Page 87 of Killer Kiss

I came until I had nothing left to give.

I brushed her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “What are you doing?”

She hadn’t moved. My cock in her mouth while the final tingles of my orgasm faded.

Nothing had ever felt as good. As sweet. As fucking perfect as coming down, staring at her, my dick warm and wet and barely deflating before it started getting hard again.

She noticed and sucked me harder, making me hiss.

“Nah, sweetheart,” I said with a chuckle, pulling from her mouth. “I see what you’re doing there. But the next time I come it won’t be down your throat.”

Until that moment, I would have never imagined that Ophelia could pout. That wasn’t her. She was strong and determined, and pouting just seemed…impossible.

But there was an expression of disappointment on her pretty face. “Call me a ho if you want, but I like it.”

I kissed her mouth and shook my head, anger building up in me at the very thought someone might have made her feel less than for liking sex. “Fuck whoever put that idea in your head. Purist bullshit. You aren’t bad or dirty for liking sex. Despite what one of my foster parents tried to tell me.”

“Your foster homes weren’t good?” she asked quietly.

I couldn’t look at her. I turned away. “Depends on your definition. Some might think being used as a human ash tray is good. Or being too scared to sleep for fear of who might let themselves into your bed. Or being constantly hungry, belittled, or told you were a cheap piece of Saint View scum who would never amount to anything…” I caught her horrified expression in the mirror. “It’s all relative. I met other kids who’d had it worse.”

“Augie…” She stepped in and wrapped her arms around me from behind.

On instinct, I froze, those memories of my childhood too fresh in my head after dredging them up from the past where they should just stay buried.

She noticed how stiff I was and instantly tried to back away.

I caught her fingers, holding them to my chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m just not used to…”

“Hugs?” she asked. “Me neither. Not that my childhood was as bad as yours… Well, not in the same way as yours anyway. But it wasn’t exactly full of affection either. Trust me, this surprised me as much as it surprised you.”

“Do you like it?” I trailed my fingers over hers.

There was a smile in her tone. “Don’t tell anyone because it’ll ruin my bad-bitch street cred, but yes.”

I chuckled at her self-deprecating humor, enjoying the feel of her cheek resting between my shoulder blades. “Ophelia.”

“Mmm?” she mused, sounding almost sleepy, despite the music that filtered through from outside the club.

“I never had any choices growing up. I had no power of my own. Everything was decided for me, from what—or if—I ate, to the clothes I wore, to the things I was forced to do, to where I slept at night.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said gently. “I hate that happened to you.”

“So do I. I pushed my brother in the same way. I knew no different, and yet it took me doing it to him to realize how it was all connected.” I let out a shuddering breath.

Her lips pressed to my back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me this if it’s too much.”

I wanted to. There was an intimacy here, sparking in the air between us, unfamiliar but comforting.

These weren’t things I could have ever told anyone else. Not Eve. Not Phoenix or Fawn.

Not Banjo.

In the darkness of a room with a woman who somehow felt safe, I was finally able to speak about it.

“I’m so fucking sorry for what I did to him. And I’m so damn sorry I wasn’t there for Fawn either.”

She moved around me, so she was looking up at me.

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