Page 124 of Fragile Facade
He nips my hip then licks the tip of my cock, making me shiver. “I did say that.” He sucks the head into his mouth and I shiver harder. When he pops off, licking down the side of my shaft, I breathe so hard my cheeks flush down to my jaw. “I also said I hated when you blush. Rather fond of it now.”
“Rather?” I laugh, fingers raking through his dark waves.
“Rather,” he repeats. “Because you do it for me. You’re so collected and poised for everyone else, and I’m the only one who gets to see you fall apart.”
“Blushing isn’t falling apart. It’s just my skin tone.”
So fast I don’t see it coming, he slaps my thigh. I jolt upright, but I’m stopped when he sucks my cock into his mouth again, rubbing where he slapped. “This skin tone?” he asks, tongue still lapping. “This perfect handprint on your sexy thigh? That I caused.”
I groan when he slaps me over the same place, the red bloom perfectly showing two different layers of his fingerprints. I settle back, propped up on pillows so I can watch him be fun and playful, but obviously still cocky.
He swallows my cock, and I hold my breath, watching him hold himself there. Fuck him because his face doesn’t even get red. But when he pulls off, he lets his teeth graze me slowly as his eyes meet mine and he starts to grin. The scrape of it feels fucking amazing, a slight bite of pain, but more so the anticipation of him tightening his jaw.
“Should we add teeth marks to your dick, sweetheart?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on. I tattooed your bite on my jaw. The least you could do is tattoo mine on your cock.” He licks.
Tempting, only because he says it as a dare, but no part of me wants to get a cock tattoo. I’m not as insane as Kyd. “Sure. And Menace can strap you to the chair while you have to watch him basically give me a handjob to do it.”
Killian growls, nipping the tip of my dick.
I laugh. “What’s this thing you’ve been wanting to try?”
“Who are we right now?” he asks, gripping the base of my cock.
So insecure while trying to be cocky. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“Well,” he says, kissing his way back up my body. “It’s this super rare kink. Basically, you lay there and take it while looking into my eyes, and we don’t fucking talk. It’s all kissing and bodies grinding and panting. No dares or challenges or death chasing or anything. Not even breath play or a blood buzz.”
What a dick. I pull him flush against me, spreading my legs to encourage him to thrust inside me. When he does, it’s slow and purposeful, deep and settling. “Never heard of it,” I whisper, my lips against his. “Does it have a name?”
Killian’s fingers wrap around the side of my neck and his thumb pushes up on my chin. He kisses me and our bodies rock together, a slow build of pure bliss turning us sweaty and needy.
“I think it’s called sex,” he says against my lips. “And if we’re getting really specific with it, I think it’s called missionary sex.”
“You’re sick, you kinky bastard.”
“You love it.”
Fuck, I do. “You sure that’s what it’s called?”
“No,” he whispers, but neither of us will call it what it really is.
There’s nomaking lovein Vile House, so I sure as fuck won’t be the one to say it. Regardless, our bodies grind together, and we start to sweat, just like he said we would. When our mouths latch together in messy kisses full of panting breaths and hitched groans, I know that’s what we’re doing. Making some sort of love.
I’m disgusted with myself, but not enough to stop. Because the euphoria of it comes from the process, not the finish line. It’s complete trust and a connection that comes from an emotional level, amplified by a physical level. It’s him and me, us together, chasing something so much healthier than death.
When I’m rasping against his lips and he’s groaning against mine, our bodies hit their musical crescendo, and everything pauses to give respect to the moment. I don’t even have to touch my cock. I come from him in my ass and his body all over mine, and when he thickens, releasing his pleasure deep inside me, I open my eyes to look at my reality.
This isn’t Hell.
It’s not Death’s doorstep.
It’s volatile and vulnerable love with the devil I picked and won to stand by my side.
I. Fucking. Won.
