by Layla Frost
Raspy and airy, my voice didn’t sound like my own when I asked, “And now that I am?” The last word had barely left my mouth when I let my legs fall open.
“My imagination was shit and my hand was a piss-poor substitute.” Moving to kneel between my legs he added, “And I’m gonna make sure you never leave because neither one will ever be enough for me again.”
Dropping his mouth to my pussy, he didn’t eat it. He fucking devoured it. Like a man who’d been dreaming about it for a month, he couldn’t seem to get close enough.
Unable to keep myself up on my elbows, I flopped back and clutched the blanket in one fist and his hair with the other.
His thick tongue speared into me as he gripped my hip, using his hold to grind me against his mouth. He shoved his other hand under my ass to tilt me up, his thumb sliding between my cheeks to push against my tight hole.
The hot, unexpected pressure.
His unrelenting tongue.
The way his beard scratched and teased my sensitive skin.
His frenzied, out of control hunger for me.
All of it, along with the fact it was Killian freakin’ Nox between my thighs, had tightness building low in my stomach. Too soon, my legs began to tremble. I wanted to shift away, to let the buildup die because I wasn’t ready for it to end, but I didn’t have that kind of willpower. My back arched, and I unabashedly moved against him as the tension broke.
Shattered.
Tiny jolts of pure pleasure shot through me, making different spots twitch and pulse. It left me feeling light as air and yet totally liquified.
It was amazing.
And I wanted more.
Using my hold on Killian’s hair, I tugged him up my body. He came willingly, pausing briefly to suck one of my nipples, then the other. The blaze in his eyes told me he wasn’t done with me, either.
I leaned up and kissed him, not caring—maybe even liking—the taste of me on his tongue. His cock slid against my overly sensitive pussy, causing new shockwaves each time it hit my clit. I pushed his shoulders.
He immediately went up, his arm muscles thick and defined under the colorful ink. I wanted to trace each cut line and thick vein with my tongue.
But that’d have to wait.
Looking down at me, his eyes were unfocused and filled with so much want. No, need.
And love.
Holy shit, he really does love me.
He hasn’t even had my bomb pussy yet.
I tilted my head to the side. “Condom. Purse.”
Giving me a good view of his sexy ass, Killian grabbed the condom before coming back to kneel between my legs again. He splayed his fingers out on my pelvis, his thumb stretching down to work my clit in slow circles.
“If you can’t tell, I’m ready.” I moaned a little as he rubbed just right. “More than ready.”
“That might be,” he started, pausing to use his teeth to tear open the condom wrapper, “but I can’t stop fookin’ touching you.”
“Oh.” I spread a little wider. “Then go for it.”
“I plan to.” He took his touch away long enough to roll the condom on before covering my body with his. Working between my legs, he lined his cock up with my entrance and eased in.
He cursed, low and rough.
And when he was buried in me, his control snapped.
Shallow thrusts turned into pounding, forceful ones. Even those didn’t seem enough for him. He went up on his knees, giving himself the leverage he needed to go harder. Deeper. His pace was ruthless, like he couldn’t get enough.
It was too much.
The roughness of his chest hair under my palms.
The feel of him stretching me.
The intense way he stared, switching his focus from my face to our connection and back again.
The way his hands ghosted over my skin, the tender touch contrasting with the savage way he fucked me.
My eyes couldn’t stay open. My racing heart wouldn’t stay in my chest. Even my mind seemed to float above us, going fuzzy as I pulsed and tightened around him, coming apart.
And giving Killian all the pieces.
“I love you, too,” I whispered, filterless in my orgasm haze.
Killian froze. “Say it again.”
“Move, Killian.” My hips undulated restlessly.
“Say it.”
“I love you, too. Now move.” The last word stretched, turning into a moan when he did as ordered.
Taking my mouth, he lowered himself against me. One of his forearms went flat to the bed, his hand curling across the top of my head. The other gripped the edge of the mattress, making it lift slightly as he used the hold to slam into me.
