Kill’s watching me closely, yet his eyes betray nothing. I want to know what he’s thinking. What he knows about me.

“You’re dark, Cilla.” His eyes move to my mouth. Down to the exposed skin of my chest. With one hand, he undoes the belt holding the robe together so it falls open. He looks down at me, at the space between my breasts, at the slit of my sex. His eyes glide back up to mine. “Whose flesh?”

“Herbert Callahan.”

“Judge Herbert Callahan.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. Why? What did he do to you?” he lifts me up, sits me on the counter, pushes my legs wide. Even when he just looks at me like that, with that wild hunger in his eyes, he makes me wet.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You want me to kill a judge but you can’t tell me why?”

“I never asked you to kill him. I said I wanted your help, that’s all. I want to feel his blood on my hands.”

He studies me for an eternity. I reach out to touch the scar on his face. I trace it.

“Did it hurt?”

“I don’t remember.”

I move my hand to his lips. His chin. Down to his chest. Over his powerful arms. He’s wearing a T-shirt today. I pull it out of his jeans, push it up until he slides it over his head and tosses it aside.

“You have secrets,” he says, pushing me backward, opening my robe wide and dipping his head between my legs. “And I want them. That’s why I want you.”

I touch his head, pull it into me, arch my back when he takes my clit into his mouth.

“You want to own everything,” I say, wrapping my legs around his neck. “You want me inside and out. You can’t, though. Not this time.”

He raises his head, meets my eyes. “I always get what I want.”

I push him back between my legs. I want his mouth on me. “Will you help me?”

He dips his tongue inside me before returning to my clit, teasing it, then sucking hard, making me cry out. Making me squeeze my legs tight around his neck as he slides one hand up to my breast, pinches my nipple.

“Fuck,” I mutter, closing my eyes. His tongue is soft, the scruff of his jaw rough, and I come. I come on his tongue as we negotiate murder. I come hard as he tells me he’ll possess me. Own every part of me.

I’m gasping for breath when I loosen my legs from his neck. He straightens, looks down at me, doesn’t wipe his glistening lips. Instead, with one hand, he undoes his jeans, pushes them down. He leans over me, thrusting into me so hard, my breath catches. He brings his face to mine, kisses me. I taste myself on his lips, his tongue, and I open for him. He’s rough, fucking me hard, and it’s not long before I’m coming again, clinging to him, digging my nails into his shoulders as he mutters a curse, his mouth still against mine, his breath short gasps as I feel him come inside me, filling me up.

When he pulls out of me, he lays a hand on my belly, holding me down. He’s watching cum spill out of me, I feel its warmth slide down my thighs. He looks at me as I rise to a seat, snakes his hand up my back, to my neck and into my hair and kisses me roughly, drawing me to stand. When he’s done kissing me, he keeps his hand at the back of my head, holds me close, his eyes unreadable.

“Tell me why.”

I shake my head no.

He squeezes his fingers in my hair, making me flinch.

“What did he do to you?” he asks.

I can’t tell him. I promised Jones. Besides, if I did, he’d be repulsed by me and some part of me, it needs him. It needs Killian Black. Needs him to want me.

“Will you help me?”

He releases me, steps back, tucks his dick into his briefs and pulls his jeans closed. All the while, he doesn’t release me from his gaze.

“You don’t want blood on your hands, Cilla.”

That’s not what I expect. Not what I want to hear. “I know what I want.”

He shakes his head. “Tell me why.”

“I told you I can’t. Can’t you help me without asking that one thing? Can’t you leave that one piece of me to me?”

“I’ll kill him for you, I’ll make it slow. Pound by pound if that’s what you want. But you need to tell me why.”

“I don’t want you to kill him for me. I want to take the pound of flesh. Me.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not poetry, that.” He touches my cheek. “You’re not cut out—”

“You don’t know me!” I yell. Kill stands watching. If he’s shocked or even surprised, he doesn’t show it. This man is like a vault, everything locked up tight, yet he wants everything from me. Wants me stripped naked. Laid bare.

I fist my hands at my sides, punch them into his chest. He takes my wrists, holds me there.

“You don’t know anything about me, Killian Black!” I hear how my voice has changed, hear it break. I try to pull free, but I can’t. “I thought you would help me.”

“I will. I already told you I will. I just need to know why.”

I shake my head and this time, when I try to break free, he releases me. I run into the bedroom. His. It’s where we slept last night. But I stop, shake my head, back up into the hallway. He’s standing at the other end of it watching me, so I turn, and I run into another room. The one he’d put me in the first night. I slam the door shut and slap my hands onto my face, press against my eyes.

“Cilla.”

“Leave me alone,” I manage. I’m not screaming anymore.

He opens the door, but I can’t look at him. I run into the bathroom and close the door, sit with my back to it and I cry. I just sit there and weep. There’s no sound, and somehow, I’m calm but I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop the tears and there’s just so many of them, a never-ending waterfall. And even when I know he’s gone, I just keep sitting there, weeping.

I was close. So close. But it’s gone now. All my strength of the night before, it’s gone. That sliver of light, of hope, it’s being washed away by this unending fall of tears.