Killian

One good thing about being a rock star? Diva moments are not only expected, they’re never questioned. For once, I take full advantage of that as I enter the theater and make my way to the back row to claim a spot. My immense scowl wards off anyone who thinks of joining me.

I’m scrolling through my phone when someone plops down in the seat next to me. Whatever send-off I’d planned to say dies with I see it’s Libby. She’s carrying a big bag of caramel corn and a bottle of water.

“Libs,” I say in greeting.

“I can’t believe we’re going to see The Force Awakens. I missed it when it first came out.”

“My little hermit. When was the last time you actually saw a movie in a theater?”

She stuffs a handful of caramel corn in her mouth before muttering, “Shut up.”

I help myself to some caramel corn…definitely better than movie quality. “You can thank Scottie for tonight’s pick. He’s a massive Star Wars geek.”

“No,” she breathes, scandalized. “That’s so…”

“Human? Yeah, I was surprised too.” I love Scottie. He’s my rock in this business. But the dude is twenty-eight going on eighty. Half the time I expect him to wave a cane and shout at us to get off his lawn.

He’s staked a claim in the middle of the middle row and, like me, is giving anyone who approaches a death glare.

Libby tucks her water bottle into the snack holder at her side.

“Can you believe this place?” With big eyes, she glances around at the fiber optic art on the walls and the massive crystal chandeliers, and at the rows of double seats that are basically meant for two. Her hands smooth over the wide leather armrest at her side. “I mean, reclining loveseats? Shut the front door.” With a little “Whoop!” she hits the button that lifts our shared footrest.

My lips twitch.

“Calm down, Elly May.” I mean it as a joke, but my voice doesn’t quite get there.

Libby stops her gawking and narrows her eyes. “Why do you look all pissy?”

I give her an affronted look before leaning in a little to whisper under my breath. “Whip was considering asking you out on a date.”

Pissy? Yeah, I’m pissy all right. What I don’t expect is Libby’s flush of pleasure.

“Isn’t that sweet,” she says, pleased as fucking punch.

“Sweet?” I hiss. “You like the idea?”

The corner of her mouth turns down. She pokes my side, and I barely manage to hold in my yelp.

“Stop thinking with your dick,” she whispers.

Sadly, my dick isn’t the one doing the thinking. It’s the organ a little farther north, which is now pounding with agitation. I cross my arms over my chest and slump in the seat. Not exactly mature, but this is where she’s led me.

Libby’s pleased expression doesn’t fade but grows. “It’s just nice to be liked, you know? It means he accepts me being here. Besides,” she says, looking out over the room as people finish taking their seats. “I don’t think he was serious, anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure he was.” The fucker.

“Then why is he over there sticking his tongue down that reporter’s throat?”

My head snaps up, and I’m greeted by the sweet sight of Whip making out with the pretty blonde who’s been trying to get interviews all night. Okay, it’s not a sweet sight, and I quickly avert my eyes. But my relief is palpable.

“You know,” I say conversationally, as I kick back, “I want to fuck you right now.”

Libby jerks as if she’s been pinched and sits a little straighter, before getting a hold of herself and slouching as if she’s completely chill. Cute.

She gives me a smirk and sips her water. “And what?” she drawls. “Mark your territory? Assert your manly dominance?”

“Yep.” I slide my gaze to hers. “But mostly I just want to fuck you all the time.”

God, I love the way her lips part as her body flushes with heat. So subtle, but there all the same. It makes me hard as steel, my balls squeezing tight. I don’t look at her but pretend I’m observing the room. The lights are lowering for the movie now, the empty chairs in front of us obscuring our lower halves.

My hand falls to the space between us and smooths along her hip. She delicately shivers as my fingers trace her thigh.

“What about you?” I murmur, toying with her skirt in the darkening room. “You want to fuck me, baby doll?”

“Right now I want to kick you,” she gets out between clenched teeth. “Keep your hands to yourself. There are nosy-ass people everywhere.”

“They’re all watching the movie, not us.” Focusing on the screen, I keep my expression neutral as I ease my hand under her skirt. Her skin is smooth and warm. The movie starts in a blast of music and the familiar old logo as I trace over her knee and up her soft thigh. “And that wasn’t a no.”

She makes a cute growl in the back of her throat, but her legs part just enough to give me room to delve between them. Her inner thighs are hot and damp, and my cock twitches.