Over.
And over.
And over.
Each thrust, with his body tight to mine, ground his pelvis against my overstimulated clit. Yet, I spread my legs farther. My insides clenched around him, greedy for more. Our lips separated, but he didn’t move away. With his back bowed, his forehead pressed to mine, he fucked me. Branded me.
Imbedded himself so deep—in my body, my heart, my fucking soul—nothing else would ever be enough.
That time, as the most beautiful bliss tore through me, I was vaguely aware of Killian’s head pressing against the side of my arched neck, his grunts echoing in my ear.
Harsh and primitive, they sent aftershocks through me.
Slicked with sweat, he gave me his full weight while we fought to catch our breath. When I was able to think about something other than how amazing it’d been, I belatedly noticed I still had him in a death grip, my legs and arms wrapped around him.
I released my hold and starfished out.
When he rolled to the side, he kept his hold, rolling me, too. Our connection stayed intact, and I wound up splayed on top of him.
I’d have sat up, tried to say something sexy or alluring, but I was too tired. Instead, I nuzzled into his neck, gave his shoulder muscle a teasing bite, and mumbled, “S’good.”
He chuckled, the sound and feel rumbling through me, which did perk me up a bit.
For a second.
Then I was goo again.
After a few minutes of basking in post-coital glow, he kissed the top of my head and muttered, “Gotta deal with the condom, mo chuisle.”
“‘Kay,” I muttered back, though I made no attempt at moving.
He lifted me off him and set me on the bed, where I starfished out again, wincing from the ache that’d already begun to develop.
The best kinda pain.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Uh-uh.” Exhausted and spent, my eyes started to drift closed when something grabbed my attention.
Killian padded back to the bed in all his naked glory. All cut lines, thick muscles, and beautiful art, his body was a fantasy. The sculpted vee of his pelvis muscles was practically a neon sign, pointing down to where he was still semi-hard.
And, even just semi, it was impressive.
All this time, I’ve been referring to Killian as a beast when the real beast is in his freakin’ jeans.
Which he’s been wearing without underwear.
With that monster probably running along his thigh.
Ya know, maybe I’m not so tired after all.
“Keep looking at me like that, lass, and we’re not sleeping tonight.”
Grudgingly, I dragged my eyes up. “If that’s meant to be a threat, it’s not a very good one. As Mr. Bigger and Badder, I’d think you’d be better at this stuff.”
His lips curved in amusement, but his eyes went hooded. I glanced down to see his cock hardening.
Yup, wide awake now.
Unfortunately for me and my eyes, the gorgeous view disappeared when Killian flipped off the lights. A minute later, the blanket was yanked out from under me.
The bed dipped, and then I found myself curled on my side, my head on a hard chest, and a soft blanket draped over me.
There was also a large hand palming my ass cheek like a basket
ball.
I waited to see if it was gonna drift anywhere else, but it didn’t.
Dammit.
“So, uhh, I have a question…” I started.
I felt Killian’s body go tight. “Aye?”
“What’s ‘mo chuisle’ mean? Is it just a standard endearment?”
He instantly relaxed his muscles, but tightened his grip on my ass, his fingertips digging in. “Never said it to or thought it about anyone in my life. My dad used to call my ma ‘a chuisle’, which is like dear or darling. You’re not my darling. You’re mo chuisle. My pulse.”
I was happy for the cover of darkness because I knew for a fact the grin on my face was ridiculous. I worked to keep my voice even when I said, “Oh.”
Killian, apparently being eagle-eared as well as eagle-eyed, chuckled. “Glad that makes you happy, mo chuisle.”
His pulse.
The already strong endearment was that much better knowing it was just mine.
He was just mine.
I dozed on and off for a little before shifting onto my other side, the one I usually slept on. I’d thought Killian was asleep, but he moved, too, curving his body around mine.
Pressing his lips to the top of my head, he asked, “You okay?”
