by Cecy Robson
My hips swiveled, unable to keep still from the ache growing between my legs. “Are we going back to the house?” I managed.
Killian released a slow breath. “I thought we could talk about what happened.”
“Just talk?”
His head jerked to me. I wasn’t sure what he caught in my expression or posture, but he knew I was aroused and how badly I wanted him. “Oh, fuck,” he growled, returning to focus to the road.
The bulge in his shorts strained against the fabric. I dug my nails into the edges of my seat, trying to keep it together. Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did. But I couldn’t hold back, not then. “I really want to pull down your shorts…and put my mouth on your—”
“Sofia,” he rasped, “I’m two seconds away from losing control of my truck. Unless you want me to crash into the nearest building, don’t talk about what you want to do to me.”
My breathing turned painful. “Sorry—”
“And I won’t talk about how bad I want to come inside you,” he whispered.
Chills rocked my body, causing me to tremble. I lowered my eyes, squeezing the lids tight. Every female body part tightened. My excitement soared, forcing me to clench my teeth, to keep from moaning.
The brakes screeched as Killian veered into his neighborhood. I stumbled out when he pulled into his driveway and slammed the emergency brake on. Everything south of my waist hurt and I struggled to walk.
Thanks to the traffic and my surging libido, that was the longest eight-minute drive of my life. I reached the front door, looking back as Killian made his way up the steps, his breaths tortured. I hurried in when he unlocked the door, ripping off my sports bra before he finished slamming the door shut.
He was pulling off his shirt when I tugged down his shorts and hauled him to my mouth.
Deep. That was how I took him.
Killian fell back against the door, swearing, his grunts agonized. I kept going, taking the time I needed, knowing what I was doing was driving him to the edge.
My mouth and lips worked him, from the tip to as far as my throat would allow. My hands were busy, too, stroking and playing, cupping gently until I heard the roar that accompanied his release.
For the first time, I finished him with only my mouth. I continued to move slowly, wanting to keep him aroused, not wanting our time to end.
I thought he’d let me play a little longer. Instead Killian lifted me and yanked off my shorts and panties. I wasn’t prepared for him to wrench me to his shoulders. But he did, remaining standing while he shoved us back against the foyer wall.
I screamed in total bliss, my hands slapping and scratching the smooth plaster. There was no way to hang on, nothing to grip while his lips sucked hard and his tongue flicked and teased.
Killian groaned against me with the first and second orgasm he drew from me. At the start of the third, he pulled me from the wall and slid me down his body. My legs wrapped around his waist as his fingers slipped between us to circle inside me.
My spine snapped back, my whimpers turning into swears.
Killian carried us up the steps, cradling my head when we fell halfway up. “We’re not going to make it to bed,” he gasped. “I want you too damn bad.”
I knew what he meant and unfastened my legs from around his waist, allowing my knees to fall open and inviting him in. And although I was ready, I jolted when the head of his erection smoothed against my throbbing skin.
“God, Killian,” I moaned, urging him closer.
He eased inside of me and began to pound.
Killian had told Wren and Finn that he’d return to the gym later. Instead, we spent the remainder of the day and night in bed.
Chapter 21
I looked up from my schoolwork when I heard Killian’s truck pull in and kept my eyes on the door until he walked through. His grin widened when he saw me sitting at the dining room table with my work spread out in front of me.
He shut the door behind him as I rushed into his arms. “Hey, college girl.” He lifted me and kissed me, his hands skimming down to my backside.
I broke our kiss and stroked his dark hair. “I missed you today.”
He nibbled on my chin. “I missed you, too. How was class?”
I shrugged. “Okay. I’m glad I can do most of the work at home. As nice as Villanova is, I’d rather get my stuff done here. How was your day?”
He lowered me to the floor. “Shitty. You weren’t there.” He zipped out of his heavy leather jacket and hung it in the closet. “I had to handle all the whiners and asshole merchandise people on my own.”
