I rushed back to my room, my heart beating frantically in my chest. I couldn't think right.
Not after what jùst happened in the kitchen, not after the way he touched me, pressed into me, spoke to me like he owned every part of me. He didn't even need to fuck me to ruin me, he already had, with his words, with that look in his eyes, that hunger, that darkness.
I kept seeing his fingers, the way he rubbed me through my panties like he could feel everything. The way he growled when he realized how wet I was, the way he leaned in and told me he wanted to ruin me.
I was back in my room now, but it was no use. I couldn't think of anything else.
No matter how hard I tried to distract myself, my mind stubbornly drifted back to the moment. I. couldn't stop my thighs from pressing together again, couldn't stop my fingers from twitching with the need to touch myself.
But it wasn't enough, nothing would be enough unless it was him.
I slid my hand down. I was still soaked, still aching. The lace nightgown I wore was seductive, I had worn it on purpose. I stripped off my panties too because I didn't want anything between me and what I was
hoping for. My breath hitched as I ran my fingers lower was so sensitive, so ready. I imagined him standing over me again, magined him shoving my legs apart and seeing what he did to me, imagined him saying my name again, growling it with that same wild fire I saw earlier.
"Fuck," I whispered, biting my lip as my fingers dipped lower. And then I heard a knock on my door.
I froze.
My heart skipped, my breath stopped.
I sat up, as if my body already knew. It was him.
Killian.
We were the only two at home.
I stood. My legs felt weak, my whole body buzzed as if I had been waiting for this moment all my life, and every brush of the fabric on my nipples was making me flinch, my core pulsed with need. I reached for
the handle and I opened the door.
He stood there looking so dangerous and completely unhinged by whatever fire was burning inside him. His shirt was open, barely hanging off his shoulders, his belt hung loose, his pants sat low on his hips, his chest rose and fell as if he had just run a mile. But that wasn't exhaustion on his face.
It was pure hunger.
His eyes landed on me, and everything stopped.
"You're a fucking seductress, you know that, right?"
He stepped forward, pushed me back, shut the door behind him with one hand, his other hand already reaching for me. I stumbled a little,
my knees turning weak.
"I can't fucking breathe," he growled. "'Not when you look at me like that, not when I know you're dripping under this thin little thing."
My mouth parted, a soft moan slipped out. He hadn't even touched me yet and I was already close to squirting all over the floor.
His hand grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look up.
"Tell me to leave, Liana," he growled, his voice low, ragged, as it he was barely hanging on. "Because if you don't, I'm going to fucking ruin you."
His chest was rising and falling against mine, hard and fast, as though he was wrestling with something deep inside that was already slipping out of control. His jaw clenched, his eyes dark and wild, almost
desperate.
"I've been teling myself to stay away from you since the second I walked into this house. Every damn night I told myself l'd keep my distance. That I'd ignore the way you looked at me. That I wouldn't touch you, no matter how bad I wanted to. But you.. you make it impossible. Walking around in those tiny nightdresses, acting as if you don't know exactly what you're doing, looking at me like you need something. And God, I want to be that something so fucking bad."
He leaned in slowly, his face merely a hair's breath away from mine. His breath fanned across my lips. His voice dropped into a whisper, one that trembled with restraint.
"Say the word, Liana. Tell me to go. Because if you don't... I swear I won't stop this time."
My lips opened but an unintelligible moan was all that it could muster.
His mouth brushed my ear.
"You want it," he whispered. "Say it."
"I want it."
"Say you want my cock inside you."
I moaned. "I want it... I want your cock inside me, please."
He growled and pushed me onto the bed. My nightgown rode up, my legs opened, and I watched his eyes turn wild.
"Liana... f-fuck..." he muttered. "You're so fucking wet for me."
He dropped to his knees between my thighs, spread me with two fingers.
"Look at this," he said, running a finger through my folds. "You're dripping, all for me."
I bucked my hips, moaned.
He slid one finger inside of me, slow and deep.
His thumb rubbed slow ircles on my clit while his fingers curled inside me. I was shaking. panting, begging without words. I couldn't think,
could only feel, every nerve burned.
Then he pulled his fingers out, showed me the moist on them and slowly brought them to his mouth.
I watched as he licked his fingers clean like my squirt was something delicious.
"Sweet," he said. "Addictive."
He unzipped his pants and freed himself.
His cock stood thick and angry between us, veins pulsing, tip flushed, pre-cum leaking from the top.
"You're going to take it," he said. "'All of it, every inch, and every time I thrust I want you to remember that no one else will ever own this pussy. It's mine."
He aligned himself. One push. Just the tip.
I cried out.
"Too much?" he asked.
I shook my head. "More."
He slid in deeper.
I moaned louder.
"More... More..."
Then he slammed the rest of the way in. I screamed. The fullness, the stretch, it was everything, too much, way too perfect.
He stayed still, buried deep, teeth gritted.
"Fuck," he hissed. "You're tight, so fucking tight, you were made for me."
Every thrust of his sent electricity through me. My nails dug into his back, my legs wrapped around his hips, my body clung to his as if I hadwaited for this all my life.
"I dreamed about this," he panted. "Jerking off like a fucking loser while you slept down the hall, wanting to fuck you until you screamed my name."
"Killian." His name tore past my lips as a shameless moan.
He slammed harder.
"Louder."
"Killian!"
He groaned. "That's it, let them hear, let therm know you're mine now."
He reached between us and rubbed my clit fast.
I shattered. My orgasm hit hard and fast. My body tensed, my eyes rolled, I screamed his name again, louder, rawer. He kept moving, chasing his own release.
Then he poured his seed inside of me and collapsed beside me. He pulled me close. My head rested on his chest, our breaths tangled, his
hand stroked my back slowly.
His lips brushed my hair. His eyes widened as if he just realized what he did.
He froze.
Then slowly, his gaze dropped, and he saw it.
The blood.
A small, unmistakable stain on the sheet between my thighs.
His breath hitched and I watched as his throat worked on a painful swallow. His eyes grew wide as he stared at the stain, barely keeping the horror from them. And then, as if my skin had become silver or nightshade, or fucking poison ivy, he tore himself away from me.
"Shit.." he whispered, backing away. "Oh fuck. No-no.."
He stood up so fast the bed jolted beneath me. His hand flew through his hair in one panicked, ragged motion. His face twisted with guilt, shame, disbelief.
"You were a virgin?" he rasped. His voice completely hollow. "You-you were a fucking virgin
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
My throat felt tight. My body still trembled from the phantom feel of everything he'd just made me feel. But none of that mattered now. Not when I saw the way
he looked at me, his eyes two bright pools filled with guilt, like he had done something unforgivable.
"God. Liana." he muttered. "I shouldn't have...fuck! I shouldn't have touched you. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have let this happen.'
He took another step back. His hand dragged down his face, raw and shaking.
"This was a mistake." He said it more to himself than to me. "A stupid, selfish mistake. I lost control. I shouldn't have."
He stopped talking. His eyes flicked back to the blood. Then, to me. I had pulled the blanket up to my chest, holding it tight as if it could somehow hold me together.
Then, he did something that shattered me more than his words. He pulled out his wallet. Fingers shaking, he took out a thick wad of cash. And without even looking at me, without hesitating, he threw it onto the bed.
The bills landed near my thigh. Right next to the blood.
"I'm deeply sorry," he muttered.
I flinched.
Tears stung the corners of my eyes.
His jaw clenched. His voice dropped, low and ragged. "l'm sorry." Then, he turned, walked to the door, opened it. And right before he stepped out, he whispered it again. Barely audible.
"l'm sorry, Liana."
Just like that.. he left.
And he never came back.