35. 35
Harlow
Killian leers, the look in his eyes dark and evil.
His shirt slides over his head and lands beside us. His zipper sounds, and his pants and underwear slide down just under his ass.
“Just wait,” I say softly. “Please. Slow down. You’re not thinking clearly.”
He snatches the back of my neck and jerks, forcing me to sit up.
He drags me until I am on my knees. I freeze as his hard cock stares back at me.
His long fingers curl around it, fisting it.
The silver watch on his wrist, alongside the tattoos, are enough to make me clench despite the horror of it all.
Oh, God. I can never get tired of that sight.
His grip on the nape of my neck hasn’t loosened, and the roots of my hair scream for mercy. I dig my fingernails into his hand, trying desperately to free myself.
He doesn’t ease his grip. Not even a little.
“You want to make some money sucking cock, then suck mine.”
His crown shoves into my mouth.
He grunts, angry.
I scream, but it’s muffled by his thick girth. My hands fly to his hips and my elbows lock as I try to push him off. He moves my head, pumping it forward and back, using me like his toy.
His breathing grows shallow. I look up and search his eyes, begging for mercy.
There’s nothing there but darkness.
My teeth scrape his shaft, but he doesn’t care. Desperate for air, I bite down, but he only fucks my mouth harder, pushing deep into my throat so hard and fast it might be tearing.
He yanks my mouth off his cock. Thick ropes of spit dangle between us.
“Killian! Stop!” I cry, and grapple his hand, trying once more to unclamp it from my hair.
“I want you to miss me when I’m not around. I want you to feel the way I do. I want it to be impossible for you to touch someone the way it is for me. Not suck his fucking dick.”
There’s no time to reply, and his cock fills my mouth again, ripping down my throat till I’m in agony. I can’t breathe with him blocking my airway. I’m starving for air.
Suddenly, I’m thrust backward. My shoulders hit the carpet first, then the back of my head. The impact is so hard, my vision flickers.
I blink several times.
He’s kneeling between my legs.
I try to sit up, but cough and clutch my throat. It’s throbbing and on fire.
He spits and it hits my clit. He drags his tip through the mess, its firm edge nudging the knot of nerves. The sensation is warm and slick. Normally, it would feel too damn good for words.
Not now.
I put my hands over my crotch, blocking him. He shoves them off. He knows I can’t win.
“Say it, baby,” he demands, his voice low and husky. “Say it was a mistake. Say you didn’t mean it.” His finger plunges into my pussy. He pulls it out, and the shine of my arousal hangs between my body and his glistening fingers.
“See? You’re deprived — you’ll fuck anyone. I didn’t give it to you good enough, did I? That’s why you did it. If I just fucked you harder. Longer. I can. It’s not over...”
He’s rambling. He’s not here. Not really.
“Killian, you don’t understand. Listen to me—”
Just then, he lowers himself.
My eyes snap shut because I know what’s coming. Last time, tenderness came first. He made me want him before he hurt me.
This time, there isn’t even the lie of tenderness.
“Please! Let’s talk.”
He doesn’t.
I gasp as he penetrates, blunt, hard, and merciless. He fists my hair again, jerking my head. It hurts like hell. He shoves his wet finger into my mouth. “Suck like you sucked his cock.”
I’m scared.
But I do it. I do it like the obedient girl he demands.
Because he could crush me. He could fucking kill me.
I suck, but not like it’s Evan’s.
I suck like I did the first time we slept together, my mind and body yearning to be in that magical night — if only to escape. If only to remind him.
He watches for a moment, his expression unreadable until the darkness shadows his face once more.
His movements are purposeful, every touch meant to hurt. Each snap of his hips delivers a harsh, powerful jolt through my body. It is not intimacy. It’s fury. It’s pain. It’s something else I can’t put into words.
Then he speaks, his voice dripping with contempt.
“I provide for you.”
Thrust.
“I look out for you.”
Thrust.
“I’m ambitious for you.”
Thrust.
“I fucking worship you.”
Thrust.
I’m so stiff, so shocked, that I don’t move. My knees are bracketed against his sides as I strain to take him, my nails pinch into his ribs in hopes it will slow him. The fight in my body is paralyzed by the fact it’s him.
He even bites my neck till I can’t bear it, yet I remember those warm lips being so soft before.
Then—
The knife slides into my mouth. When he grabbed it, I’m not sure. Could’ve been before or after his pants came off.
