Chapter 23

Tori Townsend

A warm body is snug against my back, but that's not what stirs me awake. It's not the morning songs from the birds nor the sun peeking through my curtains. What wakes me is a stiff cock against my ass and something cold making a trail from below my belly button to the edge of my hip.

The cold feels nice compared to the man's heat behind me, and I murmur an unintelligible and sleepy approval. He chuckles against my hair before biting my shoulder.

My tank top has ridden up my abdomen, and the straps are off my shoulders, but that cold continues to trail back and forth along my skin. Goosebumps rise over my flesh, and, curious enough to wonder what's causing them, I look down.

And then, I freeze.

The flat of the blade teases my skin, held by Killian's large hand. He rumbles a reassurance against my shoulder, and for a few seconds, I remain stiff.

"I could cut your fear away, dollface," he whispers in a tone so deep that I almost don't understand him. He trails the blade again, this time scraping against the skin. "Make you feel something else. Make you remember that you're alive and with me."

My breathing quickens the more he whispers, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't turn me on. I've been curious about pain since I started delivering it to him, wondering what it felt like and why it turned him on so much. The promises he's making me are attractive and teasing. My nipples harden at the way he whispers it, like it's a secret he's willing to share.

"But it'll hurt," I say.

"That's the point," he murmurs with a chuckle. "Do I have your consent to mark up this pretty skin? To mark the perfect curves?"

Biting my bottom lip, I turn to my back and look him in the eye. I find nothing but heat and security as he stares back at me, waiting for my answer. I can tell he wants this as much as I'm starting to.

Taking a leap of faith because I trust him with every part of me, I nod.

A smirk tucks into the edges of his lips, and he leans forward, taking my mouth. The blade continues to make little paths along my stomach, and I shiver when it pushes up my tank top a little further.

His tongue dives into my mouth, teasing my own, and I kiss him back as every sensitive part of me clenches with need.

One more pass of the blade by my ribs, and he applies pressure. Pain blossoms when he splits the skin, and I suck in a sharp breath from his mouth. He groans his approval at my sudden pain; like he'd been waiting forever for me to feel it.

At first, my mind rebels against it. It tells me that there's pain and that my fight or flight should kick in. But I shove it aside and turn the pain into something else. Something that makes my clit throb: pleasure. After all, pain and pleasure walk a fine line together, and I hadn't known how much until this very moment.

My fear about last night ebbs, crests, and then falls until all I feel is what he's doing to me. I moan into his mouth as he makes another slice across my ribs, loving the way it takes away all my internal pain, my crippling fear for my life. I can feel a warm wetness trickle down my outer ribs, and he breaks the kiss to watch it flow. For a second, his eyes flash with heat, and then he rubs his finger through it. I shouldn't be turned on by the way he examines the blood, the pure lust in his expression, but I am.

With one flick of his eyes to mine, he lifts himself until he's on his knees between my thighs and brings the blade to my thin shorts. I don't have time to ask him what he's doing when he pinches the hem with one hand and slices through them with the knife.

The blade knicks my skin, but I'm so turned on by how badly he wants my most sensitive area exposed to him that I feel nothing but arousal. He continues to cut until one thigh is free, then he moves to the other side. When my shorts are nothing but tatters, he pulls them away, exposing my pussy.

Wetting his bottom lip, he stares for a moment, taking in how wet I am, how much I like this, and how much I want more. The blade moves, and he touches my clit with the backside, and I moan at how it tickles, how cold and good it feels. He rubs it back and forth, and the sensation makes me squeeze my eyes shut to keep my shit together and not fall into a greedy, begging mess.

I feel him part my legs a little further, and then he pushes a rough finger inside me. My eyes fly open at the sudden intrusion, and then they flutter as he begins massaging my g-spot at the same time that the back of the knife continues to slide along my clit, rubbing the needy, throbbing bundle of nerves.

I grab the sheet beneath me and curl it into my palms. Heat coils in my lower abdomen because, not only does this feel amazing, but it's dangerous. At any moment, he could cause me serious harm, irreparable damage. Between the sensations and the trust and how fucking hot this is, I find myself close to cumming.

"Tell me how good it feels," he rumbles.

Through hooded eyes, I glance down, taking in the scene and how he watches my pussy with such intensity and heat that my nipples pebble further. "Please. Please don't stop."

He applies more pressure to the finger inside me, rubbing and fucking me with one single digit. The back of the blade slides faster along my clit, a sharp sting as he applies more pressure there too. My back bows off the bed while my head presses further into the pillow below it. A deep moan escapes my open mouth, and my breathing becomes hitched and labored. I work like hell to keep it together, to not cum so soon, and to enjoy the feeling of being pleasured, but my body has other ideas.

Heat spikes in my veins, and my lower abdomen explodes as I cum with a cry. My pussy ripples and tugs on his moving finger. Of their own accord, my legs twitch, and my toes curl, and it takes everything I have to remain where I am, clenching the sheets while my chest rises toward the ceiling.

"Hmm," he murmurs with approval as I come down from my high, a panting mess. I stare at the ceiling in disbelief that I came from a knife and an expert finger, so I don't notice it until the tip of his cock teases my entrance. I hadn't even heard nor felt him remove his pants because I'd been so occupied with the bliss.

In one smooth motion, his arm slides under my backside, and in the next moment, I'm flipped to my knees and elbows, my ass exposed to him. Anticipation builds, and I can feel his stare at my exposed, most sensitive areas.

