CHAPTER EIGHT

TONE DOWN THE MURDER

GUS

DRUMMING ON THE STEERING WHEEL OF my rented SUV, I belted out an X-ers song. I was restless with nervous energy and even my enthusiastic performance wasn’t helping.

The day before, after enjoying the most incredible baked goods, Meema had begun to doze. I’d let Killian charm me into leaving the hospital long enough to eat at a real table, but since the restaurant was small, it hadn’t afforded us enough privacy to talk.

When we’d gotten back to the hospital, Meema had threatened to have security escort me off the premises. I’d dug in my heels, refusing to leave when she hadn’t even been awake for a day. Once I’d explained, she’d relented, but with the stipulation I left the following night.

According to her, I was preventing her from snagging herself a ‘young doctor beau.’

Also according to her, I smelled.

In the confines of the SUV, I had to admit, she was right about that one.

Which was why I was heading to Killian’s hotel room to shower. I’d shower while he picked up dinner, then we’d eat in his room, talk, and…

It was at that part my logical brain went to war with my pussy and everything sorta fritzed out.

The battle continued through the rest of the drive, the shower, and even after. It wasn’t until Killian walked in holding more food than the two of us needed that my decision was made.

Lying on the mat in the fighting octagon, my brain was KO’d. My metaphorical pussy was doing a victory lap, holding a gaudily blinged-out condom up as a championship belt.

After the long week I’d had, I was delirious, but that didn’t change anything.

I wanted Killian. Badly.

He turned to set the bags on the small table. “Hungry?”

I was on him before he knew it.

His hazel eyes widened, but he went with it, ducking his head down so I could reach his mouth.

He’d kissed me at the hospital. Often. But they’d been little pecks and stolen kisses.

In the privacy of his room, though, all bets were off. He deepened the kiss, bruising my lips and tasting my mouth.

No matter how good it felt—and it felt freakin’ amazing—it was a tease.

His body pressed to mine with too many clothes between us.

Hints of coffee and smoky honey that lingered in his mouth.

The long, thick hardness pressing against my belly.

The kiss, passionate but too controlled.

It was that control that made me realize it was just a kiss and not a preamble to something much better. I knew when I reached for the hem of his shirt, he’d prevent me from pulling it off. That didn’t stop me from trying or from being frustrated when my prediction came true.

Tearing his lips from mine, Killian groaned, “You’re killing me.”

I shook my captured hands. “The feeling is mutual.”

Lifting them, he pressed a kiss to each palm. “We need to talk.”

Half-joking and half-hopeful, I tilted my head and asked, “About how you’re going to kiss me again?”

He released me and reached behind him, pulling out a gun. He set it on the table. “About this. Us.”

“Okay, but I think the gun goes on the right with the dinner fork.”

“Left,” he corrected.

“Huh?”

“The dinner fork is on the left. Knives and spoons are on the right.”

“Oh. How’d you know that?”

“We’ll get to that. Sit.” He pulled paper plates and to-go containers out of a bag, serving a dinner I wasn’t hungry for.

Until I saw the Mexican food porn spread out in front of me.

I guess I can nibble.

For Killian.

He went through all the trouble, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

I was digging in before he even set the plate fully down.

He fixed his own food and brought his chair around the small circular table so it was close to mine. Angling it toward me, he sat. Like usual, he didn’t hesitate in laying it out for me. “I did time.”

“Okay,” I drawled. Judgmental, sure, but I’d kinda wondered if he had.

His body tightened. “I got busted for boosting drug shipments.”

That was one of the last things I’d expected him to say.

And one of few things he could say that would bring this all to a screeching halt.

“Killian—” I started, the flight instinct I was feeling evident in my cold tone.

His eyes flew to mine, and he reached out to still me. “Not like that, mo chuisle.”

“My mom died of an OD while I was alone with her. There’s no justification you can give me that’ll make this okay.”

His hazel eyes swirled with emotion.

Anger.

Sympathy.

Fear.