“Erm,” I garble, the steel against my tongue.
“What if our smiles match?” he growls low. “We can be happy together.”
I open my mouth as wide as possible, then very slowly, I push his hand back.
He lets me. I don’t know why. But he does.
“Killian,” I say softly, but the panic in my voice is clear.
I reach up and grip the back of his head, bringing his face close instead of the knife.
He doesn’t drop it. The blade kisses my neck, but I don’t react.
I place my lips to his temple, trying to soothe this maniac I don’t know.
I hardly trust sober Killian. This man I don’t trust at all. Not with a blade.
The only weapon I have is the one I didn’t think I could give to him twice.
“I’m in love with you,” I whisper near his ear.
Simple. True. Forced.
I kiss again and again, firm but desperate.
I don’t think he heard me.
I try again.
“I’m in love with you. It always means something when we’re together.”
It takes a while, but his pumps slow. I can feel him all around me. I hate that part of me wants this — to have Killian this close, because this is the result.
He’s troubled, and I knew it. He relapsed as I first expected. I put myself in his path and have suffered for it.
There’s no point arguing with a man on drugs, but with him calmer, I have a chance to get out of here alive.
“What do you want from me? I’ll give it to you, okay? Just don’t cut me.”
“I want you,” he murmurs, squeezing my breast hard and pinching the nipple, making me feel his frustration.
His other hand presses the blade against my throat, nicking the skin. A small blood droplet rolls down the side of my neck.
Afraid he’ll cut deeper, I spew every desperate word I can think of.
“I’m sorry, Killian. I’m sorry. I’ll be good, okay? Whatever you want. I was a whore, but I won’t be anymore. I’ll just be all yours. Okay? I only want you. I love you. I did that because you left me and I was so sad. But, but, now we’re okay.”
A beat.
Thew.
He spits on my face, hot and wet against my cheek, causing me to flinch hard.
“I threw you away because you are fucking trailer trash,” he says darkly.
He smears his spit, rubbing it in my eye, over my nose and mouth. Then he licks it up, cleaning and tasting my skin like he owns every part of my body.
“You’re beneath me, Harlow. You’re nothing. Nothing... And I want nothing all the goddamn time. I’m not supposed to want anyone, but God, I want you.”
His mouth finds mine, and his kiss devours me.
My heart skips a beat. He kisses me like I mean something to him. Like this isn’t rape. Like this isn’t wrath. Like he’s breaking inside.
“I fucking miss you the second you leave me,” he says against my mouth. “And you’re too fucking stupid to see it.”
A kiss and a stab.
No, a cut, because the blade’s edge hits a nerve and I grimace.
“You’re right! I’m so stupid. I see it now. Okay?”
I’ll say anything. I may die if I don’t. I continue, frantic.
“I’ve loved you since we kissed on that dance floor. Please! Please don’t kill me.”
His hips pause, sudden and tense. He cups my jaw, forcing me to look into those haunting eyes.
“Kill you. Why would I kill you?”
I stare into his eyes, searching for the man I love behind the cocaine and chaos. “Look at my neck. You’re cutting me.”
His gaze snaps down. The cold blade vanishes.
He kisses my neck as if that will heal it. I pray this means the battle is over.
It isn’t.
He resumes, and fucks me until he releases — his climax lacking something I once knew.
“I didn’t get you off,” he says as he catches his breath. “I need to get you off.”
“I got off,” I lie.
His gaze is unrecognizable. The energy shifts, and so does the topic.
“Me. You fucking call me when you need help. I take care of you. Not those fuckers. Say it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “You. Are. Mine.”
“I— I’m yours,” I stutter, my throat tight. “I call you.”
“Good. You only touch me. Got it? Evan won’t touch you again.”
The way he says Evan’s name freezes my blood.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I want to ruin you for any other man.”
My palms push against his hard chest. The sharply defined muscles don’t give an inch. It’s like I’m fighting marble.
“Uh-huh,” I murmur, the words weak and barely forming.
“No leaving me, okay?”
“Uh, uh. No.”
He nips at my earlobe. “That’s my girl. You’ll move into the condo with me.”
My lashes flutter as the words settle. My vision is hazy. The air feels harsher, needling me back to the world.
Ping.
The elevator.
Shit.
“Harlow,” Clark calls.
My boss!
I’m half-naked. On the floor. With Killian deep inside of me.