Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance (26 page)

"Maybe you should teach me to behave."

"That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into so much trouble."

"God, I hope so."

He slips two fingers inside my already wet pussy. "You're very wet."

"I've been thinking about what I want you to do to me."

"Maybe I've been thinking about what I want to do to you." He presses against the most sensitive spot inside me, stroking me in a come-hither motion with his fingers until I'm clinging to his biceps, my fingers digging into his skin as I struggle to maintain control.

"Tell me," I beg, but he pulls his fingers away.

"First, I'm going to undress you," he says, doing exactly that, my clothes landing in a pile on the floor. "Then I'm going to need to taste you."

He lifts me onto the bed, crawling between my legs and putting his mouth on me, sending goose bumps across my skin. I lose all sense of time as his tongue explores me, tasting, licking, probing until I'm panting and trying to keep from coming because I don't want to come this way.

When I'm on the edge, I pull at his hair. "Tell me what else you want to do," I demand.

"I want to take all of you," he growls, and I moan, desire flowing through me as I watch him reach into the bedside table. "Touch yourself."

I put my fingers between my legs as I he rolls a condom onto his length, coating his cock in lube before turning toward me. "Slide your fingers inside that wet little pussy," he demands, and I do it until my palm is pressed against my clit. I fuck myself with my fingers, as he removes a vibrator from the drawer and joins me on the bed.

Wordlessly, he reaches for my hand, pulling my wet fingers toward his mouth and slowly licking them, his eyes on me the entire time. A moan bubbles up from my chest because I don't think I've ever seen anything as sexy as this man, my husband and the father to my three children.

Killian rolls me to my side, these moves between us practiced over the years, and lies next to me, his face near my head, his warm breath on my neck. He trails his hand over my body, down my side, and to my hips, before sliding the vibrator between my legs from behind. Then he teases me with it until I'm squirming, my heart racing and my breath short.

"Fuck yourself, Lily," he growls, and I reach between my legs, pressing the vibrator deep inside my pussy as he spreads my ass cheeks and touches the head of his cock to my tight asshole. I tense at the intrusion at first, but relax as he murmurs into my ear how much he can't wait to be inside me, how much he can't get enough of me.

As he eases into me, the initial shock of pain goes away. Then it's all pleasure washing over me, overwhelming me, as one hand caresses my breast, my nipple pinched between his fingers while he rocks inside me, finding a sweet rhythm.

"I love being in you, Lily," he whispers. "I love your warm wet pussy and I love your ass and I love that you let me have everything, all of you."

I moan, the sound more like a long whine as he fucks me, his strokes longer now. The sensation of being filled up by the vibrator and by his cock is almost unbearable, and I find myself letting go to the overwhelming fullness, crying out when my orgasm takes me by surprise, ripping through me and triggering his. He clings to me, moaning my name as he comes.

Afterwards, in the shower, Killian pulls me against him, the warm water pounding on us, little rivers running down our skin. "Woman, I couldn't love you any more."

My chin pokes against the middle of his chest as I look up at him. "You're saying that because of the anal, right?"

Killian laughs and slaps me on the rear. "Always a smartass."

Later, we lie in bed, my head on his chest, his hand on my back, and I breathe him in.

"It's been over nine years since you ran into me at Connie's store," I murmur.

"You mean, since
you
ran into
me
."

"Stop revising history."

"I can't help it. Your version of history is incredibly inaccurate."

"You're just senile, old man."

He chuckles, and then a few minutes later, his breathing slows, and I know he's fallen asleep. I lie awake, smiling as I think about the last nine years. Nine years and three kids and I still love this man with every bit of me. This life with him and the kids is more of everything – more laughter, more joy, and more love - than I ever thought I'd know.

* * *

C
all me Cinderella
.

I
’m
a rags to riches story - girl from trailer park becomes Hollywood starlet. And I’m about to get my happy ever after.

T
hat is
, until I walk in to my house, three hours before my wedding, to find my rock star fiance sticking his c**k down my sister's throat.

W
ith cameras behind me
, filming.

I
’m running
from the whole humiliating thing. I’m not prepared to run straight into him- Elias Saint.

H
e’s completely
wrong for me- damaged, dirty, and demanding.

B
ut once he touches me
, I can’t walk away.

“
A
re you kidding me
?”  My voice sounded shrill to my ears, this weird high-pitched sound that was nothing like me.  I wanted to strangle the girl whose voice it was.  She sounded bitchy, desperate.  
This
was not me.  
This
was not the person I had become.

“River,” he said.  He didn’t even try to take his dick out of the girl’s mouth.

Shit, she didn’t even stop blowing him.

I couldn’t see her face.  Her blonde hair spilled down her shoulders and back.  She was skinny under the little dress she was wearing, the one that should have hugged her curves.

It was my dress she was wearing.

I could see her spine in the middle of her back.

She was too skinny.

I had told her a million times she needed to eat more.  But she'd always deprived herself.  She'd say it was her fast metabolism, but she subsisted on crackers and diet soda.  It was going to kill her eventually.

My sister had never been one to listen to me.  She was a model, had been since she was fifteen.  First it was catalogs; then she got her first magazine shoot; now she was doing runway. She was famous.

We
were famous.

I was about to be more famous- the realization hit me as I was standing there.  I was about to be famous for
this
.  Nothing else.  
This.

It would be in the tabloids tomorrow.  The tabloids loved salacious stories, families ripped apart by drama.  And this was certainly salacious.