“They’re not so bad.” I linked our fingers and led him into the kitchen.
“That’s because most of those pricks have crushes on you.” Killian huffed and reached inside the fridge for the pitcher of iced tea. “I swear to Christ, if that asshole from the T-shirt place asks me one more time if we’re still together, I’m going to beat his ass.”
I snagged the pot of stew I’d made from the stove and set it on the table. February in Philly was just plain miserable. Having something hot to eat every night was the only thing that made it semi-tolerable. “I think you’re exaggerating.”
“No. I’m not. They’re monstrous pricks—especially the T-shirt idiot.”
Killian filled two glasses with iced tea while I pulled the rolls out of the oven. “Billy is probably just making conversation,” I told him.
He sat, resting his forearm on the table and scowling. “No. Billy makes any excuse to call. Billy can’t keep his eyes off your ass when he shows. Billy wants to ask you out again. And if Billy does, I’m knocking his teeth in.”
The blush creeping its way into my cheeks told him that, yeah, I might have noticed Billy giving me the eye once or twice. I poured some stew into his bowl. “Don’t worry about him.”
“I’m not worried. But he should be.”
I giggled. “Here. Let me know what you think. It’s something I haven’t made in years. If you don’t like it, we’ll order in from Pappy’s.”
Killian took his first bite. “Mmm.” That bite was followed by several more. It wasn’t long before his bowl was halfway empty. “Babe, this is so good.”
I wiped my mouth. “You like it?”
“Yeah. What is it?”
“Ajiaco. It’s Colombian chicken-and-potato stew.”
“This is Colombian?” He smirked. “What are you doing cooking Colombian? You trying to piss your people off?”
“You know that I would never intentionally offend anyone.” I filled his bowl again and added another small amount to mine. “Mrs. Gomez taught me how to make it a few years ago. Since I’ve been boring you with the same food every night, I thought you were due for a treat.”
He rubbed my shoulder. “You haven’t been boring me. With my Vegas fight coming, protein is all I can eat.” He took another bite. “That said, this is really hitting the spot.”
“Well, there’s lots more where that came from. The recipe was for eight since there were so many kids in her family. I didn’t realize at the time and made too much. I ended up giving some to the neighbors across the street.”
“The Kellys?” He chuckled at my nod. “Good. Mrs. Kelly gives me garlic soda bread every Saint Pat’s Day. She’s a nice lady.”
“She seemed very thankful.” I paused before continuing. I hadn’t told Killian that I’d been feeding Norman Kessler and his family sporadically over the past few months, but now seemed as good a time as any to tell him. “The Kesslers were very grateful, too. I went down to Norman’s house and gave them a pot.”
My voice trailed. Killian gripped the spoon in his hand hard enough to bend it. I knew he wasn’t fond of Norman, but I didn’t expect my attempt at kindness to upset him.
He pushed up from the table and stormed away, disappearing into the cellar and slamming the door shut behind him. For a moment, I just sat there, stunned. The hard pounds to the heavy bag and the grunts that followed lured me downstairs.
&nbs
p; I opened the door to the cellar and carefully walked down the old wooden steps, my eyes widening with how vicious his strikes and kicks to the bag were. I sat slowly. Most people would have steered clear of Killian then. Every movement and flex of muscle demonstrated the pure lethality of his body. But I wasn’t most people, and I didn’t dare leave him like this.
He gave the bag one last brutal bash and then looked at me, pointing an accusing finger at me. “I don’t want you anywhere near Norman Kessler again—not near his house, not even in his fucking neighborhood. I don’t even want you talking with his goddamn family, you hear me?”
Killian wasn’t asking me to do something, he was ordering me. Something he’d never done before.
Trepidation dug its way into my skin. Something was very wrong. I crossed my arms, trying to shield myself from the horrible sensation snaking its way into my chest. “Why?”
“I just don’t want you to,” he said, his tone vicious. This time, he didn’t look at me.
