Page 77 of The Final Contract
We’d talked like people who didn’t want the night to end, who didn’t want to stop learning each other.
But when we did touch—when we couldn’t hold off any longer—the sex wasn’t just sex. It was more. Deeper. Reverent. Especially that last time, when the box of condoms ran empty. He’d been ready to stop, but I hadn’t let him. I wanted him raw—to feel him, all of him. And when I asked, something snapped.He became an animal, a devil brought to earth, worshipping only me.
I rub my hand over his chest now, sliding down his abs, loving the hard cut of muscle. My leg is still thrown across him, and even in sleep he’s hardening under my touch.
It makes me wet—knowing how easily he responds. Maybe that’s just him. Or maybe it’s what I do to him. Either way, I’m soaked.
My hand sneaks under the covers, wraps around him, and strokes his length until he’s thick and hard in my grip. I watch his face—careful, slow—not wanting to wake him just yet.
When I can’t hold back any longer, I ease myself over him. I grip him at the base, rub the head of his cock against my entrance until he’s slick with me. My body clenches with need as I finally push down, sliding him inside me inch by inch.
A low moan rumbles from his chest. His mouth falls open, breath spilling out as I start to move—slow, steady. My eyes drink him in.
He stirs, exhales harder, and when I take him to the hilt, his eyes snap open. Heat sears through me at the way he looks at me—like I’m his entire fucking world.
His hands clamp on my hips, possessive, demanding.
“Christ, angel,” he rasps, voice rough from sleep. “You’re riding me in my sleep now? You that desperate for my cock?”
“Yes,” I whisper, shameless, rocking harder. “I couldn’t wait. I needed you.”
His grip tightens, dragging me down harder on him. “Filthy little thing. Taking me raw again…soaking me already.” He pinches both my nipples until I gasp. “Show me how bad you want it. Touch yourself.”
My hand slides between us, rubbing tight circles against my clit, each thrust sending sparks through me.
“That’s it,” he growls, eyes locked on mine. “Look at you. Riding me, playing with your pussy. You gonna come for me, angel?”
“Y-yes,” I gasp, thighs trembling.
“Do it. Let me feel you. Let me feel that pretty cunt clench around me when you come.”
I cry out, hips bucking, his thumb taking over as he rubs my clit harder, faster. My whole body locks tight, then shatters, pulsing around him.
“Fuck, that’s it—take it. Take all of it.” His voice breaks rough, his thrusts meeting mine, deep and relentless. “Gonna fill you up, angel. You’ll feel me all day.”
“God, yes,” I beg, still grinding through my orgasm. “I want it, Killian. I want you.”
He slams me down once more, groaning as he comes, spilling into me. His arms lock me to him, mouth crushing mine in a bruising kiss as he fucks me through the last waves.
When it’s over, I collapse against his chest—panting, trembling—his heartbeat thunder beneath my cheek.
And even with his cum leaking down my thighs, even with my body wrecked from him, all I can think is: I don’t ever want to wake up without this. Without him.
The plan comes together at Jaxon’s. His fiancée, Cassidy, greets me with a hug—warm and genuine—before I see who my stand-in is: Sylvia, a Ledger companion about my size, long blonde hair falling down her back. A friend. She slips into my clothes without hesitation, ready to play the part.
“Thanks for doing this, V,” I nearly whisper, hugging her as Finn and two guards flank her, heading for the waiting limo.
“Don’t make me regret letting you take my car,” Jaxon mutters, pressing a set of keys into Killian’s palm.
A matte-silver McLaren gleams inside Jaxon’s private garage, and Killian grins like the devil himself as he opens my door. “Ready, angel? Better hang on.”
The city blurs behind us as he races us out, weaving through traffic with reckless precision. I should be nervous, but instead I feel…free.
Killian keeps a pace like hell is chasing after us, and we’re pulling into my sister’s in record time.
The second I step into the yard, the birthday girl comes barreling toward me. My niece launches herself into my arms with all the force a sugar-high seven-year-old can muster. I spin her once, laughing, her little tiara sliding crooked across her head.
Then she spots Killian. “Killian!” she squeals, as if he’s been part of the family forever.
