Killian's hips tried to thrust up to meet hers but the angle didn't let him. He could only lie there and take it, watch her use him, sweat beading on his chest under her palms.
"If you want me—" Her hips moved faster, her breasts bouncing.
"Then let me—" She thrust down hard. Killian made a desperate sound behind the gag, his back arching off the bed.
"Stop planning everything."
She was riding him faster, chasing the pleasure building inside her, her thighs burning, her core clenching tight around him with every stroke.
"I want you—" The words came out breathless, raw. "But we figure it out. Together."
She was close, her thighs shaking, her toes curling, the pressure winding tight and tighter in her core. Her clit ground against him with every movement, the friction perfect and too much and not enough all at once.
"Do you understand?"
Killian nodded frantically, eyes glassy, groans muffled through the gag.
Her core clamped down, her whole body convulsing around him as the orgasm surged through her. She cried out, hips jerking, thighs locking.
Killian followed instantly. His back arched. His cock pulsed inside her. A muffled groan ripped from his throat. His release flooding her.
She collapsed forward, her chest pressed to his.
His heart thundered beneath her. His cock still inside her. Still twitching.
They stayed there. Sweat cooling, breath steadying.
Then she pushed up on shaky arms and reached behind his head.
She fumbled the knot loose, pulled the silk away.
His hands were on her immediately.
One tangled in her hair. The other slid to her waist.
He pulled her down into a kiss.
Deep, desperate, full of something new.
Killian
HE KISSED HER LIKE the last forty-five minutes had peeled him open and he didn’t know how to put himself back together without her mouth on his. April kissed him back. Her hands in his hair, her body pressed to his, the simple truth of her weight anchoring him.
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing hard, she stayed close. She didn’t move away. Didn’t rush to fill the space between them with words or explanations.
They stayed there, foreheads touching, breath warm between them. Killian lifted his hand, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. He didn't quite believe she was still letting him touch her.
Then she shifted and lowered herself beside him. Sheets rustled. Bodies settled. She turned onto her side with her back to his chest.
Killian went still.
Because he wasn’t sure what the touch meant now that it wasn’t a demand, a take, a plan. His whole life, contact had been a lever. A choice with an outcome attached. Even tenderness, when he offered it, had been proof he deployed.
Her hip settled into his. Her shoulder pressed under his chin. Her hair damp at the nape, curling against his throat. His arm slid around her waist, following the shape of her body until his hand rested flat on her stomach.
Her fingers found his hand and laced with it, threading them together like she was confirming the placement. Like she was saying, yes, there.
His breath had been coming shallow ever since she’d asked him if he wanted the scarf. Ever since he’d said yes and meant it. Ever since his body had learned what it felt like to surrender without humiliation.