He kept hold of my wrist. “I didn’t deal. Swear it. But if you still feel that way after I explain, I’ll fly home right now.” At my nod, he continued. “My dad died when I was a lad. Got in the car, drove to work, never made it there. My ma couldn’t go it alone, so we moved to Ireland and lived with her brother. Handful of years later, we got dual citizenship and moved to the states. She’d always talked about doing it, said it’d been a dream of hers and Dad’s. I didn’t think anything of it. I’ll never forget the moment I figured out she was sick. Sixteen, running with a crowd of fellow delinquents, and we got picked up for something petty. My ma had to come get me from the police station. She was sitting in this god-awful green chair, under this harsh light that kept flickering, and she looked tired. Not just ‘cause of my shit. But because her body was quitting on her.”

I may have been mad—heartbrokenly furious, actually—but I wasn’t an unfeeling monster. “Killian, I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “I was a prick. We got home, and I started in. Demanding answers. Knocking shit down. I was so fookin’ scared. My ma was… I knew she was dying before she grabbed me. Held me. Told me she loved me. Then told me she had chronic kidney disease. She’d had some infections, but she hadn’t shared the details, and I hadn’t asked. I’d just figured it was normal woman shit. She’d moved us to the states after getting accepted into a promising clinical trial, but by that time, it was too late.”

He squeezed my wrist as if he needed the reminder I was there.

And the tether so he didn’t get lost in his memories.

“Even with the money my uncle sent, she couldn’t afford the risky alternative treatments. Doctors visits, tests, hospital stays, meds… It added up, trying to bleed her dry. And she wasn’t the only one,” he practically spit. “A group of them—dying of cancer or kidney disease, or whatever the fook—met in the dingy hospital basement, trading tips and weed as they faced death. Most of them couldn’t afford anything stronger. They lived, day in and day out, in pain. They suffered. She fookin’ suffered.”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, the words seeming empty and useless.

But the shadows in Killian’s eyes cleared at my words and his thumb stroked my inner wrist. “When she… when it was time, my uncle wanted us to move back to Ireland, but Ma refused. Uncle Conor got her into the best hospice center, and one of her good friends got temporary custody of me. We were both taken care of, and she was comfortable. Not everyone’s so lucky.”

“Wait, you were there?”

His brows furrowed. “Aye, the whole time. Where else would I be?”

“Prison?”

He shook his head. “Ma died before I went in, thankfully.”

“She didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Aye, she even helped. But it would’ve killed her to see me locked up.”

If she’d already passed, whatever shady excuse he had to be involved with drugs had nothing to do with her affording her medication.

And that pissed me off because, deep down, I’d hoped he could make it better somehow. That, even though we weren’t gonna be together, at least I wouldn’t have to hate him for what he’d done.

For the poison he’d helped spread.

My tone was harsher than intended when I asked, “If she was gone, why were you still dealing—”

“Told you, I never dealt, mo chuisle.”

“Fine. Why were you still doing… whatever?”

“This was before shit was locked down the way it is now. Ma would find out what people in her group needed, and I had an understanding with some pharmacists. Their doctor friends would send in extra prescriptions that they’d fill without question. Or my lads and I would take a few boxes while they looked the other way. They were covered for the losses and pocketed the cash the patients came up with.”

“Why didn’t they just use that money to pick up their prescriptions the normal way?” I asked, calling bullshit.

“Remember when you were looking at your flight? A ticket that costs a few hundred suddenly runs over a grand when people are desperate. Or when you order a glass of wine at a restaurant. Each bottle holds six glasses. They’re charging ten bucks a glass, that’s sixty they’re getting for a fifteen-dollar bottle.”

The wine lover in me had always been personally offended by that kind of insult and had refused to order it while out.

I’d never even had to think about whether the same practices happened in medicine. I knew people were shitty, but it was extra shitty that they put their wallet above people’s lives.

“So what went wrong with your arrangement?” I asked.

“A pharmacist we worked with retired. By that point, my ma was already gone and we were easing back. Selfish as shit to say, I had my own future to think about. But the guy who replaced the pharmacist came to us, claiming he wanted to help. Said he thought what we were doing was honorable. Then the prick held us at gunpoint while he had his own man boost the drugs. Three of us, seventeen years old and watching our lives get carried away with a fook-ton of shit. Strong shit we’d never touched, and more of it than we’d grabbed altogether. He was set to make bank selling it, and he still got reimbursed for the loss because he told the cops one of us had already taken off with the load. Three street kids against a pharmacist? They couldn’t wait to throw away the key.”

“You didn’t go to juvie?”

He shook his head. “With the kind of load they thought we’d taken, and with us nearing our birthdays, we were adults in their eyes.”

