Killian crosses the room, all of our previous activities forgotten as he sits beside me. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I'm still not sure what I want to do.” I stare down at my hands, at the crescents my nails have carved into my palms. “It's not just the paranoia. It's . . . the guys won't be there. They've always had my back. But next year, I'll be alone with no one to trust.”
“Have you talked to anyone about this?”
“Coach Harper.” I force myself to meet his gaze. “He's been helping me look into other options.”
“Why didn't you come to me?” The hurt in his voice makes my chest ache.
“Because I didn't want you to think less of me. For being scared. For letting that fucker continue to control my life.”
“You asshat.” He grabs my face, fingers firmly holding my jaw. “You think I'd ever think less of you for being human?”
“Well, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that.”
His grip softens, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “You don't have to pretend with me. Not ever.”
I swallow hard and take a deep breath. “I keep having these dreams—about the attack. But in them, no one comes. No one finds me. And I'm just . . . alone. Trapped in that locker room, bleeding out while that psychotic fuck stands over me, laughing.”
Killian's arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. I don't fight it. Don't try to maintain my usual bravado. I just let him hold me, my face pressed into his neck.
“You're not alone. You never will be.” He rests his forehead against mine. “And you’re not the only one with fears. We’ll be in different cities, and I'll barely get to see you or touch you. What if . . . what if we don’t make it? What if you meet someone—”
“I’ll mark you permanently.” I nip at his throat, needing to lighten the mood before I completely lose my shit. “Make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”
“Jack—”
“No, listen.” I pull back to look at him. “Whatever I decide about hockey, grad school, or any of it . . . you’re mine. Nothing changes that. No distance, no career choice, nothing.”
His eyes darken, pupils blown wide. “Prove it.”
A growl escapes as I surge forward, claiming his mouth in a bruising kiss. My teeth catch his bottom lip, drawing blood, and he moans into my mouth. The taste of copper on my tongue ignites something primal in me, possessive and hungry. “Two weeks. Time to make up for lost time.”
“You gonna talk about it or be about it?” He smirks, that cocky expression that always makes me want to wreck him.
I shove him back onto the bed, following him down. “Oh, I'm gonna be about it. Hope you're ready to explain all the marks I’m about to leave to your family tomorrow.”
His laugh turns into a moan as I bite down on his collarbone. Whatever comes next, whatever I decide, I know one thing for sure—Killian Blackwell is mine. I'm keeping him.
Even if I must fight my demons to do it.
Chapter 3
Killian
Jackson's mouth crashes against mine, all teeth and tongue and desperation. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise as he presses me into the mattress. The weight of him, the heat of his skin against mine, sends electricity racing through my veins.
He growls against my throat, nipping at my pulse point. I moan as he works his way down my chest, marking every inch of skin he can reach. Then he drags his tongue up my inner thigh, and when his teeth sink into my flesh, I arch off the bed. “Fuck.”
“Sensitive much?” He smirks up at me.
“Shut up.”
“You love it when I mark you.” His breath ghosts over my cock, hot and teasing, then he takes me into his mouth, lips stretching around my length.
I groan, my head falling back against the pillow as his tongue swirls around my crown, flicking over my slit. He hollows his cheeks, sucking hard, and my fingers tangle in his hair. “Fuck, that's good. But I . . . I want . . .”
He hums; the vibrations make my toes curl. Then he pulls off, licking his lips. “What do you want, baby?”
