Page 38 of Reckless Desires

Liliana can never live up to that. Women like her crave connection, depth, and commitment—not out of love, but often to exert control. Some might label women like Liliana as gold diggers, but I call them soul crushers. The Andretti sisters have a notorious reputation for captivating even the most dangerous of men, bringing them to their knees.

No woman is worth that kind of devotion. Love, I convinced myself, is for the weak. Yet, even as I try to hold onto that belief, I struggle against the primal urges that pulse within me, threatening to dismantle the walls I have carefully constructed. The way she moans at my touch, her eyes sparkling with longing and desire, makes it almost impossible to resist. I can almost feel her fingers tracing the contours of my body, her breath hot against my skin, seducing me to give in to temptation.

Logic battles against the roar of desire, each wave crashing against the other, creating a storm within.

“You don’t need to fuck her,” I tell myself, forcing my eyes shut against the heat of the water—and the heat of my own thoughts. “You just want to.”

And that’s how I had managed to get this far, deciphering what I needed versus what I wanted. Necessity versus desire. Did I want to fuck her? Yes. Did I need to fuck her? No. I have plenty of women I can call upon for that. So why can’t I stop my dick from getting hard around her?

I crave the feel of her skin against mine, the sound of her voice screaming my name as I make her body tremble uncontrollably beneath me. The battle within me rages on, each moment more intense than the last, leaving me teetering on the edge of surrender.

Groaning, I move my fist faster, building toward the release, my balls drawing tight. I grip my cock tighter, twisting it as I reach the head. I picture her perfect mouth closing around it. The way her cheeks would hollow, and she'd suck me deep. It is enough to send me over the edge. I paint the walls of the shower with my cum. Rope after thick rope releasing out of me. Once I’m spent, I lean back against the wall, my head to the tile, letting the water rush down my face.

After washing up, I get out and reach for a towel, looking at myself in the mirror. Last time I stood here, I was a boy flexing my muscles as though I was the toughest guy around. Never did I think I would end up being the most feared.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lily

The grass is wet against my bare feet, each step a soft, sucking sound as I tear across the open field. My lungs burn, a hot, tight ache that has nothing to do with the stitch in my side and everything to do with the man chasing me. Behind me, I can hear his footsteps, heavier, more rhythmic than my own frantic, scrambling pace.

“You can’t escape me, Liliana.” Killian is enjoying this.

A sharp, familiar pain twists deep in my lower belly like a hot knife, digging into my womb, flaring up at the worst possible moment. I gasp, my stride faltering for a half-second as the cramp radiates through my pelvis and down my thighs. It’s a sickening, grounding pain, the kind that makes me want to curl into a ball and disappear. But I can't. I push through it, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I focus on the distant line of trees, my only hope for cover, and force my legs to pump faster.

"Getting tired, Lily?" Killian's voice rolls across the field, closer than I want it to be. It’s a low, amused rumble that vibrates right through me, bypassing my fear and hitting something else, something dark and reluctant. "You can't run forever."

I don't answer. I just run. The wind whips my hair across my face, stinging my eyes. The world is a blur of green and gray, the sky above so dark, lit up by the moon. Another cramp seizes me, worse this time, and I stumble, catching myself with my hands before I face-plant in the mud. I can feel his presence now, a heat at my back, the sheer force of him closing the distance.

My legs give out just when he hits me.

It isn't a gentle tackle. It’s a full-body collision that knocks the air clean out of my lungs. We go down hard, a tangle of limbs and curses. The impact sends a fresh jolt of agony through my pelvis, and I cry out, a raw, pained sound. The damp earth is cold against my cheek, the smell of grass and mud filling my nostrils. Killian is a solid, heavy weight on top of me, his chest a warm, unmoving wall against my back.

"Got you," he breathes into my ear, his voice a low growl of triumph.

I buck beneath him, thrashing with every ounce of strength I have left. I am all elbows and knees, a wildcat caught in a trap. I throw my head back, trying to smash his nose, but he dodges, laughing. The sound vibrates through his chest and into my spine, infuriating me. He captures my wrists in one of his large hands, pinning them above my head with an ease that makes my stomach clench. His other hand grips my hip, holding me still against the ground.

"Stop fighting," he commands, his voice losing its playful edge and taking on a harder, more dominant tone. "You know I’m your only shot to get back home."

"Fuck you," I spit, twisting uselessly in his grip. The pain in my belly is a throbbing roar now, but it is mixing with something else—a hot, liquid pooling of anger and unwilling arousal. I hate him for it. I hate myself for it.

He shifts his weight, pressing his knee between my thighs, forcing them apart. I can feel the hard, thick line of his cock against my ass through the thin fabric of the yoga pants. He is hard. Of course, he is hard. Killian gets off on power.

"Such a filthy mouth," he murmurs, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin behind my ear. He releases my wrists, but before I can use my hands, he grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my head back and exposing my throat. His other hand snakes around my body, roughly cupping my breast through my shirt. He squeezes, hard enough to make me gasp, his thumb and forefinger rolling my nipple into a tight, aching point. "But I'll bet that pussy's just as filthy, isn't it? Soaking wet for me right now."

I want to deny it, to scream that he’s wrong, but my body betrays me. A fresh wave of slick heat coats my folds, a direct response to his rough grip and his filthy words. I can feel it, a shameful, undeniable proof of my desire.

He seems to sense it too. He chuckles, a dark, knowing sound. "That's what I thought." He lets go of my breast and fumbles with the button of my jeans, his knuckles digging into my stomach. The sound of a zipper being lowered is obscenely loud in the quiet field. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and my panties, yanking them down to my knees in one rough motion.

The cool air hits my exposed skin, making me shiver. I am completely at his mercy, pinned to the ground with my pants around my knees and my ass in the air. It’s humiliating… and terrifying. And it’s making my clit throb with a desperate, needy pulse.

The first fat drop of rain hits the back of my neck, feeling a cold shock. Then another, and another, until the sky opens up and a steady downpour begins to soak us. The rain plasters my hair to my head, runs in rivulets down my back, and turns the ground beneath us to mud.

Killian doesn't seem to notice. He shifts, his weight lifting for a moment as he frees his own cock. I hear the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of denim. Then he is back, the hot, velvety head of his dick nudging against my slick entrance.

"Last chance to say no, Lily," he grunts, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

I don't say a word. I just arch my back, pushing my hips up against him in a silent, desperate invitation.