I thought about his apartment. His bike. My first class ticket.

Acid burned my stomach and threatened to come up. “Is that what you still do?”

He shook his head. “Not officially. Shit gets onto the streets because it falls through the cracks. Or people push it. Every once in a while, someone pushes it into my hands so it can get to people who need it. But it doesn’t happen often. And after one of my men used my name and connections to start fencing heavier shit, it likely won’t happen again.”

“You said you do freelance work. What do you actually do?”

“I didn’t lie. All my work is freelance. I’m a private investigator.”

Night of surprises.

The Kool-Aid man could ‘Ohhh yeah’ his way through the wall, and I wouldn’t even blink.

I rubbed a spot on the center of my forehead that’d begun to ache from the emotional whiplash. “As in you follow cheating spouses around for a living?”

“Fook no. That shit’s boring and depressing.” He paused for a moment and stroked his beard as he thought. “Someone—or something—goes missing, people pay me a shit-ton to find them or it.”

“That sounds… normal. Legit.” My tone was filled with disbelief as I added, “Legal.”

“My methods aren’t legal.” No hesitation or bullshit. “People are scared shitless of me because I have no loyalties to anyone but myself and the men who work for me. If I’m taking a job, it’s because I believe in it. Which means I’ll do whatever I have to do. I’m determined.” His eyes heated. “If I want something, it’s mine.”

Damn, that’s hot. Why is that hot? Why the hell is my body betraying me right now?

“That means I’ve done bad things to bad people,” he continued. “I told you, I’m not the good guy, but I’m not the baddest.”

He’s Batman…

Just the darker, gritty reboot with more murder.

And no visible nipple on his batsuit.

KILLIAN

I’m gonna break my word.

Never in my life had I broken a promise. But when I’d told Gus I’d fly home that night if she told me to, it’d been a flat out lie.

She pushed her food around her plate. “So when you left before dinner, something was missing?”

“I was following whispers. But the next day, someone ended up missing,” I said before telling her about Rick, Harlow, and Kase.

Toward the end, she looked pissed, and I worried I’d said something to set her off.

“That asshole!” She shook my hand off hers, and I braced. She didn’t stand, though, just slammed her small fist onto the table. “He was gonna get her hooked on drugs and prostitute her out?”

“Aye.”

“That fucker. Did you kill him?”

“Aye,” I said again, warier.

“Good. I hope you made it hurt. And I hope you kill the in-charge guy even more painfully.”

I wasn’t sure whose brows raised higher, hers or mine. I did know that when her words sank in, her hand flew to cover her mouth and mine dropped to adjust my hard dick before it broke.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean that,” she said, but she was looking at the ceiling. “I’ve gotta get a handle on this pettiness and this mouth.”

There are a lot of things I want to do with that mouth.

“What about going to Ireland for work?” she asked.

“My uncle calls me when he needs my help.”

Lowering her voice like the room was bugged, she whispered, “Is he part of the Irish mafia?”

I couldn’t help but bark out of a laugh.

“Take that as a no,” she grumbled.

“What do ya know about the Irish mafia, lass?”

“I dunno. Real IRA was on Sons of Anarchy, and they seemed like dicks. Of course, TV and movies lied about the tie on the door and the shoulder holster, so clearly I know nothing.”

“The Irish mob is real, but my Uncle Conor isn’t part of it. He works in the government, lives in a big house with a shit-ton of servants, and would probably faint at the sight of blood. Living with him is how I learned to set a table.”

“I can relate to the blood part.” Her head tilted. “Then what work do you do there?”

“Same as here. Sometimes, like the day you moved in, it’s about finding someone. Other times, Uncle Conor has me get the Irish answers before a war breaks out. They know they can trust that I’m not gonna lie or cover someone’s ass because I don’t give a single shit about them.”

“Last time, did you find the someone?”

I shook my head. “But it was his own stupidity that’d gotten him killed.”

She went silent for too long, her hand gestures and eye twitches making it clear she was stuck in her head.

“What happened with your ma, mo chuisle?” I asked.

“She was a partier who’d gotten pregnant with me when she was really young. Even after all she’d put them through, my meema and papa were supportive and loving. The let her stay, helped with me, and went above and beyond. Their only stipulation was she had to stay completely clean.” Gus looked more annoyed than sad. “When I was four, she loaded me into her latest soul mate’s car and we went to Boston. She called Meema when we arrived and told her she was chasing her dreams, trying to be a model.”

