkin’ about exes.”
I tense with fear, yet laugh from the thrill. He smiles, and it’s contagious, I swear.
“I love your laugh,” he says.
“Stop flirting,” I tease.
“I love the shape of your lips too.”
My cheeks flush. “Um, thanks.”
He reaches out, bringing the blade closer, nearing my face. My chin retracts to my throat.
“What are you doing?”
“Teaching you to trust another man.”
I’m stiff, unsure what he means.
Slowly, he traces the blade’s tip over my shoulder and down my arm, which rests over my waist. It isn’t sharp enough to cut at this pressure, but he could. Only a hint more, and blood will be drawn.
Yet, I don’t stop him, even as he moves to my neckline. The blade slips underneath, sliding down the slope of my breast. He jerks the knife, ripping the neckline open. My chest and bra are exposed.
“My top!” I gasp and yank on the torn ends, trying to magically mend the broken threads.
He licks his lips, unaffected. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
I search his eyes, but my vision blurs with the heavy haze of alcohol.
“I love the shape of your body,” he rasps.
“Killian,” I whisper. “Stop.”
I grab his wrist, holding the blade back.
He doesn’t skip a beat. As smooth as silk, he murmurs, “Relax. Not every guy is your ex. I won’t hurt you.”
His words hit hard. They’re both a challenge and an offer, but I’m unsure if I should accept.
He decides for me.
The knife grazes my skin once more, tracing along the cup of my bra down to the middle. He slices. The cups snap to the sides, unleashing my bare flesh to the room.
“I’ll buy you a new bra, too,” he says before I can complain.
Just as quickly, the cold steel drags over my nipple, demanding my attention.
He draws along the shape, causing the flesh to tighten.
He flicks the bud with his tongue, then gives it a gentle suck.
It’s just for a moment, but steals my breath.
With my nipple wet, he returns the blade, and the coldness is amplified.
Warmth blooms in my body, responding to him on its own accord.
I don’t swat him away either. I just stare, frozen in place with my lips parted. He moves closer and presses his lips to the other nipple. I gasp and hold my breath. The bud hardens in his mouth as he sucks softly.
He pulls back and studies his spit glistening on my taut flesh. Tilting his head, he watches with lust in his eyes as he tantalizes my sensitive nipples with the knife’s tip. I can’t help it. The tension builds, and I whimper, a big part of me wanting his warm mouth to return.
Gently, I lay my hand on the back of his head. I don’t pull him closer. Something about it feels like defeat. Still, I tug at his hair. As I hoped, his lips return, and he nibbles on the taut flesh. My pussy clenches from the sensation, and I exhale a shallow breath.
When he pulls back, he says, “I don’t want you to panic. Just stay calm. I won’t go deep.”
I flutter my lashes, and—
Oh my gosh!
My eyes snap down as the blade slices — just barely — into my breast. The knife pulls away, and nothing happens, until slowly, crimson blooms where the blade once was.
I prop myself up on my elbow. Gravity creates blood trails. My eyes widen as Killian uses the pad of his thumb to spread it, painting the slope of my breast in a red sheen.
My breath is shallow and fast. My body is heavy. My senses heightened.
And then—
His eyes fix on mine as he leans in, his tongue dragging over the red on my skin.
I gasp, half shocked, half aroused.
I whisper his name, low and meek. “How do you get me to do this crazy stuff?”
He hums against my skin.
But he doesn’t answer.
He seals his mouth over the cut and sucks, slow and hungry, as though drawing more blood from me is the entire point. He inhales my scent and rubs his cheek against my skin. Some of my blood tints his face, and oddly, I freaking love it. He’s a glutton for me.
A better man wouldn’t touch me drunk.
Killian is not a better man.
I don’t care. Not right now.
That’s why he waits till I’m moaning and tugging at his hair before his hand drifts down. He slips under my waistband.
I whimper in resistance, but part my legs for him.
He sucks harder, with every intention of bruising my skin. He must know I’ll look in the mirror tomorrow and see what he did to me.
He strokes over the thin cotton of my underwear, teasing my pussy lazily. My hips roll, desperate for him. He slips inside my underwear, and I groan as he touches my skin.
“You already wet for me, baby?” he taunts.
Of course, I’m already wet. It’s him.
Damn.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes.”
He dips two fingers inside and pumps, then drags them to my clit. He swirls and massages the sensitive spot.
I lay back and writhe my hips.
Then—
The blade presses against my throat, directly over my frantic pulse!
I don’t move. The slightest lift of my head will press my throat into the edge.
“Killian?”
“Shhh,” he murmurs. “You have to stay still, baby. I didn’t say you could move.”
His fingers work once more, making tight circles around my clit. Naturally, my hips lift, wanting to grind against him.
The blade presses down, reminding me it’s there.
“I told you, baby,” he says darkly. “No moving this sad, neglected body.”
“I—I can’t! It feels too good.”
He doesn’t laugh. “You will.”
He resumes. Every time my hips twitch, he increases the pressure just enough for the edge to sting.
So I stay so stiff, staring at the ceiling, coaching myself not to move my hips. They’re tense and trembling, aching to grind against him.
“That’s it,” he praises. “You’re such a good student when you want to be.”
I moan, helpless, and as an orgasm rips toward the surface, I panic.
“I’m about to cum! I’m about to cum!”
Every muscle tightens. I know my back will arch. My hips will move.
My heart races, the adrenaline too much to bear.
It hits.
Stars explode behind my eyes. The blade’s edge vanishes from my thoughts.
My hips buck despite his warning. The edge bites into my throat, not enough to cut, but enough for the flash of fear to sharpen my orgasm. Killian’s suddenly closer. At the height of my euphoria, his lips near my ear, his breath hot and igniting me further.
“You’re so fuckin’ pathetic when you cum.” Only then does he lift the knife. He drags the flat down my throat, and his warm tongue follows the path it leaves.
I clutch the back of his head, keeping him close as I ride the high of his cruel words and sensual touch.
It’s erotic and earth-shaking.
When I come down, I’m wrecked.
He goes for another.
It takes such little time for me to arch my back and shudder.
He holds back a laugh. “Are you cumming — Again?”
I can’t respond. My mouth is locked open as I climax, and it’s freaking glorious. He moves faster, watching my body convulse under his touch.
Now he’s just doing it for his own amusement.
When my eyes flutter open, he smirks.
“You sad, sad, sweet thing.”
I grab a pillow and put it over my face, embarrassed.
“Ugh! How do you do that to me?”
“Why do you fight it?”
“Kill—”
His hand is still down my pants, and slowly, he teases my clit. I fling the pillow off my face and grab his wrist. He doesn’t budge.
“I mean it! No more.” I buck my hips, but he easily keeps his hand in place, forcing my body to remain on the bed.
His eyes pin on mine. Oddly, his gaze reflects a darkness and an intensity that doesn’t signal he’s about to take what he wants. There’s something else hidden beneath their depths.
I whisper his name, confused.
“I don’t think I’ve had this much fun with a woman before,” he says, and massages the tingling spot once more. “I feel bad for you now.”
“Why?”
“I get addicted to fun.”