Page 62 of The Final Contract
His gaze flicks down, landing on my thigh. A dark chuckle rolls out of him. “Still carryin’ it, eh?” His chin jerks toward the strap. “The knife our father gifted us.”
My hand brushes the hilt—casual, deliberate. “Yeah. Difference is, I know how to use mine.”
His men stiffen, hands twitching at their jackets, but Cormac only smiles wider—sharp and thin.
I’m done here.
We turn; Finn slides into the driver’s seat as I drop into the passenger. The engine roars, and as we pull away I catch my brother in the sideview mirror.
Cormac stands in the street, hands loose at his sides, that wolf’s grin carved into his face—watching. And I know if I were to come back, he would still be waiting.
There’s nothing like being back home.
Killian picked me up before lunch and drove me straight here, to the sanctuary of my penthouse. The second the door closed behind us, I let out a long, grounding breath and wandered down the hall. My bedroom felt like a waiting embrace, and I didn’t resist. I collapsed backward onto the bed, limbs sprawled, eyes closing for just a second as I sank into the moment.
I didn’t even hear him follow, but then?—
A low chuckle rumbles from the doorway, deep enough to vibrate straight through me. “My apartment really that bad?” His leather jacket is slung over one shoulder as he leans against the frame.
I push up onto my elbows with a smile. “No.”
If anything, his apartment now carries some very fond memories. My smile lingers as I stand and make my way toward him, hips swaying in a way I don’t bother disguising. His eyestrack me like a predator—slow, deliberate, hungry. I tilt my chin up when I reach him, craning my neck to meet his stare.
But my expression sobers before I can stop it.
“Killian—what are we doing?”
Heat flickers in his gaze, the kind that makes my pulse jump.
“Who says we have to be doing anything?”
The words land sharp. I know what he means. The sex. He’s drawing a line in the sand before I can, telling me not to expect more than what’s already happened. Maybe because he’s the one escorting me to dates as I hunt for a husband to contract. Maybe because Killian doesn’t do anything else but fuck.
It should be the right thing. Keeping it casual. No complications.
The actual right thing would be to fire him—to assign a new bodyguard and stop thinking about his tongue, his pierced cock, the way his control shatters when he lets go. But it’s too late for that. I’ve had a taste. And now I know what it’s like when Killian unravels me.
“So…just sex, then?” My voice is soft, but my throat is tight. “It doesn’t have to mean anything?”
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against the hard wall of his chest.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he murmurs, voice rough enough to scrape—and it sounds like a lie. Or maybe that’s just what I want it to sound like.
The heat of him is instant, searing through my clothes, leaving me unsteady.
“We’ll walk away when I find a suitor?” I whisper, as though saying it out loud makes it easier. “No complications?”
I swear I feel his fingers flex against my hip at that, his jaw hardening like he’s grinding the words between his teeth.
“None,” he says finally.
His mouth claims mine before I can think better of it—hot, wet, consuming. His tongue slides against mine, demanding, and I moan helplessly into the kiss.
Then a sharp vibration rattles between us.
I jolt with a startled yelp, realizing it’s his phone pressed between our bodies. He grins against my mouth, amused at my reaction, before pulling the device from his pocket.
The screen lights up: Jaxon Kane.
