Page 69 of The Final Contract
His mouth curves into a wicked smirk as he stops my hips dead. The sudden loss of friction makes me ache, my clit pulsing, my body begging.
His gaze drops between my legs, a finger lifting my skirt just enough to give him a view of what’s beneath. My pale-pink panties are soaked, nearly transparent with how wet I am. The groan that rumbles out of him is raw, reverent.
“Gorgeous,” he whispers—just like he did when he was looking at his cum in my mouth.
He slides a finger beneath the damp fabric, stroking between the lips of my cunt. When his nail flicks my clit, I jolt, crying out as a surge of an orgasm threatens to crash—only to fizzle when he pulls away.
My entire body trembles, desperate, needy.
He slips the finger into his mouth, sucking it clean with a satisfied hum.
“Let’s go.”
The limo door opens, and the humid night air hits me as I step out—aching and damp—Killian’s words echoing in my skull. Kiss him. Let him taste what belongs to me.
My date waits outside the theater, bouquet in hand. I’m just able to apply a fresh swipe of pink gloss to my lips—still tingling from Killian’s dick—when he smiles politely. Says my name with the kind of reverence men use when they think they’re winning something. He doesn’t matter in tonight’s game. I thank him, take the flowers, and slip my arm through his.
Inside, he orders us drinks—some overpriced sparkling cocktail that tastes like syrup—and we sit in the dim glow of the lobby bar. He talks: about work, about stocks, about whateverthe hell he thinks will impress me. I smile when I need to, nod at the right times, my hands folded neatly in my lap.
But every so often, my eyes wander. To him.
To Killian.
Standing at the edge of the crowd like a shadow come to life. His gaze sweeps the theater, cataloging every face, every movement—the watchful guard. And then—he looks at me.
It’s like being struck. My breath stalls, my pulse leaps, and his promises are there, swimming in his eyes. Mine. Good girl. Kiss him with my cum still on your tongue.
By the time we file into the theater, the previews are about to start. My date guides me to our seats, his hand lingering a second too long at my waist.
The lights dim. The room hushes. The first trailers roll.
He leans in close, whispering a comment against my ear. His arm brushes mine, testing—casual but deliberate. I nod, smile politely, though my mind is elsewhere—tracking every subtle shift in the dark. Killian’s outline a few rows back against the wall, posture coiled, eyes fixed. Not on the screen. Not on anyone else. Me. Always me.
Halfway through the film, a couple kisses on the screen. Sweet. Predictable. A cue.
My date has been trying to figure out the right time to break the touch barrier, so it’s the perfect opportunity to do it for him.
I turn my head, touch my date’s jaw with my fingers, guiding him to face me. My lips brush his first—soft, grazing—before I open for him. His tongue meets mine, eager, greedy.
But my eyes are on Killian.
He’s watching. And when our gazes lock, I slide my tongue into my date’s mouth, and I nearly come undone. Killian’s irises are so blown they look black, pupils swallowing the steel gray I know so well. His mouth curves, slow and feral, into a smirk that makes heat pulse low in my belly.
Approval. Possession. Pleased with me.
And I realize why. Because he said they’d know I belonged to him. And by kissing my date—just like Killian wanted, the taste of his cock lingering—I’ve made that true. I’m saying I do belong to him.
The movie winds down, some sweeping finale I barely register. I’m too aware of myself, of my shadow watching over me. For the millionth time tonight, I peek back at Killian.
He’s standing attentive now, one hand pressed to his ear. Communicating with Finn, Jaxon, or one of the other guards, no doubt. Business as usual.
But it strikes me that his plan worked almost too well—he distracted me so completely I almost forgot why we were here in the first place.
The stalker.
A shiver runs through me. Is he here? Watching? Sitting somewhere in this dark theater, eyes pinned to me?
As if he hears my thought, Killian’s gaze cuts to mine. He gives his head a slow shake, deliberate. No. He didn’t show.