“Your nan is smart. She didn’t see through that?”

She shook her head. “My mom laid on a bunch of guilt. Said they were smothering her and she wanted a fresh start. She must’ve been convincing because Meema and Papa would’ve come to get me if they even suspected she was using. Everything was fine for a while, but then she started going downhill fast. I was seven when she OD’d. My Papa had died of a heart attack the week before.”

Gus was a sweet, smart lass who should’ve had an easy life in the suburbs. I’d had no clue she’d gone through so much ugly.

Survived it.

“Meema was happy to have me back and has never bitched about having to raise another kid.” She gave me a wobbly smile. “That’s why I need to stay here. People never let me forget I was the daughter of Bonnie Allan, town druggie. But Meema never let me forget I was Gus Allan. My own person. I can’t ditch her now.”

“Gus—”

“I’m not mad at you. I mean, I was pissed at first, but you managed to find the one way associating with drugs didn’t equal me wanting to kick you in the junk. And I don’t know what it says about me as a person, but I think what you do is cool. I’m hoping you don’t have a confidentiality clause because I’d love to hear about your cases. But it’ll have to be over the phone.”

“That’s bullshit.”

She jerked back before her spine went straight. Raising her chin, she looked strong and stubborn. Pissed and ready to give it to me.

My dick, which had gone down, jerked and hardened along my thigh.

“It’s not,” she snapped.

“It is.”

“No, it’s fucking not!”

Reaching over, I palmed the back of her head and pulled her to me. I paused with my forehead against hers, breathing heavily, trying to gain control.

But she didn’t give me the chance.

Gus pressed her lips against mine.

The kiss was hard. Desperate.

Sad.

Her tongue tried to push in. When I wouldn’t give her what she wanted, she started biting, her teeth scraping and tugging at my bottom lip. I still wouldn’t engage, so keeping her mouth on mine, she pushed her chair back until it clattered to the ground. She straddled me, nearly knocking over the small table.

It fookin’ killed me, but I fisted my hand in her hair and held her to me before finding the strength to tug her away. “Not fookin’ you, Gus.”

“Why not?” she asked, her pout almost as sexy as her fire.

Almost.

“Because you’re trying to fook me goodbye.”

“My meema needs—”

“Bullshit.” I gripped her hips. “Your nan told me if I don’t get you to stay in Boston, she’s taking off to Aruba. She said you’re cramping her style.”

Crossing her arms, she scoffed, but her heart wasn’t in it. “She did not.”

“Aye, and you know it because she told you the same damn thing. I’m also pretty sure she’s got a man over there now.”

“No, she does not!”

That fire in her eyes gets me every time.

I’m gonna get burned, and I couldn’t give a single fook.

“Why’re you surprised? I’m not touring bingo halls for dates, but she was probably talent back in the day.” My hold on her hips tightened. “Betting you’ll age even better, which means I’m gonna be boosting shipments of little blue pills for my own use.”

Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. With her still on my lap, I got an up-close view of the pink spreading across her cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah, I’m honest. And you need to be, too. Your nan doesn’t want you here because she wants you to be Gus Allan. The one who makes petty claims and moves her cute rear to Boston to make it happen. Because that’s your dream.”

“Meema has a big mouth.”

“And she’s a fast talker.”

“I’m not fishing for compliments with this, I swear. I know I’m at least ten percent hotter than an ogre. Five percent if we’re talking Shrek because you know I’m a sucker for an accent.” Her playful smile faded, leaving her looking thoughtful. “Why’re you putting in all this work for some chick you found raving like a lunatic in a hallway a few weeks ago?”

“Because you’re Gus Allan.”

“It—”

“Doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

“And—”

“Not just to fook you.” I gripped her hips harder and pulled her against me so she could feel what she did to me. “Though I’d give my left fookin’ nut to feel you around my dick.”

Her lips parted and she inhaled sharply, making my dick jump. “But—”

“It’s not ‘cause you’re fook-all hot—though you damn sure are. It’s ‘cause you’re also funny. Smart as hell. Messy as shit. But sweet and fearless and wild. Fookin’ perfect. That’s why I love you.”

She threw her arms out. “Will you let me finish a freakin’ sentence? I was trying to say, I know it hasn’t been long, but…” Her words trailed off as her eyes got big. “What’d you just say?”

