CHAPTER SIX

What just happened?

I'm on Carter's bed, what he deemed our bed, waiting for him to get out of the shower.

Wondering what the fuck.

Killian showed me kindness in the kitchen. Compassion. Warmth.

Sure, he wasn't lovey-dovey. Wasn't as tender and sweet as my Carter can be.

Believe it or not, my muffin—as possessive and unhinged as he is—has a soft side to him. He started calling me pet early on in our relationship. Laves kisses around my nipple ring after almost biting it off when we fuck. Tells me I'm his good little cum slut.

Seriously, half the time, the man is nothing short of adorable.

Killian, on the other hand, isn't. He's been generous. Has opened his home to me, had me over for dinner. Shared Carter's time with me without a word.

Sweet, though? Never.

Case in point, Carter's statement of Killian is Killian.

As I ponder this, my fingertips trail over the blue Egyptian cotton sheets. My eyes take in the new framed selfies of us he hung on the otherwise empty charcoal-gray walls.

I count one on each wall, three in total, not including the floor-to-ceiling windows. We're smiling, either under Brooklyn Bridge or under the covers and at my place.

This is the only place where he keeps photos of me. His and Killian's office are bare of anything personal. I visited there a couple of times to sign the contracts that binds Voltage to my flower shop for the next decade, and their desk—other than the laptop and work papers—was empty.

It makes sense. Carter insists on hiding our relationship when we bump into each other over there. Says he doesn't like gossip.

That's understandable. Carter cares about me. I know he does.

Killian, on the other hand, turns out to be a mystery. His possessive touch earlier threw me off.

Attraction is a physiological reaction. Angry glares make sense, since I'm in his space. Also, I can be silly. And loud.

Affectionate gaze, however? This isn't the Killian I've come to know.

Then again, maybe I had him all wrong.

Maybe the signs have been there and I've been too nervous around him to notice.

Oh, yes. Like on that Friday night three weeks ago.

Carter and I walked into the Murdock-Steele penthouse. We'd been back from one of our nights out under the Brooklyn Bridge. My guy had asked me to sleep over here instead of crashing at my apartment. Since I opened late on the weekend and it was easier for him to wake up early and go to work from there, I said yes.

Our tummies were blissfully padded with burritos. Carter didn't drink the mojito he got me. But I did. I annihilated the bitch.

I drunk-giggled about something he said. Carter, in turn, flashed me his deviant grin and promised to fuck the laugh out of me.

He dragged me lovingly toward his room, and I taunted him, "Choking me on your dick is more of a promise than a threat, you know."

"It's both, pet." He winked at me.

It'd been late at night. The only light permeated from the kitchen. I thought we were alone.

Wrong.

"Good evening."

My scream sounded inhuman even to my own ears. Killian scared the living shit out of me. My gaze snapped to the kitchen where his voice came from. To the man leaning his hip on the kitchen counter.

His white Henley stretched across his pecs, glowing under the soft overhead lights. His dark eyes were darker and more insidious than usual.

Killian's attention on us hit me hard in the chest.

There was something vibrant about it. Something sick. He was trying to crawl inside my head.

Carter let out a low laugh. Freaking laughed while my mortification rendered my mouth and pussy into a state of shock.

"Technically, Dad,"—there were days he called him that, fueling the dirtiest fantasies in me—"it's good night. We're going to my room. Or would you prefer we continue this conversation here?"

Dear Lord, I loved this man. But every now and then—only in Killian's presence—I wished he'd shut the hell up.

While Carter liked my silly side, Killian seemed to be apathetic to it.

Whenever the topic of sex came up in a conversation and slip-ups like this happened, Killian responded with…nothing. He'd direct his gaze at either Carter or me. A strange sentiment would bleed from him.

He'd have tingles snaking up my spine. My heart would slow to a stop.

Today was no exception.

I took the hint. Carter, less so.

"You don't mind it, do you?" Since Carter had me in his hold, he pulled me over to where Killian stood. "Us talking about getting my dick sucked?"

Jesus Christ, Carter, I'm the one who's drunk, not you, I screamed inwardly.

Killian replied in the form of another penetrating glare. His gaze cast between Carter and me, eventually landing on my man.

The kitchen felt as though it'd been doused in fuel and Carter struck the match to ignite it.

Surprisingly, though, I wasn't mortified anymore. My nipples puckered and my shocked vagina hummed to life. Wicked energy burst into the expansive space. Suffocating and delightful.

We were the only people in the world.

Burning. Choking on the fumes. Being incinerated to the ground.

I wanted so many things. Things no one else in the room wanted.

