18. 18
Harlow
Killian shoves me into a cab and leaves his car downtown.
I know why.
When I stiffen on the ride home, he kisses me, pets me, and whispers in my ear so smoothly that chills race down my spine. He makes it impossible to think about anything but him — not what comes afterward.
The key turns and we step inside my place. I brace myself, unsure of what comes next. I don’t do hookups. I don’t bring guys back to my place. This is crazy.
Killian isn’t nervous.
He kicks off his shoes, shirt flies to a chair.
I fumble with my phone, turning on a random playlist simply called ‘love songs.’
“Do you like—”
Suddenly, I’m pressed against a wall, and his mouth is on me.
I’m shaking, still clutching the phone between us.
“What’s wrong?” he murmurs.
“I’m freaking out,” I exhale.
He holds back a laugh. “Why, you trust me.”
It isn’t a question.
Suddenly, I’m in the air as Killian lobs me over his shoulder, carrying me like I’m weightless.
I’m not.
I dangle there, my only view of the floor and his cute ass. He smacks my hip and heads for the bedroom.
He lightly tosses me onto the bed. The phone flies from my hands. My dress rides up, and reflexively, I try to tug it back down. Killian kneels between my legs, watching me panic.
“You poor thing,” he says, deep.
“I am?” My cheeks burn hot. “Wait. Condom?”
“Don’t worry, you won’t get me pregnant,” he jokes effortlessly, which of course makes me laugh, but his grin softens. “I’m clean. I got tested. You on birth control?”
I nod.
“Good.” He uncurls my fingers, which are holding the hem of my dress, desperately trying to keep the fabric over my crotch. Then he pushes the dress up, revealing my sexy black thong. The pad of his thumb slowly strokes over the lace, from entrance to clit, feeling my shape.
“Not frumpy,” he says under his breath. “You wear these for me, baby?”
He knows I didn’t. I wore them for Jaxson — just in case. Why’d he ask that? I scrunch my brow.
A palm hits the side of my hip, leaving fire in its wake.
He repeats, “Did you wear these for me, baby?” Then, he nods as if showing me how to respond.
Oh.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I bought them for you.”
He grins, crooked and wicked. He’s so sexy that it steals my breath.
I lift my hips off the mattress as he pulls off my panties. He bites his fist as he gazes down. “Goddamn, you even waxed for me.”
I blush, loving this role-playing. I giggle softly and nod.
“Yep, I waxed for you,” I say proudly, which makes him pleased.
“It’s pathetic,” he says.
The comment jars me. “Wha— What’s pathetic?”
“How I have to make you laugh so you aren’t scared of me. Like you could do anything wrong tonight? That’s the thing about you. I never get tired of your laugh.”
He lowers himself between my thighs and blows on my clit, causing me to suck in a sharp breath.
“Like I haven’t been dying to taste you.
” He spreads his fingers into a peace sign and drags his fingertips up and down the sides of my pussy.
He massages, back and forth. My lips swell at the closeness, and his mouth hasn’t even touched me.
Then he kisses my aching clit, and the coldness of his lips both chills and heats my body.
I hold my bottom lip between my teeth, watching him touch my body so delicately.
He teases, making kitten-licks, dipping out his tongue just enough to make me lift my hips off the bed, chasing him.
His tongue finally stays touching, and slips into my entrance, before dragging up to my most sensitive spot.
“Mm, Killian,” I moan, my throat tight.
His teeth close down, just enough to tug at my clit before saying, “Call me yours.”
My lashes flutter. He stares at me. Two fingers slide into my entrance, slow and long.
I shiver when his tongue returns to my skin, his eyes watching me as I fumble.
“I, um, you’re mine.”
His mouth devours, rewarding me for my obedience. My eyes roll back as he finger-fucks me and laps my clit like the man was made for it.
“Oh my God,” I cry out, and my thighs clamp around his ears as I reach my climax.
“That’s right, you pathetic thing. I get you off,” he murmurs against my skin.
It’s true. The only man to make me orgasm in years is Killian.
I pant, ragged and stunned.
“Damn,” is all I can say.
He stands and undoes his pants. I watch in awe as he strips. The low light casts such deep shadows over every inked line and sculpted ridge. He strokes himself, chin lifted, looking his arrogant self.
“Come here, baby. Crawl for me.” He points at the end of the bed where he stands. “Come taste the richest cock you’ll ever have in your mouth.”
My brow lifts, but I don’t fight. I’m this far in. I like him. I like that he’s awful. Fighting it makes it worse.
So I crawl.
Pathetic.
Until I am on all fours, facing him. He cups my jaw and lifts, forcing me to look up at him. The tip of his cock meets my lips. The salt and heat of his pre-cum coats them as he draws along their shape, much like applying lipstick.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he orders.
I meet his gaze. He’s so intimidating. His towering body looms over mine, and those eyes, they don’t convey, they command.
“Open wider.”
I do.
His thick cock inches forward. He doesn’t press it fully in. Just pumps slow, letting me get used to it. My jaw steadily loosens, adjusting for the intrusion a little more each time.
