Page 51 of Fragile Facade
Brady’s body slumps to the floor, and as soon as his head thumps off the floorboards, it’s like the starting gun of a race has gone off. With a dead body between us—the ignition switch flipped—our chemical reaction takes a moment to build, and when it combusts, it feels like the violin sounds.
It’s angry harmony and contrasting notes of emotion, and I drink it down, breathe it in, and brace for madness.
With one twitch of his jaw, it happens. We combust. I lunge for him and he lunges for me, a clash of pain and pleasure over a body that does nothing but get in the way after serving its purpose. Riot’s hand wraps around my throat again, but I’m already coming at him with a trajectory that won’t be stopped. Our mouths slam together in a bloody mess of teeth and tongue, snarling lips and ragged groans that add to our music.
I come alive.
And now it’s time to force him to control it.
His teeth cut into my bottom lip, drawing more blood, but his wolfish moan breathes vitality into my very core. Every part of me surges with a current so forceful I don’t know how to contain myself. It doesn’t matter. Because Killian does it for me.
Killian.The real him.
His fingers squeeze the pulse points in my neck and mine tug at his hair. Brady’s arm and hand bones snap beneath our feet, and when Killian trips over his half-down pants, he does it with purpose, using his trajectory to move me.
“You fucking cheater,” he snarls at me, pushing me backwards until I stumble over Brady’s torso. My back slams against the wall of the foyer, the plaster and drywall too weak to hold up against Killian’s assault, and when he comes at me, I swear he pushes methroughthe wall.
“Don’t be a sore loser.”
“The only one who’s gonna be sore out of all this, sweetheart, isyouwhen I bloody up that tight hole.” He slams my head back, and I see stars as drywall dust floats around. “Someone who won’t stop when you say no, right?”
Oh fuck. He remembers. I knew he would, but I don’t want him knowing I’m pleased by this because it’ll convince him he’s winning when I’m the one who’s in the lead. I laugh against his mouth, hysterical and heinous, but my laugh dies when he grabs my cock and squeezes so hard I cry out in pain.
My eyes water. When he leans back to look at me, he notices, and I enjoy the way he admires me while water leaks through all my over-glued cracks. Power rises, and I shove at his chest, unwilling to just succumb to this like some little bitch. I want him to fuckingtakeit. Because it isn’t in me to surrender on purpose.
He squeezes my cock harder as he stumbles backwards, but when he loses his grip, his pants and Brady’s body take him down. He lands on top of the dead city boy, kicking his shoes and pants all the way off as I stalk towards him with my hard dick in my fist.
“You can do better,” I step forward. “I didn’t pick you only for you to give up once the final play has been made.”
With his pants off, he sweeps his leg in an arc and takes me out at the ankles. I crash to my knees, and he climbs atop me, pushing me back and pinning me down with Brady’s shoulder digging into my spine.
“You think the final play has been made?” He rips the buttons of my shirt open, finding blood leaking down my chest from my shoulder stab wound. “We’re barely past round one.”
When he leans down, I expect him to bite me. Hurt me. Push me. Something volatile and dangerous, but instead, he swipes his tongue through my blood until it coats his lips and mouth. Sitting upright with my wrists pinned to the floor, he smiles at me with bloody teeth, looking beautifully disjointed and hot because of it.
My lips part, panting through this swell of need, unsure what to do. I’m tempted to ask for the ninety seconds because I feel so out of sorts, but this level of discomfort is so wanted that I suck in air and concoct my next move. Getting off my back is number one because no one, not even Killian fucking Hallows, gets me on my back.
I buck my hips, but he only laughs, drawing my attention to his mouth again. Gathered on his tongue are spit and blood, and I hesitate, watching it drip down his lips. I bite mine in anticipation, and then Killian leans back, spitting that bloody mixture straight onto my cock.Then his own. Like he’s washing Brady’s saliva away with my blood and his spit.
I don’t moan or groan, but a harsh inhale that is equal parts arousal and rage comes from between my lips. Killian crushes his mouth to mine to devour the sound while his hand spreads the bloody spit down my cock. I buck again, fucking his fist becauseI’mthe one in charge. The glide is smooth, but his grip is tight, and every ounce of pleasure is met with an equal part of pain.
Everything disappears. The house and the foyer and the dead body I’m crushing. My attention fine-tunes to his hand on me and my mouth on his. Biting his tongue and drawing a rush of copper, I stop fortifying my cracks and let them come apart. My glue dissolves, my puzzle pieces scatter, and my foundation splits deeper than it ever has before. When I snap my wrist free from his hold, I use all my strength to push him away until I can get a knee up. The sole of my foot hits his sternum, and he flies backwards.
“Soren!” he screams at me, chest heaving. “Don’t fucking push me right now.”
“Why?” I crunch more of Brady as I get my pants off. “Thought round one was barely over?”
“You don’t want to know what happens in round two.”
I do. Because it brings that same sensation I get when I’m toying with Death. The night he drowned me in the pond on Carnival Hill, the way I swung from his noose at Remi’s shop, and the devastatingly comfortable way it felt to be paralyzed in my grave. The thrill I seek that makes me so diabolically joyous I can’t help but laugh. I laugh now, enlightened while so dark.
“Round two can’t happen until you take it off.”
He climbs to his feet to be level with me as I stand, looking down at his masterfully naked body. “Take what off? I’m fucking bare.”
And harshly handsome. Killian is the embodiment of cynical strength. He’s beauty in an unnatural way and a trap so well disguised no one ever knows they’re falling into it. He’s sexy because of his looks, but he’s sexier because of his ambiance. He doesn’t back up as I step over the body, and he doesn’t flinch when my palm cracks off his cheek.
“This.”
