Page 30 of Slay Bells Ring

Fuck. This guy and his eye contact. It’s a little over the top, but I guess that’s what I should’ve expected. A man like him, someone who’s done what he’s done, is all about the intensity.

The pressure inside me is too much. My body’s on overload. This time, when the orgasm hits me, it shocks me into submission, and if Kane wasn’t holding onto me during it, I don’t doubt I would’ve fallen over.

I ride it out as best I can on his cock, my breathing erratic and hard. My muscles tense and my inner core clenches on his length in the process, drawing out an animalistic groan from Kane. Everything is tingly afterthat, and I’m once again rendered into nothing but pleasure-filled goo.

Kane holds onto me and flips us again so that I’m once more laying under him. My legs wrap around his hips as his body lurches above mine, his cock hitting me so deep I swear the man’s rearranging my guts.

It’s a miracle the sofa bed doesn’t break under us. Kane’s like an animal above, going at me so hard I see stars. Where most men would make themselves come faster doing that, Kane’s stamina seems to be unmatched. The man can go and go and go, just like the bunny in the commercials. I don’t know how long we go at it, but it must be a while.

I’m so out of it, so lost in the moment, that I’m seconds from complaining when he abruptly pulls out of me—I’m so delirious with pleasure that it doesn’t occur to me why he’s pulling out until after I hear him groan loudly and feel warm shots of his cum on my lower stomach.

Oh, right.

Kane’s voice is husky when he says, “Let me see if I can find you a towel or something.” He takes one last look at me—at me, the cum on my belly, and the wet, pink folds of skin between my thighs—before he crawls off the bed to search.

As I lay there, as my body comes down from the high, it hits me, what we just did. What I just did. I had sex with the man who killed my parents. I had sex with the man I came here to kill. I had sex with literally the one man in the world I shouldn’t.

Fuck. What’s wrong with me?

No, seriously, what’s wrong with me? Because even though it’s wrong in all the ways mentioned, it doesn’t change how good my body still feels. It doesn’t change how Kane looked at me when he was inside me, like I was everything to him.

And the way he called memy little killer…

Damn it. Things just got way more complicated.

Chapter Fourteen – Kane

I return with a towel, and as I sit on the side of the pull-out, I clean her off. As I do so, I can’t help myself. I let my gaze roam over her naked body, taking every square inch of her in and committing it to memory.

I never thought… I shouldn’t want—fucking hell. I don’t quite understand how this happened, but it’d be a lie to say we didn’t enjoy ourselves. Both Holly and I were able to get lost in the other. I’m not sure what that says about us.

That we’re messed up? That we’re both a little fucked up in the head? Yeah, probably.

Once she’s cleaned up, I collapse beside her. She’s still breathing hard, as am I. We both stare at the ceiling of the cabin. I should put another log on the fire, but… well, that would involve putting clothes on, and I don’t think I’m there yet.

The moment I put my clothes back on, this is over. Obviously, this could never happen again.

As I think that last thought, I turn my head and look at her. Her skin is pink and flushed, her bare chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths. Her lips are parted, a little swollen from our kissing.

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She is. No one’s ever come close. As much as it was a mistake, I can’t help but feel as though it was right. I don’t know Holly’s favorite color or her favorite movie, but I know what’s been driving her the last thirteen years. I know the anger in her soul. I know her more than I’ve ever known another woman.

And she knows me. Holly fucking Cooper knows me more than anyone I’ve ever been with. Other women thought I worked in the finance sector. They thought I got my money, my nice place, all from a real, up-and-up, legal job.

Holly knows the truth. She knows me and all the ugliness that comes with it. Add onto that, she knows why I came here, that I wanted to spend my holiday getting drunk and then have a big finale of walking out into the snow and never coming back.

With everything I’ve done, everything I wanted to do here, I don’t really understand why Holly would let me in like that—and I sure as shit don’t get why I want her so badly it hurts.

I do. I want her bad. Logic tells me it’s wrong and it can’t happen again, but fuck it all to hell. Fuck logic. Fuck right and wrong. I want Holly in ways I haven’t wanted anyone ever. Maybe it’s because she knows me, knows who I am and what I do; maybe a part of me is relieved she knows the blood on my hands. It’s not something I’ll ever have to hide from her.

I want her. Holy fuck do I want her. Never before has simple desire felt so consuming, but then again, nothing about this is simple.

Holly sighs as she rolls her head to the side, meeting my stare. She doesn’t look at me with disgust or hate—the emotions I anticipated from her now that she’s had time to think about what we just did.

No, she looks at me like I’m just a man.

“I have to say,” she tells me with a sloppy grin, “not bad. You go harder than I thought you would—you know, since you’re an old man and all. Are all old men as capable as you?”

Compared to her twenty-three years, I suppose my thirty-eight years is indeed old, but age is in the eye of the beholder, and I sure as shit ain’t an old man. I might not be as limber as I was years ago, but I am not fucking old.

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