It was like everything stood still, like someone just pushed the pause button on my life, as I looked back and forth from her to him, my mind completely numb.

It was like I was watching it on television.

I almost laughed.  There was a part of me that wanted to laugh.  I could feel it, bubbling up inside of me, threatening to spill out.

Pretty soon
everyone
would be watching it on television.  The camera crew was behind me, silent, the ones who were filming me for this piece, part of a live special tonight.  They were waiting for me to react.  Then they could capture it on film, right in the moment.

A woman devastated.

I wanted to cut off his cock.  I wanted to pull a Lorena Bobbitt and cut it right off.

I watched his face, screwed up, his hands threaded through her hair, forcing her head down on him, pushing himself further into her throat.

I knew that expression on his face.

I was just standing there like some kind of idiot, watching him.  There was a camera crew behind me, and the asshole didn’t even bother to slow down.  He didn’t even break his rhythm.

Jesus H., he's going to come
, I thought.  She is going to fucking blow him, on camera, right in front of me, and he’s going to come.

And all of this will be broadcast on TV.

I didn’t even look at him as I walked past the two of them.

Traitors.

I didn’t know if the camera crew was behind me or focused on the blow job.  What a choice for them to have to make.  Both would make equally good television.

I felt strangely calm as I walked through the house, my heels echoing on the marble floors,
click-click-clicking
through the hall.  I passed the photos of us on the wall, the framed pictures of ski trips and Paris and Bora Bora and the tour with the band.  I entered his room, the one where he kept the things he loved, the vintage baseballs and cards.  The walls were lined with rock memorabilia, the gold record and the guitars he collected.  Shelves of stuff signed by his friends, mentors, his idols.

I picked up a bat, this collectible thing that was his pride and joy.  I stood there holding it.  The objects in here were priceless.  Mostly irreplaceable.  It was enough to give me pause for a moment.  I didn't take stuff like this lightly- I wasn’t one to just destroy precious objects.

But I brought the bat up to my shoulder.

Swing, batter, batter.

And I started smashing.

I heard them behind me.  I heard them running, their footsteps, his voice indignant, hers shrill.  The camera crew was saying something.  But no one touched me.  Not yet.  

I’m sure someone will call security.  They should.  I think the producers have security.

Everyone was about to hate me.  No one expected this kind of thing from me.  I could already hear my mother’s disapproving voice in my head.

This kind of behavior is unacceptable in public.  No matter what happens, you smile for the camera and behave with grace.

This
was definitely not grace.

But could you blame me?

In exactly three and a half hours, I was supposed to marry that man on live television, the one with his cock lodged in my sister’s throat in the middle of the foyer in our house.

When I got in the car, I waited until I was on the highway to take the SIM card from the phone and toss it out the window, watching it bounce on the road, shattering into pieces.

The shards of my life.

So why the hell did I feel so relieved?

"
S
hit
," Adam said, slapping me hard on the back.  "Cheer the fuck up.  It's your fucking retirement party."

"Yeah, man," I said.  "Just a little distracted, that's all."

"Fuck yeah, you are!"  He took a long pull on a beer.  "All these tits, you
should
be fucking distracted."

We were in a suite, in a hotel room in Vegas, partying it up.  At least, my buddies were, this whole group of guys I've known for the past few years, living in San Diego.  We were mostly Navy guys, a couple of my Marine friends.

Me?  I was distracted at my own retirement party.

Some fucking retirement.

I didn't choose to leave the EOD.  The explosive ordnance disposal unit, that was my job.  It's what I had done for the last seven years. That wasn't a long time to most people, but to me it was a lifetime. I'd joined the Navy at seventeen. EOD was everything to me. It was all I knew, and I didn't want to leave it.  When the guys said I was having a retirement party, they weren't talking about the whole
do-twenty-years, get-a-gold-watch
bullshit.  They were talking about getting medically retired.  That was another thing entirely.

That wasn't a goddamned retirement.  Not after seven years.  Not in my books anyway.

That was getting euthanized, put down like a fucking dog just because I lost my leg.

"Man, have a drink and lighten the hell up."  Adam handed me a beer.  "I know you're going to fucking miss me and everything, but you're being a fucking pussy.  We've got booze, girls, and a suite in Vegas.  Ain’t got all that back in West Bend.”

"
Miss you
, hah.  Fuck you, man."  But I took the beer anyway.  It wasn’t his fault I was being an asshole.  I wasn’t a drinker, didn't like being out of control.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had a beer.  It had been years.  But this seemed like that kind of an occasion.  The end of an era.  

That sounded goddamned melodramatic.  And I wasn’t an over-emotional kind of guy.

But hell, I was an EOD guy.  Always had been, always would be.  I didn’t know what to do outside of the Navy.  It's all I'd known since I was seventeen.  My mother was all too happy to sign that paperwork letting me go to boot camp early.

And all I wanted was to get the hell away from West Bend and the shit that I grew up with.

To get the hell away from
the asshole
. My father.

Now, here I was, headed right back to that shit.  Back to the shithole piece of land where I was raised.  Back to being a fucking pariah because of my brother.

But not back to my father.  He died last week.

I hadn't told a single goddamned person that he was dead.

And I hadn't shed one fucking tear for him.

“Here,” Chase said, handing me a red plastic cup, even though I was already holding a beer.  “Got the good fucking whiskey, too.  We’re high rollers tonight, shithead.  Drink up.  Once we’re done looking at tits, we’re going to go down to the casino.”

I took a sip from the cup, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat.  What the hell?  You only live once, right?