“Harlow,” he says darkly. “I knew I’d break you. Look at yourself finally taking my cock in that stubborn little mouth. Not so professional, are you?”
My eyes widen. He’s right. I’m blowing my patient.
“Say it.” His fingers slip into my hair and he moves my head forward so I take him deeper. “Say you love having me stretch your throat.”
I gasp, but he only goes deeper, causing me to gag.
“Say it, Harlow. Say how bad you wanted this.”
I garble, unable to form a single word. My throat burns as his giant cock stretches me to my limits.
His length slips from my mouth, and with it, my words tumble out. “I wanted it, you trust-fund psychopath!”
I gasp for air.
He smirks, amused, then pushes my body backward. My spine flattens against the cool sheets. He doesn’t mount me though. He rolls me onto my belly.
The heat of him is close. His tip presses to my opening.
“Kill—,” I cry, taken aback by the suddenness.
Oh, God. Here it comes.
He smacks my ass, then nips on the shell of my ear.
“You ready to finally feel a real cock, baby?”
My mouth parts in panic the moment he advances. An intense pressure builds. My eyes snap shut and I bury my face in the pillow, straining to let this forbidden man inside my body.
My thighs shake.
He inches forward slowly, and rasps against my ear sweet words that soothe.
“You’re doing such a good job, baby.”
I can’t speak, I just listen, coaching my body to open for him.
“That’s it. Almost there.” His hips meet my backside, and he exhales in pleasure. “Mmm, see how well I fit? Your body’s made for me.”
I let out a nervous laugh, and look over my shoulder.
To my surprise, Killian doesn’t taunt back. He hesitates, though, taking in the fear, anxiousness, or whatever is on my face. I think he just now realized this isn’t a normal Saturday for me.
“Okay,” he says, answering a question I didn’t ask.
Then he kisses my temple — too soft, too sweet, too perfect.
Another.
I shudder and almost cry. It feels so damn good.
Another. Softer. Longer.
“Killian,” I whisper, my voice shaky.
“Yeah, baby?” he says, then gives me my first agonizingly deep thrust.
I gasp, because God I needed this. Because he’s ruining me, and I wanted to be ruined.
“Um, it feels too good. Could you maybe, stop being so nice?”
“Why? My lowly CNA can’t handle it?”
And then—
He fucks me slow.
Because that’s him. Because I let someone too smart and manipulative into my bed.
I freaking melt into the sheets.
I could stay there all night, loving the feel of his shaft at that exact speed awakening parts of me that I’ve been dying to feel.
That would be safe. I could process that.
He has other plans.
He rises to his knees and drags my hips back to meet him. The first hard thrust punches the breath from my lungs.
His fingers sink into my hips as he sets a punishing rhythm. Each stroke drives me deeper into the mattress, dragging against every swollen, sensitive place inside me. I grip the sheets and try to hold on, but he keeps taking the air from my lungs before I can recover it.
“Killian,” I gasp.
He slows just enough to make me feel every inch retreat, then slams back inside.
My brain short-circuits.
For a moment, he leaves me dripping and dazed on the bed.
The mattress sinks behind me. He pushes back inside, slips one arm beneath my hips, and seals my rose-toy over my clit. He did know where it was. The first pulse makes my entire body jump.
He thrusts harder, grinding me against the suction with every stroke. Pleasure builds too quickly for me to prepare. One orgasm tears through me, and another begins before the first has finished. I tense, collapse, and tense again until my mouth hangs open but no sound comes out.
And he fucks me. God, he fucks me till I know walking will hurt and my insides will ache. It’s brutal and beautiful all at once. He goes fast. He goes slow. He fucks me into the bed until I can’t see straight.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore—
He restrains my wrists behind my back with my lace underwear.
“What are you doing?” I fret.
“Shh. Trust me, baby.”
Thew.
Spit.
I look over my shoulder. A slippery string falls from his mouth and lands in the middle of my ass.
“Ready for me here, you neglected thing?” he rasps, then swirls his thumb over the tight ring of muscle.
“No!” I say, my voice resurrected.
I’ll already hurt tomorrow, though, and I’ve given him so much of myself. I can’t give Killian one more inch of me.
Just then, my overstimulated clit ignites again and I buck, running from the toy yet having nowhere to go.
Hell, I couldn’t get up if I wanted to. My body won’t work.
The elastic digs into my wrists as I try to break free.
I’m at Killian’s mercy in every way — physically, emotionally, maybe even something more. I don’t know.
His thumb presses down to advance, I cry and wail his name.
He doesn’t stop.
Limp, tense — everything — I scrape for words to make him stop.
It hits.
“You’re mine, Killian. Remember? You’re not supposed to hurt me.”
His body freezes. The toy drops. He grips my hips and groans, reaching his apex of pleasure. His body folds over mine, his skin slick with sweat and hot with desire. He pants against my ear.
“Will you remember me?”
“I’ll remember you,” I breathe.
I will. I’ll always remember the night I gave myself to the worst man possible.
And God, I loved it.
I lay there, gasping for breath, my mind a hazy blur as the haunting melody of Glycerine drifts from my phone, its source lost somewhere in the room.