Page 103 of Fraud
“I thought it would be a tribute to those memories. But, ever since I had it brought here, it’s been this constant reminder of everything I don’t have.”
He set his fork down. “I don’t even know where my parents’ dining room table went,” he admitted. “Or any of their furniture. Hell, when my father had to go into the nursing home, I bailed, leaving my little brother responsible for everything.”
“Well then, maybe that’s why we’re here now—so I can help you visit your dad one day, and you can eventually convince me to eat my damn cereal at that table in my dining room.”
A faint smile appeared on his face. “Those are some crazy couple goals, Kate.”
“Couple? Are we a couple?”
He sauntered forward, that cocky grin that seemed to make my knees go weak spreading quickly. “You thought this was casual?”
His arms wrapped around my waist. I could feel his fingers already working their magic as the hem of my shirt rose.
“No. I mean, it’s not for me. I just—”
“You just what? Thought, after I felt all this,” he said, thrusting his hand into my panties, “that I’d walk away? That I would have had enough?”
“No,” I moaned as his thumb circled my clit.
“Because I can guarantee you that I’ll never get enough of you, Kate. Never. You’re the sweet little surprise I never planned on, and damn if I’m not going to spend an eternity enjoying every part of you.”
He made good on his words, both hands returning to my waist for the briefest moment before I was lifted onto the counter. Dishes, pancakes, and everything else were forgotten as my legs wrapped around him, and our mouths found each other.
“You taste like sugar,” I murmured between kisses.
“You always taste like sugar. Fucking everywhere,” he growled as his hands cupped my breasts through the thin fabric of my shirt.
I never grew tired of it.
The constant want, the need.
I awoke, aching for him. I’d fallen asleep in his arms, missing him, and I wondered how that was physically possible. It was addictive.
Hewas addictive.
Plates crashed to the floor as we moved against each other. I tugged at his jeans while he frantically lifted my T-shirt. His hands traveled downward, ready to take over the removal of his jeans.
I slapped them away, causing a deep rumble in the back of his throat.
I had plenty of practice with unfastening my buttons. Buttons of all kinds in fact.
But turn around and ask me to do it backward?
It took a little longer.
Finally, I unhooked the persistent button and freed the zipper along with everything underneath. My pace might have slowed, but the hunger deep within was only intensifying as I greedily unclothed my man.
Mine.
It was a word I used frequently in writing but one I rarely understood.
Until now.
Killian remained still, letting me feel my way around his body. Every inch of him was the epitome of male perfection. I could write sonnets about the curves of his ass or the sounds he made when I stroked his long, hard cock.
“You’re killing me,” he murmured.
Feeling frisky with my newfound power over him, I replied, “I guess you should punish me then.”