The storyline rolls along; my touch roams. Libby remains utterly still, but I can practically feel the tension vibrating within her. When the tip of my finger skims the crease where her thigh meets her hip, her breath catches, legs parting wider.

“Have I mentioned how much I appreciate this new skirt-filled wardrobe?” I whisper, drawing circles along her skin.

“Brenna’s idea.” Her hips shift just a bit, following my touch. “Right now I’m missing my shorts.”

I smile, my eyes on the screen, my fingers drifting to the edge of her panties. “Later, you can put them on and we’ll play Fuck the Farmer’s Daughter.”

She stifles a laugh, which turns to a strangled whimper when I pluck her panties. Her voice goes breathy. “I’m trying to watch the damn movie. I’m not interested in fooling around.” She moves a tiny fraction, nudging against my finger.

In the dark, I grin, heat and lust pulling my abs tight. “I’m sorry,” I say, not sorry at all. “But I don’t believe you. I’m gonna have to check.”

“Killi—oh, hell.”

I’m thinking the same as my finger slides over slick, swollen skin. And it makes me feel like a fucking god. Because I did that to her. I’m the one who gets her this wet. The one she needs. I’m the one she’s panting for right now, moving against my touch with a tiny whimper.

I’ll make it better. It’s my job now. My privilege. And I’ll be damned if anyone tries to take that away.

* * *

Libby

I really should stop Killian. We’re playing with fire, fooling around in so many public places. A reporter just implied that I whored myself to him. And here he is fingering me in a movie theater.

I should protest, but the man is a damn musician; he plays my body like a master, never missing a beat. I can’t resist that. I don’t want to, not when each sure, sly touch sends heat and pleasure shimmering over my skin. Not when I can almost feel him holding in a grin, his shoulder pressed against mine, his eyes on the screen as he oh-so-gently circles my clit.

He plunges a finger into me, and it’s all I can do not to moan and part my thighs wide, ride his hand. I struggle to keep still, keep my eyes on the fire fight playing out in some distant galaxy.

God, he’s too good. Every time he pushes in, his finger crooks, hitting a spot that has me biting my lip. I can feel myself getting wetter, my flesh plumping. Beneath the sound effects and music of the movie, I can hear the sounds of him working me—wet and deep, slow and steady torture.

My head falls back against the seat, my breath coming in sharp bursts. Above the waist, I’m still, my hand only shaking a bit as I take a bite of caramel corn, pretending all is normal. But below, my thighs part wider—the simple act illicit and ratcheting up the tension in me—my hips make small movements, pushing each thrust of his finger in deeper.

Another whimper escapes me. Killian leans in, his lips close to my ear. “Shh…I’m trying to watch the movie.”

The rat bastard gives my clit a flick with the tip of his thumb. I twitch, and he plunges two fingers in deep. My lids flutter, my heart pounding. I’m going to kill him. Soon.

“Mmm…” he says, his thumb continuing to fondle me. “I love this part. Such a sweet movie.”

My breaths are coming fast and light. Heat swarms my body. The fact that someone might see, that we could get caught, intensifies everything.

Maybe I should be ashamed of that, but I can’t be. Not when an orgasm is stealing over me, creeping like a hot hand over my thighs, down my back, along my breasts.

It catches and holds, taking my breath. I stiffen against the seat, practically vibrating.

Killian’s deep voice, barely a whisper in the dark, is at my ear. “This one is mine. Give me what’s mine, baby doll.” Teeth nip my lobe, his fingers pushing up into that spot. “Come.”

And I do. All shuddering, repressed breaths, body shaking, my thighs squeezing against his hand. I come so hard I see stars behind my closed eyes. As I sag into the soft seat, he leaves me with a last, lingering caress—a gentle tap as if rewarding me for a job well done.

I should kick him for that. But I can’t move. He’s destroyed me.

“Jerk,” I whisper without heat.

His shoulder nudges mine. “You can take your revenge later.”

I glance at him then, only when I can finally meet his gaze without showing how much he affects me. His dark eyes glitter in the flickering light. When I try my best to reprimand him with a look, he grins wide. Impossible to resist. I don’t know why I even try.

Taking a quick glance around to see if anyone is watching, I lean in and give the hard swell of Killian’s biceps a soft kiss. His muscles twitch in surprise, but then he sighs, his long body slouching down in the seat.

His hand finds mine in the darkness between us. In a low voice only for me, he speaks one last time. “Baby doll, I could assert my manly dominance, thump my chest, and declare you’re mine. But it wouldn’t mean a damn thing if I’m not yours in return.”