King of Depravity: Chapter 21

The guest room is cold and lonely. I’ve gotten used to the feel of Killian’s body against mine, warm and secure, and I can’t fall asleep. Finally, at some point after one in the morning, I push up from the bed with a sigh.

I’m so angry at him.

And a little scared too. Did he have an altercation with Preston? When did it happen? What did he do?

I’ve always known Killian was dangerous. It rolls off him in waves. I just thought…

I thought he was my monster.

And, I guess, when I really think about it, if he’s out there punishing men who’ve hurt me then he is…

But part of what I’ve been denying is that his violence could turn on me. He scared the shit out of me when we first met and that man is still there, hiding under his new exterior. He’s softened so much, but I remember how he was.

The one who put me over his knee without a care how frightened he made me.

Giving my heart to him would be such a risk, and if I’m honest, I’ve been completely risk-averse all of my adult life.

I push up from the bed, determined to get a glass of water and then try to go to sleep. But the moment I step out in the hall, I find Killian sitting against the wall across from the guest room door.

His eyes meet mine. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” I don’t tell him I can’t sleep as I walk past him and out to the kitchen. He gets up and follows.

I reach for a glass, turning on the faucet. I know he’s got some fancy water dispenser on the door that filters and aerates the water, but I just use the tap, filling the glass and then take a big drink. “Why are you in the hall?”

“I don’t like leaving you alone.”

Is he serious? “I’m in your house. What’s going to happen?”

I see his mouth twitch and I know there is a whole bunch he’s not telling me. I take another drink and then start for my room again. Killian is one step behind me.

Finally, I stop, and he nearly runs into me. “What are you doing?”

He runs a hand down my spine. “I miss touching you.”

“You promised,” I answer, twisting my neck to look over my shoulder and glare at him.

“That’s right, I said I wouldn’t touch you if you didn’t want me to, and I won’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it.”

“What do you want, Killian?” I’m half annoyed, half curious. It makes me feel better that he’s repeated his promise.

“I want,” he starts and then wraps an arm around me, whispering in my ear. “I want to suck on your clit.”

Of all the things I expected him to say, that was not one of them. My whole body responds, my nipples peaking, the sensitive bud of nerves between my legs aching. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I whisper, but I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

He presses his chest to my back, his cock settling against my ass. He wraps a hand around my front, his palm splaying out on my belly as he pulls me closer. “You don’t have to give me anything back. Just let me touch you.”

“Killian.” My voice nearly breaks. “We’re moving so fast. I need…” Time. Space.

“An orgasm to help you think clearly?”

I can’t help it. I laugh. That’s when his fingers slide down my belly. I’m wearing a short nightgown and he easily slips under the hem, the pad of his middle finger sliding over my panties.

My head falls back, my body arching into his touch. “How badly did you hurt Preston?”

I feel the tension that draws him taut. “I want to be clear. I’d hurt anyone…anyone who tries to hurt you.”

“Oh.” He presses the pad of his middle finger right on my clit. I didn’t get any of the information I’d hoped about Preston, but his words go a long way in soothing some of my worries. “Which bed?”

He growls out his satisfaction even as he wraps his other arm around me, lifting me off my feet.

He carries me into his bedroom and lays me on the bed, still on my belly, my legs hanging over the side. I look back at him, just as he tugs my underwear off my body and then spreads my legs open, crouching down on the side of the bed.

Just as he promised, he locks his lips over my clit and sucks, causing a scream of pleasure to rip form my lips.

I immediately clutch the bedding, my body going rigid. “Killian,” I cry out. He’s relentless, sucking and licking until I’m so close to falling over the edge, I’m begging him not to stop. That’s when he eases back on his heels, long enough to ask, “Can I cum on you after?”

“You can cum in me,” I cry, knowing that what I actually crave most is a connection to him. It’s so crazy, but even though I’m mad at him, I want his comfort.

He shucks down his pants, kicking them off before he lines himself up and starts sliding inside me.

From behind, he hits even deeper, fills me even fuller and the small of my back arches, lifting my ass in the air to take even more of him in. He wraps his hands around my waist so that he’s pulling me into his thrusts, filling me so full I’m gasping for air in the best way.

“You take me so good,” he grunts, his voice rough and gravelly. And then he bends over my back, kissing my neck. “I could be your soldier, Chloe. Don’t you know that?”

I do know. One of his hands slides under me, his middle finger pressing to my clit. My insides start to quake as the orgasm builds inside. “I think I might love you, Killian.”

The words are out before I can take them back. He only picks up the pace, pushing inside me so deep that my eyes roll back in my head as I explode in an orgasm, my screams of pleasure echoing through the room.

He cums a moment later, roaring with his finish before he collapses on my back. We lay there for a minute, just panting into the silence. His weight is a comfort, his heartbeat, as it slows, a comfort.

I half fall asleep under him, tired and ready to curl into his arms.