“I—”

“Killian, that’s crazy. This is crazy. You’re crazy.” Even as she spoke, her smile grew.

“Mo chuisle—”

“We’ve known each other less than a month!”

“Now who’s interrupting?”

She pressed her lips closed before opening them to mutter, “You deserve it.”

“Aye, I do.”

“It’s been less than a month,” she whispered, like I didn’t know. Like I hadn’t paid attention to each day she’d been in my damn life.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” I demanded, my voice low and rough. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you honestly don’t fookin’ feel what’s between us.”

“You know I do. But—”

That was all I needed to hear.

GUS

My arguments flew from my head as Killian’s mouth took mine. Not because his kisses made me stupid, though they kinda did. Not because I was some pliable woman, bending to his will at the hint of attention. Not even because I wanted him so damn badly.

It was because they were bullshit excuses.

I was staying and he was going back to Boston. Distance didn’t mean we couldn’t be together. We’d talk, figure it out, and go from there.

We’d make it work.

Because even when we were only friends, just the thought of saying goodbye to Killian had broken my heart.

I’d known he was hanging with Batman in the gray area. He’d never lied or hidden that. He’d explained the drugs and said he was finished, so I was okay with it. Him being a PI was cool as shit. The murder part…

Tearing away from his kiss, I bit back a moan as his fingers dug in again and his mouth moved to my neck. There was no holding it in when he used his hold to push me against the proof of how much he wanted me.

“Wait,” I panted. “About the… murder. Can you, umm, tone that down a little?”

“Done.” No hesitation.

“That easily?”

“It’s not like you’re asking me to give up scotch and cigars, though I’d do that, too. If you’re off your nut enough to wanna be in my bed, I’m gonna do every-fooking-thing I can to keep you there. I’m not gonna fook up, do something that’ll get me killed—or worse—and give some other man the opening to take you from me.”

There was a lot of good in what he’d said. Things that made my heart full and my panties wet. Still, I had to ask, “What’s worse than getting killed?”

“Getting locked up. Me and confined spaces don’t do well together.”

Okay, yeah, that’d be worse.

His hands skimmed up my sides. “We good now? ‘Cause I’ve been waiting—” He stopped suddenly before finishing, “A long time to feel you, and the longer you’re on my dick, lass, the more my control is slipping.”

I opened my mouth to ask about why he’d paused, but Killian didn’t give me the chance. His lips hit mine, his tongue swept in, and he kissed me like he was trying to memorize the taste.

Like I was his.

When I reached for his shirt that time, he helped me pull it off before doing the same with mine. My bra followed, the soft cups replaced by Killian’s large, rough hands. He squeezed my breasts, teasing his thumbs across my nipples.

I moaned into the kiss before sucking his tongue.

Standing suddenly, Killian gripped my ass and held my pussy against his hardness, stooping to keep our mouths connected. A few moments later, he released me, dropping me on the bed. I hadn’t even stopped bouncing when he gripped the waistband of my leggings—book ones that time—and tore them and my panties down my legs.

Going up on my elbows, I watched as he undid his jeans. When I’d thought about it—and I’d thought about it way too often—I’d guessed he was a boxer briefs kinda guy. But as he shoved the jeans down, I saw I was wrong.

He was a nothing kinda guy.

If I’d known he was going commando, there’s no way I would’ve been able to stop myself from climbing on him.

Even right then, I was about to lunge for him but froze when he wrapped his fist around himself.

His stare seared my skin as he slowly stroked. “Used to think about this every night. Knowing you were in my bed… I’d lay on the couch, dick in hand, picturing you spread under me.”

Hearing he did that, likely while I was thinking something similar with my hand between my legs, was a heady power. It made me bold. Fearless.

Raspy and airy, my voice didn’t sound like my own when I asked, “And now that I am?” The last word had barely left my mouth when I let my legs fall open.

“My imagination was shit and my hand was a piss-poor substitute.” Moving to kneel between my legs he added, “And I’m gonna make sure you never leave because neither one will ever be enough for me again.”

Dropping his mouth to my pussy, he didn’t eat it. He fucking devoured it. Like a man who’d been dreaming about it for a month, he couldn’t seem to get close enough.

Unable to keep myself up on my elbows, I flopped back and clutched the blanket in one fist and his hair with the other.

