43. 43
Harlow
The condo is quiet. Killian empties his pockets onto the dresser, then takes off his shirt, revealing the sculpted body that lingers in my fantasies despite my efforts to hate him.
“I don’t usually stay here, but I want you to be comfortable,” he says.
I stare from across the room, holding myself.
“What do you need, baby?” he asks.
“For what?”
“For bed. I set out a new toothbrush. I’ll buy you new clothes tomorrow.”
“I’m not getting into bed with you.”
His eyes narrow, dark and menacing. “Yes, you are.”
“Killian, you burned down my house.”
“Tin box.”
“No! My life.”
He bites down, making his jaw muscles flex.
I sprint for the door, but he moves faster, and his arm hooks around my waist, stopping me. I fight him, thrashing to escape.
“You called me a rapist. How can you say that?”
“Because you raped me!” My chest heaves. I curl forward, but I can’t break free from his arms. “At the mansion, and while I slept. Did you drug me? How many times did you do that? I never felt it.”
“Once. Brax hooked me up with ketamine. I slipped it into your water bottle. I was gentle. I didn’t finish inside you. I cleaned your pussy after.”
“Oh my God!” I balk. “You are a rapist.”
He jerks me upright and his lips press against the back of my neck. He murmurs against my skin. “Don’t say that. It kills me when you do.”
Silence.
Long and insufferable.
The tension thickens.
“Harlow, I, I want more.”
My traitorous heart actually responds, skipping a beat. I shove it down, reminding myself he is so much worse than I ever imagined.
“You put cameras in my house.”
He grunts at my deflection. “Did you hear me?”
“I don’t care. I know you’re psychotic.”
He releases me, but still blocks the bedroom door. I back up until my backside bumps into the dresser. In my peripheral, I catch a glimpse of his wallet, keys, and pocketknife he set on top.
“That wasn’t easy for me to say,” he murmurs. He swallows hard. “I’ll buy you roses every day.”
I lift my chin to avoid appearing weak, but my body trembles. My throat is tight as I speak.
“Killian. You just told me you put cameras in my house. That you broke into my home, drugged me, then slept with me. You burned down my house!”
“Harlow, I tried to stay away. I missed us.”
I’m about to rip out my heart and stomp on it for responding to his words a second time. This is unreal. I should only feel violated and disgusted by this man — especially now.
He waits, staring at me intently. I let the silence fester, if only for my own protection.
“Baby, I’ll buy you a new trailer. I guess I was hasty.”
“Hasty!”
“I want you to live with me, though.”
“I’m not living with a drug addict.”
“I’ll quit for you.”
“Uh-huh. Your sobriety worked out so well the last time.”
His nostrils flare, and he rests his hands on his hips. “Okay, I fucked up. I guess I want a future with you, all right? I just had trouble admitting it at the time. This time away from you has been fucking torture.”
My breath shakes as I exhale. The words are sweet. But who is saying them? Killian the addict? The psycho? Definitely not the sober man he claims he can be.
“Why did you put cameras in my bedroom?”
He leers, annoyed by the question. “I put them everywhere. Is that what you wanna fuckin’ hear? I worry about you.”
I cover my mouth, stunned.
“Can we get past this crap? It doesn’t matter.
I did other shit too. I beat the hell out of Jaxson at the restaurant and told him to end the date.
I strung up Evan by his hands so he’d learn never to touch you again.
” He steps forward, deliberate and smooth.
“I cloned your phone and laptop to keep an eye on you. I give you money when you’re not looking.
I tracked your car to make sure you get home safe.
I had Atticus pull your therapist’s notes.
I got a job to impress you. I am fucking obsessed with you.
Because I love you. If you hate me for it, fine, but I’m not apologizing.
Nobody will take care of you like I do.”
I stand there, gobsmacked by the gravity of what he just said. I blink. I stammer. I shake my head.
“You destroyed my life.”
“You are my life, baby. Be with me, and I’ll be any man you want.”
He takes a step forward. I use the opportunity to move one stride closer to the pocketknife. It’s beside my shoulder, ready to be snatched. At the same time, I hold up my hand, signaling him to stop. To my surprise, he freezes.
“Does part of you like it?” His voice lowers. “Does part of you like knowing how much I need you? How much I’ve done for you?”
Yes.
I love it. I love that Killian apparently adores me.
But I don’t say that. I don’t forgive him. There’s so much he did wrong.
I shake my head, hoping it hurts him as bad as he’s hurt me.
His eyes lock on mine, unblinking.
“Then I’ll remind you why we belong together.”
He lunges.
Oh, fuck!
I grab the pocketknife. I manage to snap it open, but not fast enough.
He grapples my wrists. I fist the knife, but I cannot move my arms to stab.
I’m thrust onto the bed. The knife flies from my hand, landing next to a pillow and out of reach.
The dresser drawer opens, and the clink of metal catches my attention. A belt.
Oh, no.
“No, Killian!” I scream, but he grabs rolled-up socks from the dresser and shoves them into my mouth.
I try to pull the socks out, but just as fast, the belt is looped around my wrists, binding my hands tightly together.
He wraps the leather around and around, then threads under itself, securing it in place.
My bottoms and underwear are ripped down in one swift pull.
He shoves his pants off and moves on top of me, forcing my legs apart.
Not again.
He lines up his cock, but I use the moment and lift my leg, kicking him squarely in the groin. He gasps and tenses. I battle to sit up and reach the knife. My hands outstretch, and barely, just barely, my fingertips curl around the handle.
