Page 35 of Jamie

TWELVE

Killian

I arrivedhome to find an alert waiting on my phone before I reached the penthouse. Jamie was in the corridor outside on my floor.

Not inside. Not breaking in this time. Just sitting there, back pressed to the wall next to my apartment door, arms crossed over his chest, head tipped back as if he might’ve been asleep. But I knew better—his jaw was too tight, his posture coiled.

I stopped short. How the hell had he gotten past front desk security?

“What are you doing here?” I asked as soon as the elevator doors opened.

Jamie opened one eye. “We need to talk.”

I glanced back at the elevator door, nerves tightening in my gut. I had the penthouse—if anyonesaw him up here… “How in the hell did you get up here?”

“I have my ways,” he said, not moving.

“You can’t be here.

“Let me inside.”

“Jesus, what if someone saw you?” I snapped, voice low but sharp. “Do you have any idea?—”

“Well to be fair, you wouldn’t be happy if I broke in again,” he cut in, standing now. His tone was clipped, tension rolling off him in waves. “Thought I’d try the front door like a normal person.”

I stared at him for a beat too long. Then, I cursed under my breath and yanked the door open. “Get the fuck inside.”

He stepped past me, buzzing with something I couldn’t name, and I followed him in, slamming the door behind us.

The silence inside stretched taut, brittle enough to snap.

I turned on him the second the door clicked shut. “What are you doing here, Jamie?”

He didn’t hesitate. “You’re in my head,” he said, voice raw, barely held together. “I can’t get you out. And I liked being on my knees for you.”

There was no shame in the way he said it—just quiet intensity, as though it had meant somethingmore than sex. As if he’d found a moment of silence in the chaos when I’d had my hands on him. Maybe it wasn’t about submission or giving up control—maybe it was about choosing to hand it over, for a breath, and trusting someone not to hurt him with it.

That hit like a punch. Not only the words, but the honesty of them. His eyes were wild with something that looked too much like need.

I dragged a hand through my hair, pacing once before facing him again. “Jamie, you have a record, you can’t come here. Jesus, you killed your parents.”

“Accidentally,” he said and narrowed his gaze at me. “There was a suspicion that the son they’d tortured and abused might or might not have set a fire to kill them, but hey, the electrics were bad and it was a happy accident.” He leaned into me. “And it was fucking amazing to know they weren’t going to hurt me anymore.”

“And then your uncle.”

“Oh yeah, torturer number three. I definitely planned that one.”

“Fuck!”

“I’d like to.”

“Jesus, what we did… that wasn’t a thing. That was you desperate and me losing my goddamn mind.”

He flinched as if I’d struck him, then squared hisshoulders. “You didn’t look like it wasn’t a thing when you were shaking above me.”

I breathed out hard. “Don’t.”

“You don’t get to tell me it didn’t mean anything when you fucked my mouth and enjoyed it.”

---