I was better than okay.
Killian was Batman levels of gray, and maybe I was an idiot for being okay with that.
Or maybe my time with my meth head mom had made me see the world for how it was.
Imperfect.
It was filled with liars. Greedy assholes who’d send three seventeen-year-old kids to prison to make a quick buck. Hypocrites who got rowdy in a strip club at night before acting self-righteous in a pew the next morning.
Killian wasn’t any of that.
He was the man who’d rescued me by giving me a place to stay.
Who’d made me a dog person by giving me Nolan in my life.
Who’d bought me a stupidly expensive plane ticket so I could see my meema.
And then bought himself a stupidly expensive plane ticket so he could be there for me.
He knew how I liked my coffee, enabled my obsession with Mexican food, and introduced me to the most amazing baked goods I’d ever tasted.
I’d known going in that Killian was the kinda guy who could shred a heart and take some pieces so it’d never be whole again.
Yet, I’d still given him mine.
Because he wasn’t a liar or greedy or hypocritical. He was honest and giving and real.
Okay, yeah, so maybe he committed a little murder. No one’s perfect.
But he was damn close.
Until him, I hadn’t known life could be so… perfectly imperfect.
Which was why, when I answered his question, I did it honestly. “Better than okay.”
“Love you, mo chuisle.”
“Love you, too.”
Then, with his body wrapped protectively around mine, I fell into a deep, happy sleep.
Because I had a beast at my back.
CHAPTER NINE
PAVLOV’S DOG IS A SEX FIEND
KILLIAN
“GOT A MINUTE?”
Leaning against my rental, I lifted my chin and put out my cigar. “Aye, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Mayson’s gear gave him away, but even if he’d been in plain clothes, I’d have known it was him.
And since the lad with him studied me like he wasn’t sure whether I was the kind of man he’d work with or against, I guessed he was Nico.
The bounty hunter.
If I’d heard about the Maysons from Gus and her nan, I was willing to bet they’d heard about me from everyone else.
The visit from them wasn’t unexpected, but I was still glad it’d come when Gus wasn’t around.
“How’s Miz Carol Anne?” Sheriff Mayson asked.
“Good. Sleeping.”
Gus was, too. They’d been watching some godawful fookin’ show about a family who just bitched and cried, when they’d crashed. I’d stepped out to call Beck and have a smoke but hadn’t gotten far when the two had approached.
Sheriff Mayson nodded before stating, “With you and Augusta together, and Miz Carol Anne talking with my wife about some plans, we looked into you.”
I nodded. “Figured you would.”
“Didn’t find a thing,” Nico put in.
Aye, I figured that would happen, too.
My shit was so off the grid, someone would need my skewed compass to find it.
Sheriff Mayson continued being blunt. “Miz Carol Anne told Susan what you do for a living. Augusta grew up down the road from us—just her and Carol Anne for most of it. You can understand why we’d be wary—”
“Aye, I can. But you can also understand Gus is an adult, not a wee lass anymore. And, based on her nan, I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you that feistiness is hereditary. Which means if Gus knew you were out here talking to me about her decisions, she’d lose her mind at all of us. And, all due respect, I’d rather not get on her bad side.”
Sheriff Mayson smiled wide at that, but Nico still eyed me.
I wanted to wrap up the conversation before the prick doctor made his rounds. I didn’t like the way he looked at Gus, and I enjoyed making that clear.
And I really fookin’ enjoyed her fiery attitude while I was doing it.
Not wanting to miss out, I gave the men more than I owed them. “Gus knows everything there is to know. And since she’s off her nut enough to still love me, I’ll make sure she never regrets that choice. That means making changes to ensure we’re both safe because, like I said, she’s off her nut enough to want me around. So, Sheriff, if you’re worried, don’t be. But if you want to talk more, for all our sakes, do it with her. Because I’m not kidding about her losin’ it.”