He returned his attention to the heavy bag. The chain rattled and the drop ceiling shook from the strength behind his hits. “Killian?”
He ignored me, kicking the bag in reps of twenty with his right leg before switching legs. I waited until he stopped, knowing I couldn’t let this go.
“Killian, please look at me.” When he wouldn’t, I softened my voice further, trying to keep it steady. “Sweetie…you can’t act this way, and say these things to me, and not tell me why.”
Killian faced the heavy bag like he would an opponent, breathing hard from his assault and from his anger. For a long moment, I didn’t think he was going to speak. As much as I felt that I deserved the truth after how he’d spoken to me, I wouldn’t force him to explain, nor would I leave him. His clenched jaw and stiff shoulders demonstrated that I had to stay. He needed me then, even in his silence.
Finally, he spoke, his deep timbre harsh. “You know how back in the day Norman used to help out in the church all the time—at the holiday functions and the parties for little kids?”
My response was almost inaudible. “Yes.”
“Well, there was a reason he liked being around all those kids, especially the little boys.”
My spine straightened as his words sunk in. Oh my God.
“He cornered a lot of the boys.” Killian looked down and let out a long breath before continuing. “Some, like me, got away before he could do too much. Some weren’t so lucky.”
Horror twisted my gut. Norman had…had…Oh, Jesus.
Killian opened his eyes, fixing his stare on the bag. “There was some talk around us boys. We all knew about him, knew to avoid him, but no one ever said anything. We were boys. We were going to grow into men. Men didn’t let shit like that happen to them, right?”
My eyes stung. “Killian…”
He wouldn’t look at me. Maybe he couldn’t. Yet I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. He forced the words out, and every emotion that came with them.
“Father Flanagan began to suspect something was up. He asked Norman not to come back to the church. Father tried talking to some of us, but since none of us said anything, nothing was done. We thought Norman wasn’t coming back. We thought we didn’t have to worry about him anymore. But we were just stupid kids and Norman wasn’t done yet.”
Killian’s tone took on an edge that I’d never quite heard. I thought it frightened me more than anything else he could have said.
But I was wrong.
“Ma was working at the dry cleaner’s. Papa was probably at his girlfriend’s. Me and Wren were at home watching TV, fighting over the remote. She wanted to watch some NASCAR thing, I wanted to see the fights. Finnie had been outside playing with some other kids from the block. I wasn’t sure how long he was out there, but when he came in, he was crying. Me and Wren thought maybe he fell or something. But when I saw his face, how white it was, I knew something had happened to him.”
Killian continued to stare at the heavy bag. Despite the brightness of the cellar lights, his face grew deathly pale. “Finnie was one of the boys who didn’t get away, Sofia.”
Tears spilled from my eyes and my hands began to tremble.
Killian swiped at his face. “Wren stayed with him. I went around the neighborhood and knocked on a few doors. Each house I hit belonged to a boy who got to know Norman up close and personal. I didn’t have to say much. All I said was that I was going to pay Norman a visit, and asked if they wanted to come with. Before I knew it, there were four of us, then six, then nine, then more. I was about fourteen. The youngest maybe a year behind me. We were headed to Norman’s house when we saw him walking back from the store.”
Killian took a swing at the heavy bag, and another, and another. He paused, glaring at the bag, his jaw set tight. “We dragged him into the alley and made sure he never hurt another little kid again.”
He resumed his strikes to the bag, each one harder than the next. For as much as he’d swung and kicked before, his anger kept him strong, restoring any energy he’d expended.
I watched him for a long time before speaking. “The man who raped me got married last year.”
His head whipped in my direction, his expression stunned.
“I-I saw his picture in the paper,” I told him. “He married some wealthy socialite he met at Dartmouth. He works on Wall Street. They looked happy, holding each other. All smiles, you know?”