Killian grabs my ankle and rips me back toward him. He climbs on top of me, but I’m ready.
With my bound hands, I hold the knife, pressing the blade’s tip right under his jaw.
He freezes.
I spit out the sock.
“I’ll stab you,” I say sternly.
“You wouldn’t,” he says carefully, because opening his jaw too wide would cut.
“Get off me very slowly.” I apply pressure, causing him to rise. I keep the blade there as I move with him until we are both standing. “Hands up.”
He holds up his hands.
My head is cranked back as I look up at him. His expression is unreadable.
“You don’t get to do that to me anymore,” I say. My voice isn’t as tough as I’d like, but it’s good enough. “How does this feel, Killian? To not have all the control?”
His lips form a white line.
“What? Do you not like it?” A smile tugs at my lips as a sense of power sinks in.
I apply more pressure, and he steps back, just as slowly as before.
I follow in step, loving how I can finally show him what it feels like.
“I have an idea,” I say in a dark voice I didn’t know I had. “Tell me you love me.”
His eyes widen.
I laugh in disbelief. “Not so fun to have the words ripped out of your throat, is it? Say it!”
He grunts.
I press the tip upwards. A red bead rolls down the blade.
“I’ll do it!” I warn.
“I love you.”
The words are spoken so fast and low, I almost don’t hear them. His chest expands, like it physically wounded him to speak them.
“Again. Louder.”
“Harlow—”
“Now!”
“I love you,” he says, his expression twisting into a mix of pain and remorse.
“Again,” I hiss. “And don’t hold back.”
His eyes close, and he swallows hard. He murmurs, “I’m in love with you.”
The tension is so thick I forget to breathe.
“Get on the bed,” I whisper.
His eyebrows lift, but together, we back toward it.
With our eyes locked on each other’s, I use the blade to guide his head back until he’s lying on the bed.
Standing over him, I drag the knife downward along his throat, chest, and stomach.
I hold it there, ready to plunge it into his abdomen if he moves.
By now, the belt has loosened enough that I manage to wiggle one hand free.
I move onto the bed and straddle his lap.
I’m naked from the waist down. My bare pussy presses against his shaft, and instantly, his cock twitches. He draws in a breath.
I grin wickedly. He has no idea what’s coming.
I trace the blade lower, dragging the tip until I reach the head of his cock.
He tenses.
“This thing is a problem,” I say, then place the blade’s edge along the length, ready to press in.
“Harlow.” His voice is suddenly desperate.
“This cock makes me moan for you. It makes me stupid. And you think you can put it anywhere without asking.”
More pressure. Killian panics.
“Okay, okay, okay! Harlow, stop.”
My hand stills, but I smirk, absolutely loving this. I love seeing the fear I felt reflected in his sinister eyes.
“What’s wrong, Killian? Don’t trust me?”
His brow furrows, but he says nothing.
“What do I have to do to make you learn to behave?”
Then—
I cut.
Just a little, but enough that he curls forward and covers his cock. I expected that, and press the blade against his chest. I grin at him as he stays frozen and unable to move.
“I love your crooked smile, Killian. I love those evil lips. So use your broken mouth and repeat after me: I will not rape Harlow anymore.”
Instantly, his eyes darken. “It isn’t rape.”
I waggle my finger in front of his nose, shaming him. “Tsk, tsk. Try again.”
“I’ll ask,” he mutters.
“Because you love me.”
His voice lowers. “Because I love you.”
I smile. “Because I won’t leave you.”
His eyes flick up.
I slip my hand underneath my hips and grip his cock. Carefully, I bring him to my entrance and slide onto his shaft. My walls stretch for him. I strain to keep my eyes open.
The blade’s tip remains pressed above his heart. “Repeat it, Killy.”
He licks his lips, then says, “Because you won’t leave me.”
“That’s right. I won’t leave you. You don’t have to take me. I’m already yours.” I lift my hips, rising then falling onto his thick length. He inhales through his nose. I move steady, watching him with every rise and fall.
My pace increases, and he tries to lift his hips.
I dig the blade’s tip in enough to stop him. “No moving your hips. I didn’t give you permission.”
“You little—”
I smile proudly. “I learned from the best.”
Then I ride him faster. His hands grip my thighs as the rest of his body remains still.
“I love you,” I repeat as my climax nears. I look into his eyes, praying he says it back. I drop the knife and cry out, “Finish me.”
He’s fast, moving me under him.
“I love you, too,” he says firmly, then, he fucks me. My already near-orgasm slams down like a tidal wave.
The universe bursts behind my eyes. My body sweats and tingles with euphoria.
He speaks deep and certain with each word.
“I.”
Thrust.
“Love.”
Thrust.
“You.”
Thrust.
“Fuck,” he pants. “It’s good to finally say that.”
He drops over me, reaching his climax. His moan is raw and unrestrained.
As the world slowly sharpens around me, I pet him, gently stroking his head and back.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it, Killy?”
“It wasn’t easy,” he breathes.
“Good, because nothing about loving you is easy.”
“Do you really think I’m a monster?” he whispers into my hair.
“Yes,” I say with resounding confidence, but I follow up more gently. “But I love my monster.”
We lie there for a while before making love once more. Then he carries me to the shower, and as I once wished, we wash each other. Faint soot spirals down the drain.
In the quiet of my mind, my trailer is still burning.