Like have them fuck me. Watch them fuck each other. Get mashed between both of them as they loved up on me and each other, and—

Those fantasies would be the end of me.

Carter glided forward, closer to Killian. Carrying me alongside him.

"Carter, let's go to bed." I tugged at his sleeve. As if that'd help. Moreover when my resolve was nonexistent. I didn't want to leave this room at all. "Please, muffin."

Carter, akin to his stepfather, leveled me with a glare that could burn down cities. Then proceeded to stride forward.

What was he doing?

More importantly, what would we be doing once we got to Killian?

Questions floundered in the thick haze of my lust. The possibilities were endless.

Killian hadn't told us to back off. He continued to give us his thunderous silence and reproaching expression. That and nothing else.

He might've loved the idea. Might've hated it and wanted us to go away.

We didn't. Carter only stopped when less than a foot separated us and the counter.

My breaths seared my lungs. My piercing teased the hardening nub of my nipple. We were doing this. We were actually doing—

No. No. No.

NO.

With one glance to the counter next to Killian, I saw it.

Georgia's World of Flowers.

A part of me died. My soul crumpled in on itself.

My toughest competition in the Lower East Side. The one who had clients standing outside her shop day and night. Who was sunny and smiley in a non-creepy way. A stark contrast to me. Talking to flowers apparently freaked clients out. I refused to stop.

Which made Georgia a better face for a business, as my sister Melina texted me once. The bitch.

After a year of trying and failing to compete with her, I'd offered my services to big businesses. Hotels, for example. Their purchasing managers cared that I deliver beautiful flowers in a timely manner. I'd done that, leaving Georgia to do her thing with her walk-ins.

Apparently, she hadn't done the same. Voltage was my thing. Fucking mine.

Who knew who else she approached? I'd have to call everyone tomorrow morning. Offer better prices. Ask them to sign contracts of exclusivity. I hoped it'd work.

I hoped Killian hadn't dropped me already.

Without my clients, I'd run out of business. My landlords wouldn't hesitate to evict me. They loathed me. They'd practically been waiting for this moment to come.

Itching to hear that I failed.

Looking at her name on a business card hurt me more than a literal slap would. My possessiveness burned hard and painful in my chest.

Voltage was my client.

Despite being a pretty fucking upbeat person, losing my business and forfeiting my dreams had a devastating effect on me.

Panic clutched at my throat. My eyes couldn't seem to focus on anything.

Other than Georgia's fuchsia pink card and her pink catalog.

I watched it until Killian slid it away from my sight.

Too late.

I had no chance against her shop.

None.

Air. Air. I needed air.

I…

Sudden movements drew my attention. Anger and a sense of mission pummeled through the room.

Carter and Killian had another one of their silent conversations while I'd been suffocating here.

Now, they were putting their plan into action.

Killian tore the colorful catalog in half with his menacing hands. "It came in the mail," he hissed and tossed the shredded glossy papers into the in-cabinet trash.

Carter threw me over his shoulder. "I told you we'll never have another flower girl. Fucking never."

He spun on his heel, striding off to his bedroom across the other side of the open space.

As he stormed off with me on his shoulder, I saw Killian. His frown and lips pinched tight. The flex of his muscles beneath his Henley.

I couldn't help but wonder, did working with me piss him off? Or what?

I didn't have a chance to spend another second contemplating Killian. Carter slammed the door to his room behind us.

He took me in the ass hard, eviscerating every sad and self-deprecating thought that bothered me. Swore up and down that they adore my flowers.

That I'd never have to close my shop. Ever.

In retrospect, I'm able to look at the whole scenario in a brand-new light.

And I start understanding what happened this evening. Carter allowed Killian hold me. Killian stroked my face, called me beautiful girl.

Maybe Carter isn't the only obsessed man in this penthouse.

Maybe the two of them are. Over me.

Hopefully, over each other.

We could be together. Sure, the barely existent relationship with my parents would be ruined. The uptight fuckers don't approve of my shop. They stopped inviting me to family gatherings long ago because of my career choice.

The second they get wind of me dating two men, they'll disown me.

Destroy me.

They could.

They are, after all, the owners of the building I live in and where I run my shop.

They're my landlords.

Without the space for my flowers, it won't be long before I'm penniless. I don't have a college degree. No higher education. I could bartend, but I'll never earn enough to rent a new shop.

Carter will feel obligated to support me.

Fuck, no.

If I ask Carter and Killian for what I want, I could potentially ruin everything for everyone.

Killian was kind and sweet. A glimmer of my over-the-top muffin flashed in his eyes tonight. A glimmer. He'll never be interested in a relationship with us.

Best to leave things where they are.

Better yet, might as well get naked and wait for Carter.