Page 95 of Pretty Threats

I gasp softly. No wonder it’s perfect. “That’s amazing, you probably should’ve held on to it until Christmas or my birthday. It’s a really special gift.”

He shrugs and then picks me up and carries me to the couch. After he drops me onto it, he hauls off his shirt.

There’s a bandage on his bicep that causes my brow to furrow.

Sitting up, I point. “Did you hurt yourself while training?”

“No.” He unbuttons his jeans. “Get undressed.”

Still frowning at his arm, I kick off my shoes and slide my stretch pants down. “So, what happened?”

“Finished off your mark.”

I suck in a breath, realizing the bandage is over the old scar. “Let me see.”

He shakes his head as he pushes his jeans and boxer briefs down. “Later. When it’s healed.”

As soon as my shirt is off, and he lies down on the couch with me, my fingers grab the edge of the bandage and peel it up.

There, over his muscle, the skin has been sliced and taped back together. The lines, new and old, form the shape of an R.

“Oh, Killian. What have you done?”

The lines are perfectly straight.

“I told you I was gonna do it.” His mouth sucks on my neck as his hand reaches between my legs.

“Did you do that to yourself?”

“No. War helped me out.”

“What did he cut you with?”

“Razor blade.”

I gasp. Both from shock and the two fingers he pushes inside me. “It wasn’t necessary, but…” His breath is hot against my skin. “I like that you have it.” My eyes shift from the mark to his eyes.

His mouth curves into a small smirk before he turns serious. Pressing my knee against the back cushion to open for him, I stare up into his eyes. Without missing a beat, he replaces his fingers with his cock.

“Mmm.” He kisses me again as he starts to thrust.

I angle my hips, so his pelvis grinds against my clit and then I arch my back.

Killian alters his rhythm, starting off slow until I begin to groan and pull him closer. Then he pins my arms overhead and fucks me hard and deep.

When I come, he gets even rougher, pounding into me mercilessly until I cry out as he’s coming.

Afterward, we sink into the couch, panting for breath.

With his face half buried in my hair and a couch cushion, he murmurs, “We could make a sex tape. Bet it would set a vlog record for the number of hits.”

I laugh softly. “We can’t do that. If your naked body was in the frame, no one would even notice the pretty fairy lights you hung for me.”

His chuckle is pure magic. “Right. Wouldn’t want to upstage the light show.”

“Hey, I was thinking?—”

Sudden pounding startles us and causes our heads to jerk toward the front door.

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