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A man is standing there clad in a black suit with a tie to match tucked all the way up to his throat. His large hands are clasped at the wrist just in front of his belt and his eyes are hidden behind sunglasses that disappear into his slicked jet-black hair.
“Uh… who are you?” I stumble over my shock and grip the door handle tighter as my chest seizes.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Scarano, you cannot leave the property.”
“Excuse me?” The indignation that floods me overrides my surprise at having someone right by the front door. Is that the first time someone has called me by my married name? I should like it. If things weren’t so horrible, I’m sure I would.
“By order of Archer Arco, and by extension of your husband, ma’am,” the man explains and his head dips slightly.
“You’re saying I can’t leave?” I demand, gripping the door handle until my palm throbs.
“You’re not exactly dressed to leave,” the man says, indicating to my bare feet and my cheeks flush hot. Right. Shoes. “It’s for your own safety,” he continues, “you’re to remain here until Archer returns with Killian.”
“He’s bringing Killian here?” It’s less a question and more a thought that voices itself. The man nods and I take a step back, releasing the door handle and letting the door close before me. Archer is bringing Killian home, which means he’ll save Killian from Blair. Hell, he might already have him. He could be on his way home right this second.
My heart skips a beat and my next breath is a gasp. Killian’s coming home. I’ve spent so long focused on making him talk to me that I don’t have a plan forwhatto say when we’re face to face. How do I explain all of this? How do I make him understand? He’ll be drunk though. It’ll be best to get him upstairs and rest before we talk.
I wander aimlessly into the lounge, skimming my toes through the thick white rug until I reach the sofa and drop into it. Archer can deal with getting him upstairs, and then, after some rest, we can talk in the morning.
But how do I make him see that I’m sorry? I know I’ve hurt him deeply despite the intentions of my deceit. But how do I make it clear that I’msoincrediblysorry? How do I make it up to him?
As if on cue, my core throbs suddenly and I clench my thighs together, which only sparks a throbbing sensation through the bruises Killian has left there.
There’s something different about this throb, though. When Killian’s fucked me before, it’s left me wanting more. But against the door? When he ravaged me like hehatedme… it left mehungryin a way I don’t understand. It wasn’t soft or tender. It wasn’t like anything I’ve experienced before. He held me, fucked me. Heusedme, and I came like some filthy common whore.
How can I enjoy being treated like that? Like some toy for him to use and possess, take his anger out on, then just move on?
I didn’t enjoy it at all.
And yet the memory of it tingles across my skin, heats my core, and fuels that yearning throb in my pussy.
Maybe we could do it again.
He said not all sex was soft. I could show him I’m sorry and make him forget about Blair all in one move if he’ll have me. We could fuck like animals, and maybe he will forgive me.
I slide my left hand down my body, tracing my fingertips along the lace hem of my dress, imagining it to be his fingers instead. Then I dip underneath and skim across my thighs. I could strip down for him, spread myself open the way he did last night, and offer every hole to fuck until he’ssated. And it’ll take a while because he’s got good stamina, butwill that be enough?
I could give in to that darker side of him. The side that grips my hair too tight and forces his cock down my throat until I can’t breathe. The side that fucks me so hard it feels like my bones will snap. Those last two orgasms were the hardest I’ve ever had. I curl the fingers of my right hand around my neck, trying to mimic his grip as the fingertips of my left hand rub over my folds. Wetness coats my fingers, and I moan softly into the silent room.
He’d like that. I know he would. Maybe I can get some handcuffs and lay myself open like a delicacy. Let him fuck me and use me until he’s worked out all his hurt, all his anger. His fist around my throat, his tongue in my mouth, and his cock so deep inside me that I can taste him on the back of my tongue. It shouldn’t be this alluring yet as I work my fingers over my clit, my thighs tremble, and my body quivers against the couch. I keep my eyes closed, picturing his stormy eyes soaking me up as I fuck my apology right into his soul. Words mean nothing, not really. Action speaks to Killian, and my body is the key.
And yet as quickly as the pleasure rises, it fizzles out. I try to catch it, twisting my fingers against my clit and stroking vigorously through my slick folds like he would do. I even tighten my grip on my own throat and try to hold his face in my mind's eye, but… it’s not the same.
It’s not the same without him.
Can I not cum unless it’s with him?
My fingers don’t weave the same magic as his. My heart sinks a little, and a hot flush sweeps over me as I open my eyes to the quiet, empty room. It’s just me, slouched down on the couch with my hand up my dress, pleasuring myself to a broken fantasy that can’t hit right because I’m too fucking addicted to Killian and what he does to me.
All in the hopes that it’ll be enough to show him I’m sorry since words won’t reach him.
I pull my hands away and wipe them on the skirt of my dress as frustration stings behind my eyelids. It might not work in fantasy, but I’ll sure as hell try it in real life.
Anything to get him to understand how sorry I am.
Even if it means unleashing the dark beast that rests behind those stormy eyes.
27
