He had the least amount of ink compared to his brothers.
On his right rib, there seemed to be a kneeling angel, her face nearly hidden, but even I could tell it was sorrowful. I frowned, marveling at the meaning behind the tattoo. My eyes moved to his other side, to the Celtic cross on his left rib, then up to the black and white floral design on his biceps. The piece was just as complicated and beautiful as the man who wore it. My gaze went down to his left wrist. Roman numerals. I didn’t know what the numbers were or their significance, and I didn’t want to ask him. The last thing I needed was to peel back any more layers to reveal the man he was.
But all my marveling came to an end when he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his joggers, along with his boxer briefs, freeing his impressively huge cock from its confinement.
My mouth went dry.
I shouldn’t feel like this, especially since he tracked me just last night. Especially when I’d vowed I would never forgive him.
I bit my lips, hating the turmoil I was in.
I shouldn’t be feeling this way about him. For his brothers. He was one of my three captors. That should have meant something.
But the words held no weight in my head, bouncing from one corner to the next like a dejected balloon just before losing air completely.
Killian walked over to me and held out his hand.
Only a moment of hesitation lasted before I placed mine in his, wondering if it was wrong for me to love the size difference between us.
I shouldn’t.
Our size difference meant he had power, and I was powerless… helpless.
I let him lead me into the shower, the warm water hitting my skin and eliciting a small sigh from me.
Killian watched me for a beat before he grabbed my shoulders and hauled me closer to him. I went willingly, only this time, I wasn’t sure if it was because I was too exhausted to fight, or too…weak.
My lips trembled in defeat, and he stared down at me, a frown overtaking his beautiful face, twisting him into someone I didn’t recognize. He almost appeared guilty.
He bent down and kissed the space where my shoulder met my neck, gliding his lips slowly over the skin before pulling the sensitive flesh in between his lips and sucking on it.
I gasped as he kept up the torture, marking me and making my body physically respond to him. Heat and wetness pooled between my legs, and I needed him to do something about it so badly that I nearly begged.
He pulled away before I could, and I let out an internal sigh of relief. I watched as he reached above me for the shampoo bottle, and I was surprised when he squirted a generous amount into his palm before rubbing it into my hair.
A groan escaped my lips as he massaged the shampoo into my hair.
I didn’t think a man like Killian could be gentle, but he was with me.
He continued to clean me at a relaxed pace, leaving no part of me untouched. But for the first time, he didn’t touch me in a way that signaled sexual attraction. It was with something much more dangerous.
Affection.
Even when he cleaned between my legs, he didn’t linger longer than necessary. His touch seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. Intimate, but not sexual. Yielding but not soft.
Just somewhere in the blissful in-between.
Impactful.
I was still feeling the effects of it even after he finished. I leaned against the shower wall and watched him clean himself up quickly and with less care.
The water turned off, and the cool air from the room blew in, caressing my skin when he opened the door.
He wrapped me in a large, fluffy white towel before I could utter a word or help him. As if I was incapable of doing so myself, or perhaps he just needed this. He didn’t grab a towel for himself, his body dripping wet, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes track the droplets of water down his bronzed, muscular body before bringing my eyes back up to his once more.
We stared at each other for a moment, the air between us filled with a pregnant, poignant pause.
His eyes were unreadable.
