Page 114 of Fragile Facade
“Like I own Remiel?” Krypt baits me.
I growl at him. “You don’t fucking own him. He owns you.”
“Not denying it.” He shrugs.
“Okay, I think you both need an appointment with Psych. Maybe get some insight into how you feel love. Yeah?” Director looks at us hopefully.
Well, screw this shit. I really don’t feel ashamed, even though it’s embarrassing. I stand up, dick still hard in my pants. Not ashamed of that either. “It’s fucking getting it. That’s love.”
The room goes quiet, my eyes on Killian’s cocky face. His smirk morphs into something kinder, more understanding, and his eyes meet mine. “It’s fucking getting it,” he repeats.
Yeah. It is. That’s what love is to me.
Quietly, with a raspy voice, Monster asks, “Getting what?”
“Each other,” Director tells him, eyes widening. “Understanding each other.”
“All the parts. Dark and depraved. Volatile and vulnerable,” Killian tells Monster. “Don’t hide the sinister shit, Monster. Someone gets it.”
Ransom watches Monster so intently, but Monster never looks his way. He nods and then stands, looking at the door to ask if the meeting is over.
Director nods. “Yeah, you can all go. Everyone has to be there tomorrow night, though. Final town meeting, and Lock is bringing Yates for his final judgement.”
Everyone gets up, and I start to leave. But fucking hell, I linger. Which makes everyone else linger. And I hate that I’m lingering because it makes me pathetic! I linger so hard that I can’t make myself leave, so I glance back at Killian to find him still in his chair, leaning back with a cocky as hell grin on his face.
“Waiting for something, sweetheart?”
Holy fuck, I hate him. I hate him even more when everyone laughs at my expense again. I’m burning from embarrassment when he gets up, casually walks over to me, and breaks the one rule I told him to abide by: not to kiss me in front of the Vile Boys.
He grips my chin gently, whispers, “Just in case,” and kisses me the way I lingered for.
When the guys all break out in sounds I decide not to decipher, I no longer care if it’s mocking or prideful. This asshole conditioned me to expect the ‘just in case’ kiss, and now I do. Because love is ‘fucking getting it’ and that’s what this kiss is to me. He better not be better at gaslighting than I am.
“Need something else from me?” he asks against my lips, everyone watching.
“I need you to finish what you started when you rubbed my cock.” I kiss him, just in case. Because I want to. “Baby,” I finish.
He smirks, gripping my wrist to drag me from the con room.
Letting go, he plants his palm against my chest, pushing until my back hits the hallway wall. His energy isn’t volatile right now, and when his hand comes back to cup my cock through my pants, I blow out a breath right in his face. As everyone disperses, Killian’s eyes dip down to my once again bruised neck, his handprints almost permanently etched into my skin under my new cuts.
“You know what turns me the fuck on?” he asks as he caresses my cock.
I lean against the wall, dry humping his palm. “Your ego.”
He grins. “Yours. It’s so hypocritical.”
Groaning when he rubs a little harder, getting right in my face, I pant through the pleasure and try to pay attention to his words. “How?”
“Remember how fucking hard you pretended to hate your pet name.”
“I do hate it.”
“Now you beg for it. Like your ego finally clued in and said it’s allowed. Call me baby again, sweetheart. I dare ya.”
My hips wriggle and my head tilts back. “Fuck you.”
“True or false, Soren? You love being called sweetheart.” His hand pauses when I refuse to answer.