And it’s making me fookin’ hard just thinking about.
Nico shook his head. “She’s a tiny woman. You can’t seriously be afraid of her.”
“Aye,” I admitted without shame, “and you’d have to be thick not to be.”
“I think we’re good,” Sheriff Mayson said. “Susan mentioned visiting this afternoon with November and July. Have Augusta call if that doesn’t work.”
Them coming by meant Gus would spend the time holding July, greedily hoarding the little lass. And I’d get to watch her, greedily planning how to put our baby in her.
That’s why I didn’t hesitate to say, “A visit would be good.” I glanced toward the building. “I’ve gotta get back in before she wakes up.”
Sheriff Mayson nodded. “Go enjoy your boom.”
“Not this bullshit again,” Nico muttered, crossing his arms.
With a chin lift, I turned and headed inside to enjoy my boom…
Whatever the fook that meant.
GUS
I was gonna throttle someone.
I wasn’t sure if it was gonna be Killian or Meema, because they were both gunning for it.
Right then, though, Killian was in the lead.
He’d been in Tennessee for four nights. I’d stayed at the hospital his first night in town, but we’d spent the following three in his hotel room.
Three nights of fucking.
Three mornings of waking up with his arms around me, his bottom one curled up to hold my breast, his other stretched down to cup me between my thighs.
Even in his sleep, Killian touched me.
And when he woke up, he ate me or fucked me. Sometimes both.
Like Pavlov’s dog, he had me conditioned. I’d wake up soaked, anticipating the insane pleasure he always gave me.
I was addicted.
But so was he, so I didn’t mind.
The morning after we’d become an official we, I’d gotten out of the shower and was about to get dressed when I was suddenly on the mattress with my legs spread and Killian’s head between my thighs. Not even pausing, he’d tossed his phone toward me. Since his tongue had done this little twist thing, it’d taken my eyes a few moments to focus correctly. Once they had, I’d seen it
was an email from his doctor’s office, including an attachment with his last tests results, dated almost three months prior.
When my brain could function, and his mouth wasn’t too full to talk, he’d told me he hadn’t been with anyone for a while before then and definitely no one since.
I was on the pill and clean, so the first time had been the only time we’d bothered with condoms. Which was good because it’d suck to have to hunt one down every time, especially when it seemed like anything I did put Killian in the mood. Like when he’d decided the way I put my hoodie on was sexy and had fucked me up against the hotel room door—hand over my mouth and everything.
The man knew exactly what did it for me.
Still, as we talked to Dr. Collins, I wondered if the good dick Killian gave me was worth him being a jealous pain in the ass. Anytime the doctor swung by, Killian would touch me. He’d curl a possessive arm around my shoulders, pulling my front to his side. Or he’d stand behind me and wrap his arms around my waist.
That time, though, Killian had really upped his game by pulling me down onto his lap while Dr. Collins had washed his hands. Although it was quickly becoming one of my favorite places to sit, it wasn’t where I wanted to be while discussing Outlaw Meema’s pain in the ass shenanigans.
Deciding Killian’s dick was worth the hassle, I skipped turning to knee him in the crotch and instead jabbed his chest with my elbow.
The only reaction I got from him was a chuckle and the feel of his cock hardening under my ass.
He was sick.
I was sicker because, though I’d never admit it, I secretly loved it.
Trying another tactic, I ignored him totally and asked Dr. Collins, “What’s the likelihood she’ll be discharged today?”
Dr. Collins—who always used the ignore tactic when it came to Killian—looked only at me. “If these scans look good, we’re hoping soon.”
Yeah, I bet you are. I see a party with streamers and confetti the moment she walks out.
I didn’t blame them for being exasperated by Meema. A few days before, she’d tried to walk out the front door of the hospital. When that hadn’t worked, she’d tried going out with the recycled boxes.
Literally.
As if she were James freakin’ Bond, she’d snuck into a cart that’d been filled with collapsed cardboard boxes.