That’s when he whispers in my ear. “You’re the only woman for me, Chloe. There will never be another.” And then he pulls me up the bed and settles me under the covers, his body curling around mine.

I’ve spent most of my life alone. To be held like this, to be this close to Killian, is like a balm to a wound.

But also…it’s a danger that is like walking on a knife’s edge.

It’s my last thought before I fall asleep.

I wake in the morning, sore but satisfied.

Killian is still behind me, his arms tight around me. “Good morning,” he murmurs close to my ear.

“Good morning.” I smile a little, so comfortable I don’t want to move an inch.

“Painting today?”

“Sleeping,” I mutter back as he smiles into my hair.

“Should I make you something to eat?” he asks. That’s what pulls me awake as I turn my head around to look at him.

I touch his face, “No. I’m all right.” I know I need to revisit last night. I both feel closer to Killian and further away.

I’ve touched one of his sharp edges and I’m still smarting.

I close my eyes again, wondering if I might be able to go back to sleep. I will say one thing about Killian’s place. It’s so quiet and comfortable, I’ve slept better here than I have in years.

He kisses across my shoulder. “You said you wanted to get some stuff at your place?”

“Yeah. I have to pay rent too.”

“Why not give up the place?” he says, his hand skating over my hip. My lips purse, my eyes opening again. We are not ready for that. I’m not ready to be that tied to Killian, no matter how deep the feelings are getting.

“This is just for a few weeks, remember?”

“What time do you want to go over to the club?” he asks, as he pushes up on his elbow.

“Nine. That’s when the manager usually arrives for the ten o’clock opening.” I touch the bruises on my face. He’ll have a hard time arguing with my position.

But now, I’m awake and so I get out of bed, stretching before I start for the bathroom. Killian follows, turning on the shower while I brush my teeth.

These moments are so easy, I could forget the other side of Killian. “Have any work to do today?”

“I’ve got some paperwork that needs to be done,” he answers over his shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll paint then,” I start for the bathroom door. I need to pee, and I don’t think we’re at the stage where we go in front of each other.

“I’ll bring my stuff out to the counter and work while you do.”

I cock my head, looking at Killian. It’s the strangest thing. He started so cold and now he doesn’t even want to work in a separate room… “All right. Sounds good.”

We take a shower, the kind that takes forever and is thoroughly satisfying. Then we eat and start our Monday.

I’m making great progress on the piece, and I feel good about it. Killian sets up at the island, working the morning and afternoon away. At one point, he takes a call, disappearing into his office, where I hear the beeping of the fax machine.

As the sun sets, he stretches, picks up the phone and orders dinner. “Mind if I turn on the telly?”

“Not at all,” I say, assessing the shadowing I’m completing on the chin. It’s got to look strong, commanding, but I don’t want the look to be too harsh. The longer I know Killian, the more I feel his softer side.

I distantly hear the news playing as I mix some of the blue with black, dotting an almost stubble along the jaw. He somehow sports a constant five o’clock shadow.

That’s when Killian’s phone rings. “Triston.”

I lift my head, hearing the tension in Killian’s voice. That’s new. He pushes off his stool, heading for his office again. “There is no problem,” he grits into the phone. “I already told you.”

I drop my paint brush onto my palette, my head turning as I strain my ear. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but clearly there is some issue between Killian and his brother.

Not able to hear, I walk over to the sink instead to rinse my brush. I’ve been at it for hours. Dinner is coming soon, and it seems foolish to dive back in now that my concentration is broken.

I’m nearing the end, where then it will just be tweaking until I finally just make myself stop and call the piece done. It’s been so long since I got to paint like this, working for hours at a time to complete a painting. It’s been wonderful.

Setting the brush aside, I start to clean up my paints and turn my easel so Killian can’t peek.

But that’s when the news catches my attention.

“The body of a man found dead in his hotel room has been identified. Preston Wingate, member of the American legacy family of the same name, was found dead early yesterday morning, in an apparent accident.”

I go still as a picture of Preston flashes across the screen. He’s on a yacht dressed in a nautical sweater and collared shirt, sporting wind-blown hair and a charming smile.

The blood drains from my face.

When Rush said that Killian “whacked” Preston, surely he didn’t mean this? The reporter said it was an accident.

I shake my head, my trembling hands slowly setting the palette down on the floor. It has to be a coincidence that Preston is dead. Right?

But my insides quake as I piece together some of the details. Killian tucking me in my bed. Not staying with me. That was Friday night. Preston was found Saturday morning…

I find my shoes and still wearing my paint-covered leggings and bright orange tank top, walk out the front door to the elevator.

I don’t know where I’m going, but it doesn’t matter. I need a minute to think, a minute that Killian is not there to tempt me, while I figure out what the hell is going on and just how bad I’ve messed up.

The ding of the elevator sounds through the hall making me jump. But I step in and quickly press the button to close the door.

Once they slide shut, I squeeze my eyes closed, my heart hammering in my chest. I think I’ve made a terrible mistake…