Page 13 of Falling for a Killer

My clit throbs with need as I bite his lip and suck it between my teeth, only letting go when he grips my throat. “Do you have a condom?” I rush out, reaching down to palm him. “Please tell me you brought condoms.”

The word seems to pull him back to reality slightly, but when his hand tightens and his cock throbs, I get the feeling nothing could stop him now. “I don’t have anything. I didn’t expect... do you?”

He kisses me again before I can respond, slower this time, making me drunk on the way his lips feel. Little bastard. “No, I don’t,” I whisper, squeezing his balls lightly through his sweats. “Oh well.”

That makes him smile a little too widely as he lifts me up to pull my shorts down. “I don’t have anything in the other regard either. I’ve been tested, and I usually always wear a rubber. Fuck, you’re soaked.”

He lifts my shorts up to inhale my scent from them, making me stumble on my words as I reply, “M-Me either, I don’t... fuck.”

“Don’t move,” he says darkly, slowly lowering his face down without breaking eye contact until his cheeks are level with my thighs.

This is one command I’m happy to obey. “Is your tongue as talented as it is sharp?”

As a response, he slides it up my clit painfully slowly before grinning up at me. “I’ll show you.”

He does it again, this time moaning when my juices coat his tongue and then he goes absolutely feral. Both hands grip my thighs hard enough to bruise as he dives in, and I don’t think he’s trying to impress me at all. I think he’s just starving.

But holy hell, someone fucking cooked here. Most men are terrible at this without being taught — no finesse, too much teeth, acting like they’re scared of it.

Not Killian.

He has my thighs shaking within seconds, his name spilling from my lips in seconds more. Every swipe of his tongue over my clit makes me lean back a little more until I’m flat on the counter, completely exposed to him. He tosses my legs over his shoulders and swirls his tongue, one hand reaching up to squeeze my breast and tug on my nipple while the other just teases my pussy.

With every heartbeat, I’m waiting for him to slip his fingers inside me, to ruin me, but he doesn’t. He teases and teases, huffing a breathy laugh against my pussy when I start to squirm.

“Killian.”

“Mmm. Fuck, my name sounds so good when you’re desperate. You want to be full, don’t you?”

Two fingers tease at my entrance as he sucks my clit into his mouth, pulling an orgasm from me I couldn’t stop if I tried.

And he doesn’t stop there. It isn’t until my entire body is trembling and I’m pulling his hair to squirm away that he finally sits up, and the look in his eyes tells me he’s about to ruin me even further.

“Taste so good I didn’t want to stop,” he breathes, shoving his sweats and boxers down in one go before tugging me hard to the end of the counter.

He’s so hard his cock bounces as he takes in the sight of me, and as tempted as I am to push him back and show him I can be just as good at this as he is... I kind of want to see what he’ll do first.

Reaching down, I spread my lips and let him see. “I’m so wet, Killian. You want to fuck me?”

“Hell yeah I do,” he replies, eyes locked on my pussy as he fists his cock. “You want it too. Say it.”

I do. The bastard was right, I want to feel full and he wouldn’t even give me his fingers. I need it all. “I want it,” I whisper, hooking my ankles behind him to pull him in. “I want you.”

The cocky smile on his face makes me want to slap him, but something tells me he’d like that. “I’m right here, Roo. You can have me.”

The head of his cock nudges at my pussy once, twice, then slides inside in one solid thrust, stretching me open.

It’s exactly what I needed. I’ve been tense, scared, sad, and lonely for far too long, and everyone knows the only cure to that is getting railed by a smoking hot fugitive. I flatten my palm against his chest as I brace myself, but nothing quite prepares me for that first thrust.

He’s just as desperate as I am.

“Joey,” he groans, hands gripping my waist to keep me in place as he finds a deep, steady pace. “How are you so tight?”

He sounds equal parts amazed and desperate for more, drawing me deeper into his spell. “Maybe I’m not. Maybe you just fit me that well.”

“If I’m too rough you’ll have to tell me, alright? Been too fucking long and you feel too good.”

When he grips my throat tightly, fear spikes through me. Heisa killer, one I’ve known for about a day. Rough could mean gutting me. Rough could mean fucking a hole through me and then fucking that too. Rough could mean any number of things, and yet, I feel the fear dissipate.

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