The coldness of the blade starts at the middle of my back and trails down my spine to my puckered hole. I shiver involuntarily, but instead of using it to deliver more pain, he shoves his cock so deep in my pussy that I gasp. The knife falls away as he groans, and he remains seated there as my inner walls pulsate around his length.

Where the blade had moved across my skin is now being teased by his calloused hand. He starts at my puckered hole, circling it and teasing the sensitive flesh until he moves it upward along my spine, past my shoulders, and at the nape of my hair. And then his fingers curl, and he yanks on the roots. Pain and pleasure blaze within me, shooting electric bolts straight to my nipples. I moan at this new sensation and moan again when he starts to move within me.

"Always so fucking tight," he bites out.

My nipples brush against the sheet, hightening every-fucking-thing while he moves behind me. The bed bumps against the wall, and our mutual moans seem to time with it. The way he fucks me is just like his last name: completely savage. Punishing. Painful. Primal. It's like he can't get enough of my pussy. It makes me feel beautiful and wanted, and it only solidifies the fact that I can trust myself in the care of this man. Even with my flaws. My weight. My obvious, current issues.

He tightens his grip as he pounds into me, and I suck in a sharp breath at the further sting of pain. His grip is as strong and sure as the way he's fucking me. This powerful man behind me is delivering all the pain and pleasure I didn't know was possible. The way his length stretches me, the way his shaft rubs my g-spot, and the pain along my scalp that travels all the way down my spine and wraps around to my breasts.

"It's going to be hard to leave you," he confesses in a husky, breathy tone. His fingers splay before they take my hair again as if the thought is so painful that it hurts even his fingers.

"Then don't," I say just as breathlessly. Even to my own ears, I can't believe I said it. I don't cling to anyone. It's not in my nature. But here I am, asking him to stay. Wordlessly telling him not to leave me.

He says nothing in return, and as he continues to fuck me, I wonder where his thoughts are heading. What he'd say if he weren't so damn guarded. What he'd promise me if he stripped away his painful layers and bared it all to me.

Heat coils in my abdomen despite where my thoughts have taken themselves. I start to gasp my moans as I crest closer and closer to an orgasm. He must know because he reaches around and pinches my clit between his thumb and pointer finger, and it's enough to send me crashing completely over the edge.

I cum with a moan so deep that it scratches at my throat.

"Fuck," he shouts, and with a few more pumps, he yanks himself out. He groans deeply as his cum covers my ass in ropes of wet warmth. And when he's finished, he releases my hair and leans to nibble on my spine. A few seconds later, he holds a towel that he gently uses to clean me up.

I flop over when he's done and watch as he tosses the towel by the bedroom door. Twisting my lips to the side, I contemplate whether I want to continue the conversation opener he started. It's a discussion I want to have but I know he won't give me. So instead of being direct, I say, "I meant what I said." He looks at me, and I prop myself on my elbows as I watch him cross the room back to the foot of the bed. His cock glistens in the morning light that's making its way through the crack between my curtains. I try like hell not to let it distract me as I continue, "I don't do this. You're the first man that's slept in my bed since I was in college."

He blinks at me, and I get the feeling that I'm inching dangerously close to the conversation he doesn't want to have. And I don't know why I do it, but I press my luck by adding with a tinge of humor, "Does this mean we're dating?"

Lifting his hand, his biceps bunching, he responds, "Dating would imply that I take you on dates."

I smile at him teasingly, knowing that I'm making him incredibly uncomfortable. "I count the field as a date."

He drops his hand back to his side and takes a deep breath before saying, "I meant what I said, too. I'm not the marrying type."

I blink at the leap in the conversation, and the smile fades from my face. "I'm not either. I vowed I never would. It even terrifies me to have kids – I never want them. But no one said anything about marrying. There are plenty of people who don't marry and are together until the day they die."

I watch as he studies my face… and watch more in tently as his gaze moves to the cuts he made on my ribs. For the second time tonight, I wonder where his thoughts are taking him. Like always, he's careful to keep them from his expression.

Crawling onto the bed, he takes a seat next to me, places his hands on his thighs, and curls his fingers against his flesh. "You remind me of her, you know," he mutters.

For a second, I hold my breath because I know that that nugget of information did not come easy. It gives me hope, and I know with Killian, this kind of hope will be fleeting. "Who?" I ask, even though I already have an inkling.

He looks over at me, square in the eyes. "My wife."

I swallow thickly at the intensity of his stare. "Is that a bad thing?" I ask because I need to know. I need to know if I'm hurting him or healing him.

He shakes his head a little. "No. You make me believe that there's a part of me that's no longer dead. Maybe that I can have more."

I can hear the ‘but' in his tone, so instead of waiting for him to say it, I say it for him. "But you have to avenge her first."

When his lips thin and he nods, my heart breaks a little because I don't like to see him hurting, even if he's only barely showing it. "You don't have to do it alone, you know."

His brows furrow. "What?"

"I may not have known your wife, but I would never tarnish her memory. I'll help you find this guy. No one said you have to do this alone."

He shakes his head again. "I won't put you in danger. You're too close to this already."

I touch his arm, and he glances at the contact. "You're here to protect me, remember? "

His throat bobs as he swallows, and I don't know if he believes it when he nods, but I take the tentativeness for what it is: a reluctant agreement.

And I'd be lying if I didn't say that the very idea of having more time with him only adds to my dangerous hope.