Even if part of me didn’t know what to do with that.
I exhaled and leaned in closer, running a fingertip over the bite.
Killian fucking McKendrick had marked me.
And I’d let him.
Behind me, the door creaked open. I caught his reflection in the mirror before I turned—Killian, shirtless, hair rumpled, sleep still heavy in his eyes. He looked softer in the morning light, as though all his sharp edges had dulled overnight.
“You okay?” he asked, voice gravelly with sleep.
I nodded, though my throat felt tight. “Yeah. Just… processing.”
His gaze dropped, taking in the bruises, the mark on my shoulder, the way I was standing.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until he was behind me, his hands resting on my hips. “Too much?”
I shook my head. “No. It was… perfect. Just more real this morning, you know?”
He met my eyes in the mirror, searching for something. “You look beautiful like this. Marked.”
A shiver rolled through me, and I hated how much I wanted to hear that. How much I wanted it to be true. “It was good,” I said, knowing that wasn’t enough to explain the transformation that’d happened when he was fucking me. All the noise in my headhad receded, and for a few blissful minutes last night, I hadn’t needed to think at all.
He took a new toothbrush from the drawer, still half-asleep, and passed it to me. Then, he stepped back, not far, but enough to give me room, his fingers trailing away as if he didn’t want to let go. I focused on brushing my teeth—mundane, grounding, normal—but my neck was burning with awareness. The intimacy of it—the fact he was brushing his teeth beside me at the other sink as if we did this every morning—was unreal. Two sinks. Matching towels. And him, rumpled and real and so close I could feel the warmth coming off his skin. I felt wrong, because now that the ache had settled and the adrenaline was gone, embarrassment was starting to creep in.
I’d asked for it. All of it. I’d begged. And fuck, I’d loved it. But that didn’t stop the second-guessing, the part of me wondering if I’d gone too far. If I’d looked desperate. If he’d been into it… or if he’d just given me what I wanted because I asked.
My eyes flicked to him in the mirror again. He was watching me—quiet, unreadable—but not pulling away. Not judging.
And I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
Killian set his toothbrush down, stepped closer again, and without saying a word, kissed me, softly atfirst, testing—but when I didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his fingers curling at my hips.
“Come on,” he murmured, “shower with me.”
We stepped into the glass-walled shower, steam already curling through the air. The water was hot, pouring over my back as Killian reached for the shampoo. He worked it into my hair with slow, gentle fingers, massaging my scalp, rinsing it out and tilting my chin to avoid getting suds in my eyes.
Then it was my turn. I lathered his hair, smoothing it back and feeling the tension slide from his shoulders. We passed soap between us, washed each other without teasing or rushing, hands on skin with something that felt dangerously close to tenderness.
Still, my head was a mess.
He must’ve seen it in my eyes as I leaned back on the tiled wall. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “I feel… sad, I guess. A little selfish. Like maybe I needed it just to make the noise stop.”
Killian’s expression didn’t change. “There’s nothing wrong with needing something.”
I swallowed, throat tight. “Even when it’s getting my ass slapped raw and begging for your cock?”
“Yes,” he said firmly, stepping into my space. “Even then.”
His kiss came again, firmer now, and when he backed off, I was already sinking—dropping to my knees on the warm tiles, water cascading around me.
I looked up. He was already hard.
I reached for him with shaking hands, but he gently nudged one away and rested his palm against the top of my head.
“Start slow,” he murmured, voice thick. “Take me into your mouth. And touch yourself, Pretty. I want you to come like this.”