His thick tongue speared into me as he gripped my hip, using his hold to grind me against his mouth. He shoved his other hand under my ass to tilt me up, his thumb sliding between my cheeks to push against my tight hole.

The hot, unexpected pressure.

His unrelenting tongue.

The way his beard scratched and teased my sensitive skin.

His frenzied, out of control hunger for me.

All of it, along with the fact it was Killian freakin’ Nox between my thighs, had tightness building low in my stomach. Too soon, my legs began to tremble. I wanted to shift away, to let the buildup die because I wasn’t ready for it to end, but I didn’t have that kind of willpower. My back arched, and I unabashedly moved against him as the tension broke.

Shattered.

Tiny jolts of pure pleasure shot through me, making different spots twitch and pulse. It left me feeling light as air and yet totally liquified.

It was amazing.

And I wanted more.

Using my hold on Killian’s hair, I tugged him up my body. He came willingly, pausing briefly to suck one of my nipples, then the other. The blaze in his eyes told me he wasn’t done with me, either.

I leaned up and kissed him, not caring—maybe even liking—the taste of me on his tongue. His cock slid against my overly sensitive pussy, causing new shockwaves each time it hit my clit. I pushed his shoulders.

He immediately went up, his arm muscles thick and defined under the colorful ink. I wanted to trace each cut line and thick vein with my tongue.

But that’d have to wait.

Looking down at me, his eyes were unfocused and filled with so much want. No, need.

And love.

Holy shit, he really does love me.

He hasn’t even had my bomb pussy yet.

I tilted my head to the side. “Condom. Purse.”

Giving me a good view of his sexy ass, Killian grabbed the condom before coming back to kneel between my legs again. He splayed his fingers out on my pelvis, his thumb stretching down to work my clit in slow circles.

“If you can’t tell, I’m ready.” I moaned a little as he rubbed just right. “More than ready.”

“That might be,” he started, pausing to use his teeth to tear open the condom wrapper, “but I can’t stop fookin’ touching you.”

“Oh.” I spread a little wider. “Then go for it.”

“I plan to.” He took his touch away long enough to roll the condom on before covering my body with his. Working between my legs, he lined his cock up with my entrance and eased in.

He cursed, low and rough.

And when he was buried in me, his control snapped.

Shallow thrusts turned into pounding, forceful ones. Even those didn’t seem enough for him. He went up on his knees, giving himself the leverage he needed to go harder. Deeper. His pace was ruthless, like he couldn’t get enough.

It was too much.

The roughness of his chest hair under my palms.

The feel of him stretching me.

The intense way he stared, switching his focus from my face to our connection and back again.

The way his hands ghosted over my skin, the tender touch contrasting with the savage way he fucked me.

My eyes couldn’t stay open. My racing heart wouldn’t stay in my chest. Even my mind seemed to float above us, going fuzzy as I pulsed and tightened around him, coming apart.

And giving Killian all the pieces.

“I love you, too,” I whispered, filterless in my orgasm haze.

Killian froze. “Say it again.”

“Move, Killian.” My hips undulated restlessly.

“Say it.”

“I love you, too. Now move.” The last word stretched, turning into a moan when he did as ordered.

Taking my mouth, he lowered himself against me. One of his forearms went flat to the bed, his hand curling across the top of my head. The other gripped the edge of the mattress, making it lift slightly as he used the hold to slam into me.

Over.

And over.

And over.

Each thrust, with his body tight to mine, ground his pelvis against my overstimulated clit. Yet, I spread my legs farther. My insides clenched around him, greedy for more. Our lips separated, but he didn’t move away. With his back bowed, his forehead pressed to mine, he fucked me. Branded me.

Imbedded himself so deep—in my body, my heart, my fucking soul—nothing else would ever be enough.

That time, as the most beautiful bliss tore through me, I was vaguely aware of Killian’s head pressing against the side of my arched neck, his grunts echoing in my ear.

Harsh and primitive, they sent aftershocks through me.

Slicked with sweat, he gave me his full weight while we fought to catch our breath. When I was able to think about something other than how amazing it’d been, I belatedly noticed I still had him in a death grip, my legs and arms wrapped around him.

I released my hold and starfished out.

When he rolled to the side, he kept his hold, rolling me, too. Our connection stayed intact, and I wound up splayed on top of him.

