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The next morning, I wake feeling a lot better than I deserve. Yawning, I spread my arms wide, my agitation only growing between my legs. I remember everything from last night, which doesn’t help. I’d rather I not remember him turning me down mid—whatever that was—with me spread eagle on his bed, playing with myself.
I fumble into the kitchen, finding Killian already sipping coffee with his hair ragged everywhere.
“Have a good night?” I tease, scrubbing my eyes.
“Not as good as yours apparently.” He grins from behind his mug, a smug smile on his face.
“Could have ended better,” I mumble, pouring the black java into my coffee mug, before sliding into one of the kitchen chairs. I blow into the hot liquid, enjoying the warmth that the steam provides, falling on the tip of my nose.
“You ready for tonight?” Keaton comes down next, falling beside me.
“Yes and no,” I answer honestly, taking my first sip and instantly feeling my muscles relax.
“You’ll be fine,” Keaton assures me warmly, squeezing my shoulder blades before disappearing out the front door.
“It’s so fucked up to see him be an actual human to someone who is not himself or us.”
“What do you mean?” I spin around to face Killian.
“I mean, he’s…Keaton.” Killian’s eyes then drop to my shirt, and his eyes shoot up in surprise before being replaced by his menacing smirk. “You two are fucking weird.”
I look down at my shirt to see I’m wearing King’s from last night. It has a few tears in random places, but the material feels quality. It’s obvious that it has been destroyed for vanity and from age.
I groan, standing from my chair and emptying my mug into the sink. “Don’t get me started, please.”
Killian’s smug smirk falls when his eyes go over my shoulder. His jaw sets and his grip tightens around his mug. I start to turn around to see what warranted his change of mood, but his hand comes out to stop me. I shove him away, continuing to turn, when my eyes connect with Val’s smug face walking down the stairs.
“Really.” I shake my head, fighting the urge to fly across the room and tear her eyeballs out of their sockets.
She shrugs. “I did try to warn you, Little Bird. You’re a seat warmer, and I’m the trophy.” She continues out the door, slamming it in her retreat.
“I hate her,” I answer out loud.
Killian’s arm wraps around my torso, pulling me into his warm chest. His lips caress the back of my earlobe as my eyes remain upstairs. The very same fucking bed I was just in. Where he turned me down and simply replaced me with Val within the same fucking night. “Don’t take it to heart, Little Bird. Sex is a weapon in this world, and we have no problem loading it up to utilize it.”
I crane my neck to give him more access. I feel reckless and hurt. “He left me.”
“Mmmm,” Killian murmurs against the soft spot between my shoulder and my neck.
“Naked.”
He freezes.
“With my finger inside myself.”
Killian’s fingers spread out over my belly and slowly lower. My eyes close as I inhale the possibility of doing this. I’m worked up and under fucked thanks to Kingston. But apparently, Val was good enough for his royal penis.
Killian’s hand slips lower, pressing against my pelvic bone. “Wanna show me what you were doing? I promise I will fuck you as hard as he hates you.”
A door slams from upstairs, and I jump out of Killian’s grip. Then I’m annoyed that I jumped out of his grasp. My cheeks flush in embarrassment, and I quickly dash back into my room to change. I need to exert this energy somehow, and if I can’t fuck it out of my system, I’ll have to dance it out.
I change into some appropriate clothes—yoga pants and a sports bra—and make my way to the tent, swearing under my breath.
I need sex. I’ve never needed sex so bad in my life, although, getting it before was never hard. I had my regular guys. By guys I mean two—one was Richard (yes, the very same) and the other was Ollie. Ollie was complicated and always wanted more than I could emotionally give, so he wasn’t my preference. Richard was. Somehow, we managed to keep our lives balanced and not let our sexual activities interfere with our work or home life. Maybe that was because he and I were rubbing on each other since before he took ownership or maybe it’s because Rich and I were just compatible in bed. By compatible I mean boring, but enough to scratch the itch. It’s like scratching your itch while wearing acrylic nails. It grazes it, but nothing gives you the full pleasure like using your bare, raw nails.
“Morning, Little Bird. How was your night?” Delila asks, falling into step beside me as we make our way through the entrance of the tent.
