Page 106 of Third Strike Smitten

“God, you’re beautiful,” he stresses, his voice rough with emotion. His hands slide down to my hips, thumbs tracing the lace edge of my thong. “Every single part of you.”

His lips find the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, the contact sending shivers racing down my spine. I arch into him instinctively.

I bring a hand up to his hair, my fingers threading through the strands. “Killian.”

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he stresses, his voice thick with desire. “Every goddamn time I look at you, it’s like the first time all over again.”

My hands find the buttons of his shirt, fingers trembling as I work them open one by one. His chest is warm beneath my palms, his heart beating against my touch. When I push the fabric from his shoulders, it falls to the floor in a rustle of expensive cotton. I trace my fingers over several of the tattoos spattered over his chest, each one a memory. A moment in time he has etched into his body.

“I feel the same way, Killian.”

His hands cradle my face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. The gold flecks in his hazel eyes catch the lamplight, and I’m struck by how vulnerable he looks in this moment. My throat tightens with emotion because I want so badly to say it back. I want to tell him I love him too, that he’s become the center of my world but what happens when he’s done with me? What happens if he gets hurt…or worse?

What happens when he leaves me?

“Killian…I⁠—”

“Just let me love you, Isla,” he practically begs, his breath warm against my skin as he tenderly kisses my neck and shoulder. “Not because I have to. Not because someone is watching, but because I want to. I need to.”

I can’t breathe.

His words wrap around me like a vice, squeezing until I’m certain my ribs will crack under the pressure. Every fear I’ve been running from crashes into me at once, and I’m paralyzed by the weight of it.

But I don’t pull away.

Because the truth is, I want him too.

I need him.

My hands find the waistband of his pants, fingers trembling as I work the button free. The zipper follows, and then I’m pushing everything down, needing to feel his skin against mine. Killian steps out of his clothes, kicking them aside, and when he stands before me completely naked, I feel my heart stutter in my chest.

“Please, Kill,” I plead, though I’m not even sure what I’m asking for.

Killian understands. He always understands. His arms wrap around me, lifting me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom. The city lights stream through the windows, painting his skin in silver and gold as he lays me gently on the bed.

He follows me down, his weight settling over me in a way that feels like coming home. His lips find mine again. There’s no urgency, no desperate need to consume. Instead, it’s slow and deliberate, each movement of his mouth against mine showing me how he feels. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him, letting him in, tasting the truth of everything we’re both feeling.

His hands move slowly down my body, worshiping every inch of me. When his fingers hook into my thong, he pauses, his eyes finding mine in the dim light.

“Tell me what you want, Isla,” he tempts against my lips.

“You,” I breathe, my voice barely audible. “I just want you, Killian.”

Something shifts in his expression—relief, maybe, or hope—and then he’s sliding the last piece of fabric down my legs, leaving me completely bare before him except for the heels on my feet and the bracelet wrapped around my wrist. His pupils darken as they roam over my body, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world and nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, his voice reverent. “You’re perfect.”

“Make me yours, Killian,” I beg him. “Take me. Claim me. I’m all yours.”

He kisses me once more and then his mouth leaves mine, trailing down my neck, across my collarbone, until he reaches my breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, and I arch off the bed, a moan escaping my lips. His tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, and the pleasure is so intense it borders on pain. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, and I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair.

“Oh, God, Kill!”

“You want more, Coach?”

“So much more,” I whimper, my voice laced with desperate need. “You make me want so much more.”

Killian seems to understand. His mouth continues its path downward, trailing kisses across my stomach, over my hip bones, until he reaches the apex of my thighs. His breath is hot against my most sensitive skin, and I tremble with anticipation.