Killian didn’t speak, waiting for me to finish, and there was a lot more I had to say. “My brother went to prison for beating him up after what he did to me. I spent the first two years after the assault punishing myself, and the last few afraid of my own shadow. On my worst days, the memory still haunts me. On my best, I forget. But it’s always there, and always will be.” I stood and brushed off my skinny jeans. “This man gets to marry a pretty girl, smile in his wedding photo, and go on with his life, pretending like he’s never hurt anyone.”
I crossed my arms as I felt Killian’s fury resurface. “You know what that taught me?” I asked him. He didn’t answer me, but I wasn’t expecting him to. “As angry as it made me, as unfair as it all seemed, it taught me that if he—this monster—gets to have his Happily Ever After here on earth, then the rest of us, the good ones who are left, deserve to have one, too.”
We gazed at each other for a long while. The words we’d spoken and the truth we’d spilled lingered in the air, making it hard to breathe…until it dissipated and became part of a past that we couldn’t change.
I took a deep breath and turned to walk up the steps, pausing when Killian spoke. “Sofia…”
He was going to say I couldn’t tell anyone anything. I knew him well enough to know that that was what he was asking me. I met him square in the face. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you, no matter what. In the meantime, I didn’t hear anything. The only thing I know is that Norman Kessler got off easy.”
I returned to the kitchen and dumped out the ajiaco. As I scrubbed the pot clean, I knew I’d never make it again.
I ordered pizza and wings from Pappy’s and called Killian up from the cellar when it arrived. We ate it in front of the flatscreen while watching a Rocky marathon.
Killian didn’t speak until we were done eating. His arms circled my waist and he drew me to him. “Do you think I’m damned?” he asked.
I didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“Even though I fucked someone up, and I don’t regret it?”
My finger trailed over his tattoo of the Archangel Michael. “God can’t always be with us. Sometimes He sends His angels.”
“I’m no angel, Sofia.”
“You were Finn’s avenging angel, just like my brother was mine. You and Teo saw that justice was served when Finn was too small to fight, and I was too broken.” I lifted my chin and kissed him. “You can’t be damned, Killian. Heaven needs men like you and Teo.”
In the silence that followed, I let my head fall against his shoulder. I’d meant what I told him, that we all deserved a Ha
ppily Ever After. As I cuddled against him, I hoped that I had found mine with him.
Chapter 22
“Are you sure this shit’s going to look right, Sofia?” Seamus scratched his thick head of hair, his attention bouncing from the black marble tile floor to the white claw-foot tub and back to the deep burgundy paint I was smearing on the wall so he’d know what to paint it. “What’s wrong with just black and white?”
I put the paint can down. Killian’s brothers had about as much imagination when it came to color as Killian did. “You didn’t like the rust color downstairs when you first saw it, now you do.”
“That’s because it looked orange when I first saw it.” He frowned. “Orange should just be something you eat, you feel me?”
Gracious. “It’ll be fine, Seamus.”
Finn laughed from his spot in the bedroom. The slate blue was coming along nicely. With him and Curran working as fast as they did, the bedroom would be finished by dinner.
I hurried downstairs, passing Wren and Molly as they touched up the walls in the open hallway and then Angus and Declan as they added the final strokes to the foyer. We’d primed all the walls the previous Saturday and painted the kitchen, living room, and dining room the next day. Once we finished today, only the spare bedrooms and bathrooms would be left. But they would have to wait until we returned from Vegas.
I climbed the ladder positioned at the center wall of the open foyer. “What’s that you’re working on?” Declan asked.
My hand moved carefully. The last thing I wanted was to mess up the finer details. “Your family coat of arms.”
“No shit,” Angus said. “Hey, Sofe, do you think you could paint one over my doorway? Molly would like that.”
“I don’t want that over the doorway!” Molly yelled.
“Why not?”
“That’s my dead grandma’s spot. What I want is new paint on the walls. What Sofia did looks nice—I want her to pick the colors and add a little class to our place.”
