I’m tired of denying myself even the most basic pleasures in life because of my messed up past.
Sick of spending almost every waking hour worrying and fretting and beating myself up over things I can’t control.
Maybe for tonight—for one moment—I can feelgood.
“You won your match. Let’s celebrate,” I murmur. I lean up toward him and press a kiss to the chiseled corner between his jaw and neck. My lips linger a second too long, and his hand lands on my waist, clenching down as if about to wrench me away.
But as I press another kiss into his skin, lips brushing someof the small, coarse hairs growing in from his beard, he doesn’t pull me back.
His grip remains on my waist, then snakes around. It slides down the curve of my butt, and I smile against his skin.
It’s mind-blowing to think about how these small touches feel so incredible coming from the right person. How I can instantly want more so long as it’s from him.
I tip my head back up in time to meet him for a kiss. He’s bowed his head and claims my lips. From how demanding he kisses me, I know he’s feeling the same.
We’re reeling from the night we’ve had and ready for release.
“Fuck,” he grunts between our kisses. “Why is it so impossible to stay away from you?”
I smirk, fingers slipping into his hair. “Probably because we’re sharing a five-hundred-foot living space.”
He gives another thick grunt, then scoops me up into his arms and carries me toward the bed. I use the few seconds to get more kisses in. Fingers deep in his hair, I press my lips to his and tease him with my tongue.
He pauses before we reach the bed and pulls back for a look in my eyes. I see the question in them and reassure him with a peck to the lips and small smile of my own.
“What did you think I meant by celebrate, Killer?” I ask. “I didn’t mean party poppers and cake.”
“Always,” he starts, then pauses to smash a kiss to my mouth. “Such a,” he continues with another abrupt kiss. “Smartass.”
He finishes with his longest kiss yet, simultaneously lowering us to the bed.
I reach for his T-shirt and pull it up over his head. The only reason we break our kiss, both of us with a drunken look on our faces. It makes us both chuckle as we fuss with the buttons and zippers on our clothes.
We undo his jeans that he must’ve thrown on after the fight. I sit up long enough to lose my blouse, shyly blinking at him as the fabric slides by the wayside.
It’s the first real time he’s seen me like this. In nothing but my bra.
The breath he inhales is deep and audible. His broad chest rises and falls as if he’s forgotten how to breathe properly.
But as another frisson of nerves ripple through me, I decide to keep going.
There’s no use hiding anymore or being shy when I’ve come to trust Killian with my life. That includes my body too.
My hands still slightly shake as I fumble with the hook on my bra. I’m only human, and usually if I’m undressing in front of someone, it isn’t by choice.
Killian doesn’t hide the fact that as the bra slides away, he’s going for a glance at my chest. Another thing that would usually make me cringe and desperately want to cover myself.
His gaze is different from the others though. It isn’t predatory or salacious in a way that feels like I’m an object about to be used and then discarded.
It’s pure, unfiltered desire that radiates in his dark blue eyes. It’s appreciative and lustful but in a way that makes me feel… sexy?
“Fuck,” he grunts again under his breath.
My cheeks warm, and I decide to use his own past words against him. “That a good fuck or a bad fuck?”
A grin cants his lips. “It’s a I-can’t-wait-to-take-those-tits-in-my-mouth-and-kiss-and-suck-and-lick-them-’til-you’re-writhing-with-pleasure-and-begging-me-not-to-stop fuck.”
We meet again for heated kisses. I lay back down and Killian’s body weight presses against me. The weight of him on top of me feels good. He’s still careful to balance himself, keeping most of it off me, but laying under him and feeling the muscled weight of his body is a turn on.