I’d have sat up, tried to say something sexy or alluring, but I was too tired. Instead, I nuzzled into his neck, gave his shoulder muscle a teasing bite, and mumbled, “S’good.”

He chuckled, the sound and feel rumbling through me, which did perk me up a bit.

For a second.

Then I was goo again.

After a few minutes of basking in post-coital glow, he kissed the top of my head and muttered, “Gotta deal with the condom, mo chuisle.”

“‘Kay,” I muttered back, though I made no attempt at moving.

He lifted me off him and set me on the bed, where I starfished out again, wincing from the ache that’d already begun to develop.

The best kinda pain.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Uh-uh.” Exhausted and spent, my eyes started to drift closed when something grabbed my attention.

Killian padded back to the bed in all his naked glory. All cut lines, thick muscles, and beautiful art, his body was a fantasy. The sculpted vee of his pelvis muscles was practically a neon sign, pointing down to where he was still semi-hard.

And, even just semi, it was impressive.

All this time, I’ve been referring to Killian as a beast when the real beast is in his freakin’ jeans.

Which he’s been wearing without underwear.

With that monster probably running along his thigh.

Ya know, maybe I’m not so tired after all.

“Keep looking at me like that, lass, and we’re not sleeping tonight.”

Grudgingly, I dragged my eyes up. “If that’s meant to be a threat, it’s not a very good one. As Mr. Bigger and Badder, I’d think you’d be better at this stuff.”

His lips curved in amusement, but his eyes went hooded. I glanced down to see his cock hardening.

Yup, wide awake now.

Unfortunately for me and my eyes, the gorgeous view disappeared when Killian flipped off the lights. A minute later, the blanket was yanked out from under me.

The bed dipped, and then I found myself curled on my side, my head on a hard chest, and a soft blanket draped over me.

There was also a large hand palming my ass cheek like a basketball.

I waited to see if it was gonna drift anywhere else, but it didn’t.

Dammit.

“So, uhh, I have a question…” I started.

I felt Killian’s body go tight. “Aye?”

“What’s ‘mo chuisle’ mean? Is it just a standard endearment?”

He instantly relaxed his muscles, but tightened his grip on my ass, his fingertips digging in. “Never said it to or thought it about anyone in my life. My dad used to call my ma ‘a chuisle’, which is like dear or darling. You’re not my darling. You’re mo chuisle. My pulse.”

I was happy for the cover of darkness because I knew for a fact the grin on my face was ridiculous. I worked to keep my voice even when I said, “Oh.”

Killian, apparently being eagle-eared as well as eagle-eyed, chuckled. “Glad that makes you happy, mo chuisle.”

His pulse.

The already strong endearment was that much better knowing it was just mine.

He was just mine.

I dozed on and off for a little before shifting onto my other side, the one I usually slept on. I’d thought Killian was asleep, but he moved, too, curving his body around mine.

Pressing his lips to the top of my head, he asked, “You okay?”

I was better than okay.

Killian was Batman levels of gray, and maybe I was an idiot for being okay with that.

Or maybe my time with my meth head mom had made me see the world for how it was.

Imperfect.

It was filled with liars. Greedy assholes who’d send three seventeen-year-old kids to prison to make a quick buck. Hypocrites who got rowdy in a strip club at night before acting self-righteous in a pew the next morning.

Killian wasn’t any of that.

He was the man who’d rescued me by giving me a place to stay.

Who’d made me a dog person by giving me Nolan in my life.

Who’d bought me a stupidly expensive plane ticket so I could see my meema.

And then bought himself a stupidly expensive plane ticket so he could be there for me.

He knew how I liked my coffee, enabled my obsession with Mexican food, and introduced me to the most amazing baked goods I’d ever tasted.

I’d known going in that Killian was the kinda guy who could shred a heart and take some pieces so it’d never be whole again.

Yet, I’d still given him mine.

Because he wasn’t a liar or greedy or hypocritical. He was honest and giving and real.

Okay, yeah, so maybe he committed a little murder. No one’s perfect.

But he was damn close.

Until him, I hadn’t known life could be so… perfectly imperfect.

Which was why, when I answered his question, I did it honestly. “Better than okay.”

“Love you, mo chuisle.”

“Love you, too.”

Then, with his body wrapped protectively around mine, I fell into a deep, happy sleep.

Because I had a beast at my back.