Page 83 of Beautiful Trauma
“But–”
“I won’t let your father hurt you. You are worth saving time and time again, Mila.” When I opened my mouth to protest, he slanted his lips against my own.
At the taste of him, I moaned into his mouth. His thick thighs pinned me against the wall as his mouth overwhelmed me. My body melted against his.
Reaching behind him, I dug my fingers into the flesh at his shoulders. He ravaged my mouth with his own.
Nipping.
Sucking.
Licking.
As he devoured me, he didn’t leave me ravaged. Instead, he poured his strength and his compassion into me. It felt like all the broken cracks began to fill. The pain that had been wrapped so tightly around me began to evaporate. And the storm that raged so violently within me since Dima had been shot began to dissipate.
Kellan was my healing.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I pulled back to catch my breath. Our chests rose and fell with harsh pants as we stared into each other’s eyes.
“Don’t let me go, Kellan,” I pleaded.
“I won’t.”
As my hand slid down his chest to his waistband, Kellan froze. “I need you.” Ever the gentleman, he started to protest, but I silenced him by leaning my forehead against his. “Heal me with your hands and your lips and your cock. I need to be physically connected with you.”
“As if I could say no to that,” he growled. Jerking his chin at the door, he said, “Lock up. I am not doing this with an audience.”
I welcomed the laugh that tumbled from my lips. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: KELLAN
After Mila locked the door, she practically sprinted back to me with her stilettos echoing across the floor. When she launched herself at me, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around my waist.
Considering the floor-to-ceiling windows, we still had an audience on the street. “Where can we go that’s private?”
“My office.”
“Where is it?”
“In the back to the right.”
As I started lurching through the exhibits and paintings, Mila crashed her lips against mine. Her devious little tongue slid along mine while she rubbed her thong-clad pussy againstmy erection that strained against my zipper. “Fuck,” I grunted against her lips.
“Yes, me,” she teased.
At her feverish rubbing along my clock, I groaned. “If you don’t stop doing that, I’m not going to be able to walk. And if I can’t walk, I can’t get you to your office to fuck you.”
Her swollen lips turned down in a pout. “But it feels so good.”
“I know. It does for me, too.”
“Then don’t make me stop.”
“Okay, we’ll just fuck right here in front of this weird scribbly painting thing.”
Mila laughed. “That’s a Vlad Votomeyer worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
I curled my lip in disgust. “I’m pretty sure my nieces could do the same with a few crayons.”
