Page 42 of Trailer Trash

In a desperate plea, I beg him. “I’ll get fired. I need this job more than sex.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he says against my cheek, leaving a trail of hot kisses. I turn my face as he goes for my mouth. Instead, he finds my neck, tasting me. He’s insatiable.

Damn. It feels so good.

“Killian!”

“Yeah, like that, baby. Scream my name till you break the fucking windows.”

God, those filthy words, coupled with his thick, wet tongue, ignites my desire deep inside. I clench down.

My body wants him.

My heart cannot survive him.

“Listen to me. Saturday was a mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t.” His hand slips down toward my waistband.

“We’re in the front room! Are you crazy?”

“Yes.”

Then he tugs at my scrub bottoms. They stay put, so he fumbles, trying to undo the tie blindly with one hand. I push up on his chest. The cotton of his shirt under my palms is so soft compared to the hard muscle that’s overpowering me. And although he’s being the awful man I knew he was, I can’t help but want his naked body touching mine. Ugh, his scent. His power. Him. I whimper as I try not to look at him.

I steal a glance.

The ugly faces of his villain tattoos catch in the orange light, and God help me, they suit Killian. I hate to admit it, but every time I try to find something I dislike about him, I like him more. It’s all too much.

I can’t sleep with my patient.

I can’t fall for an addict.

No.

And just like that—

I cry.

It’s a reaction I didn’t expect, but it’s real and violent. My whole ribcage jerks as sobs tear from my throat.

He stops, abandoning my drawstring to look into my eyes, astonished.

“I need this job,” I say, my voice cracking. “Please stop.”

He doesn’t lift off me, but his rapture has stopped. Maybe he finally sees it was just alcohol.

Just then, the giant front door swings open. We look that way, and in the moment of surprise, I use it to pry myself free from underneath him.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and try to compose myself. My hands shake as I smooth my scrub top. I hate that I can still feel his mouth on my neck. I hate more that I loved it.

Killian sits back, kneeling on the couch, glaring as if I personally offended him by escaping.

A man and woman walk inside. I recognize his brother, River. His smile comes without a threat, and unlike Killian, he’s much shorter. His eyes are hazel and warmer, too. They don’t study me long. He has baby fat on his face, making his smile more boyish. I don’t recognize the woman, though.

“Hey!” River greets.

His smile falters when he looks from my wet eyes to Killian’s expression.