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My eyes and ears feel like they’ve been set on fire, guilt for intruding on this intimate moment punching me in my already distressed gut.
Another door in the house opens and closes, jostling the bedroom door with it. Kieran lays back on the bed, resituating himself so his head is propped up by the headboard, and stares at the wall for a long time, blinking only on occasion.
Shifting forward, I press my nose into the slat on the door, watching as he breaks from his trance and lifts his hips, unbuckling his jeans and shoving them down his thighs. He kicks his legs free, revealing tight black briefs that hide absolutely nothing, and then he reaches up over his head and shakes out of his hoodie.
It comes off in one pull, and he settles it by his side as he climbs back into position, back against his pillows. My breath comes in sharp puffs as I drink him in; though he’s incredibly tall and lean-looking with clothes on, the defined ridges of his chest and stomach make my core throb, the corded muscles of his biceps making me drool.
He looks powerful, so comfortable in his glorious body, and fuck if I don’t want him, even with the literal skeleton in his closet.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chalking it up to a momentary lapse in sanity, brought on by my prolonged stay in this tight, enclosed space, I relax slightly when his one arm slips beneath his head. He wiggles around, getting comfortable, and my hands curl into fists at my sides with the effort it takes not to go out there and mount him.
Because that would be completely insane, right?
A harsh shiver skates down my spine when he shifts again, his hand sliding over his abs and drifting beneath the waistband of his briefs. A lead weight drops in my stomach and my thighs clench, moisture pooling between them as I realize where this is heading.
Somehow, now I’m the voyeur, our roles completely reversed and making me dizzy. I flatten my palms against the sides of my thighs as he pushes his underwear down, just low enough to hook them beneath his swollen balls.
Jesus Christ.
Even from where I’m standing, I can tell he’s fucking huge—I didn’t get a great look at it at the fundraiser, but it’s on full display now. His red, angry shaft dwarfs his palm as it wraps around him, pumping a few times to get started. He pulls his hand away, cupping it around his lips and spitting, and then brings his fingers back, pinching the head of his cock in a way that makes me squirm.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to block out the soft grunts falling from his lips and the slick sounds of him fucking his hand, hating how badly I wish it were me out there. Dropping to my knees, sucking him into my throat, letting him dominate me the way I can tell he wants to.
My lips part of their own accord as the mattress springs creak under his weight, and even though I can only see the black of the back of my eyelids, my skin feels like it’s on fire, wanton desire coursing through me, filling me with immense confusion.
Is it a genetic thing, wanting to fuck guys driven by violence? Is Caroline aware of the moral dilemma she faces as a woman who allows herself to be dominated by a man with more blood on his hands than we have in our bodies?
Or is the darkness justthatenticing? Something that draws you in because you can’t fathom how anything can exist without even a hint of light, and then traps you with its succulent beauty.
My eyes pop open, taking in this vile man as he brings himself to the brink of pleasure, and I know I’ve never seen anything more captivating. His eyebrows pull together, his hips piston in an effort to meet the thrusts of his hand, his chest rising and falling like someone who’s just gone for a long run.
Heart pounding in my chest, head swimming with lust, I fiddle with the waist of my leggings, the pulse between my thighs intensifying as he draws closer to release. Pressing my lips together to keep a moan from falling out, I deftly slip my right hand beneath my bottoms, pushing past the thin elastic of my underwear, and swipe over my clit.
A full-body shudder wracks over me as I shift, widening my legs for better access, keeping my gaze trained on Kieran. He’s groaning, the sound low and primal and setting my soul aflame; I graze my hood with the pad of my index finger, jolting at the sensation. It’s been far too long since I’ve come this way, much less with a man around.
That he doesn’t even know I’m in the room makes me feel naughty, heightening the arousal in my veins. Pushing firmly on the side of my clit, the side that can make me come in less than thirty seconds, I massage myself, growing wetter as I approach my climax.
My skin is silken, damp and smooth, and my legs feel like liquid as I swirl my finger around in tight circles. Short breaths escape me as his becomes louder, harsher, and his face twists up as if in pain at the same moment I move lower and shove a finger inside myself.
Pumping in half-strokes, all that’s afforded me by the awkward position in this closet, I watch him come undone, coming on a hiss and fucking his hand like he’s churning butter.
He growls at the ceiling as thick, sticky ropes of release decorate his stomach, and I stroke forward against my G-spot, coming at the same time his mouth drops open and my name falls from his lips.
Trying not to think aboutthat, I swipe my free hand across my forehead, pushing sweat from my skin.
His head falls back against the pillows, and he stays like that, completely unmoving, for so long, I think he’s fallen asleep. I inhale slowly, exhaling through my mouth, as my pussy throbs from my orgasm, electric shocks making my clit vibrate even as I pull my hand out and collect myself.
I don’t know exactly how long I stay like that, fear and exhaustion keeping me from moving, but after a while, his breathing seems to even itself out, and I decide to make a break for it.
Now or never, Juliet. Get out of here while you still have a chance.
Pulling the closet door open slowly, careful not to jostle anything in the process, I tiptoe from the little space and make a beeline for the door.
Something stops me from leaving, though; the entire reason I came here in the first place. And since it wasn’t anywhere to be found in the house, at least where I searched before his sister showed up, I’m inclined to believe it’s on him instead.
Thinking back to the night we met, how he had my locket on a chain around his neck, I straighten my shoulders and turn on my heel, determination clouding my judgment. In that moment, though, whether it's confidence brought on by an unexpected orgasm or just plain stupidity, my legs carry me back over to the bed.
