It meant he thought he could put his hands on her. It meant he didn't understand that she was off limits. It meant he needed to be taught a lesson.
But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I smiled, pressed a kiss to her temple, and said, "You're probably right. Ready to go?"
"Already? We just got here."
"I want you alone." I let my hand slide lower on her hip, possessive and deliberate. "Now."
Her breath caught, and I saw the heat flash in her eyes. She knew that tone, knew what it meant.
"Okay," she said softly. "Let me just grab my coat.”
Ten minutes later, Lena exited the gallery and walked across the street to the lot I’d parked in. I drove us back to the cabin in silence, my hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough that my knuckles went white. The image of Randall's hands on Lena played on repeat in my mind, fueling the fire burning in my chest. Lena kept glancing at me, sensing something was off, but she didn't push.
Smart girl.
The second we were inside, I had her against the wall, my mouth on hers, claiming and possessive and raw. She gasped into the kiss, her hands fisting in my shirt, and I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist instinctively.
"Killian…” she breathed against my lips.
"Mine," I growled, carrying her down the hallway. "You're mine, Lena. Say it!”
"I'm yours," she gasped as I kicked open the bedroom door.
I laid her on the bed, my hands already working the zipper of her dress, peeling it away from her body with deliberate slowness. I needed to erase every trace of Randall's touch, needed to replace it with mine.
"So fucking beautiful," I murmured, my hands sliding up her thighs, spreading her legs. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
She arched into my touch, her skin flushed and wanting. "Show me."
I took my time, worshipping every inch of her body with my hands and mouth. Kissed my way down her neck, her collarbone, between her breasts. Sucked marks into her skin, visible proof of ownership that would be there tomorrow when she looked in the mirror.
When I finally pushed inside her, fucking her hard and deep into the mattress, she cried out, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Who do you belong to?" I demanded, my rhythm slow and deep and unrelenting.
"You," she gasped. "Only you."
"That's right." I gripped her hip hard enough to bruise. "Only me. No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to have you."
I made love to her slowly, deliberately, making sure she felt every inch of me. Making sure she knew exactly who shebelonged to. When she came apart beneath me, my name on her lips, I felt some of the rage ease.
But not all of it.
After, when she was curled against my chest, her breathing evening out into sleep, I carefully extracted myself from the bed. She murmured something but didn't wake as I pulled on dark clothes black jeans, a black henley, a jacket that would help me blend into the shadows.
And the hunting knife from my desk drawer.
I'd made it a point to know everything about Lena's life, which meant I knew everything about the people in it. Randall's address had been easy to find, public records, a quick search online. I'd driven past his house weeks ago, just to have the information filed away.
Just in case.
Tonight was just in case.
His house was on the edge of town, a modest split-level with a neat lawn and a porch light that made it look safe and welcoming. There was a single car in the driveway, his Subaru that he drove to work every day and the lights were on upstairs.
He was home.
Perfect.
