“Really?” The worry and fear I'd been feeling a moment ago slid off me like a rattler's skin. “Are you sure that's why you followed me up here?”
Killian shrugged. “Sure, that sounds like a plausible reason. Don't you think, ma petite chérie?” His eyes sparkled with wickedness as he advanced into my room, coaxing me to back up until my legs touched the bed.
“I think you followed me up here to offer me your cock in a more literal way.” I grinned, my tongue darting out to wet my lips as I ran my gaze over his form. He was huge, like all the fae bikers seemed to be, but of a slightly slimmer build than both Arlo and Reece.
“And if I did?” He quirked a black eyebrow over one of those glacial eyes. “Would you accept once more? Would you take me as your own and name me Seigneur de L'hiver?” The French words rolled off his tongue, but I understood the meaning without struggling. Lord of Winter.
“Is that what you want?” I asked, genuinely curious as I sat on the edge of Arlo's bed and looked up at the darkly handsome biker who loomed over me. “To be my Lord of Winter? To bond to me for as long as my soul shall inhabit this body? This is no small decision to take lightly.”
My voice had dropped lower, but it wasn't all her. It was us both. While she spoke with knowledge, I spoke with caution. Killian didn't know me at all, and this was not a job one could quit from.
“Does it matter?” he retorted, but without heat. “Le Gardien chooses who she chooses; the men of the Hunt have no say in the matter.”
“This is true,” we said softly, “so why should I choose you, Killian? Show me what makes you a better choice for my Lord of Winter than any other man in the Wild Hunt.”
“Show you?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows. Clearly, this was not the reaction he'd expected. Oh well.
“Yes.” I nodded, my lips pulling up into a sultry sort of smile. “Consider this an interview.” My eyes dropped to the waistband of his black denim jeans, where his hand rested over a skull-shaped belt buckle.
Killian said nothing for a moment, and was probably looking at me, but I couldn't seem to tear my eyes off his long fingers. His thumb was hooked under the rough fabric of his pants and it was consuming me while I waited for him to make a move.
“Interview,” he murmured, half chuckling under his breath. “Very well then, méchante fille. I tell you once more, you can have my cock … if you want it.”
As he spoke, his hands made quick work of his belt, sliding it through the loops of his pants then coiling it around his fist and setting it on the side table. Next, his fly. Flicking the button from its hole then dragging the zipper down, he exposed the straining fabric of his black boxer-briefs.
Then, he paused, and my gaze flickered back up to his face to find him watching me almost expectantly. It took me a moment or two to realize he was waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” I said. We said, our voice full of magic as I accepted his offer. “I want it. Give it to me … now.”
The possessive, almost desperate tone to that ancient voice startled me, but I had no time to question it as Killian responded, putting a palm on my chest and gently pushing me back onto the bed.
I lifted my arms up and crossed them above my head, closing my eyes as his cool hands slid up underneath the long, dark skirt I was wearing. Kill’s palms had scars and rough spots from years of riding his bike and doing … well, whatever it was that a motorcycle club did, but they were also soft in a way, like he cared for himself. I liked that, a man who took pride in his appearance.
“Do you know what temperature play is, mon Gardien?” he asked, curling his long, inked fingers under the waistband of my new panties and making me gasp. I stared up at the ceiling, biting my lip, listening to my heart thunder inside my chest. No wonder I liked sex so much—it was fun. It was invigorating. It was exciting. And maybe … after all those years of being trapped and chained, beaten and abused, it was nice to be reminded what pleasure felt like, that this was my body to do with what I pleased.
“No,” I whispered, wracking my brain for that term. Temperature play. If I had known what it was before, when I was Ciarah O'Rourke, I no longer remembered. “Are you going to tell me about it, Killian?”
“I'll do more than just tell you about it,” he purred, sliding my panties down with an achingly painful slowness, like he was painting a picture of the pleasure he planned on giving me, each careful stroke of his brush adding a new layer to the image. But it would take time to build on it, hours maybe before I could see what all those shadows and highlights were coming together to create. “I'll fucking show you.”
The panties slid over my feet and I raised my head up just enough to see Killian toss them aside. A moment later, the door to the room slammed open and Arlo entered, pausing to glare at me and Kill before he scowled and headed in the direction of the bathroom.
“Not enough to take my bedroom, you gotta fuck in it, too?”
“Clearly throwing you out the window wasn't lesson enough,” Kill growled, the sound like that of a cat, low and unassuming but full of threat. I wondered what it might be like if he were to show his claws? “Show some goddamn respect. Or if the thought of a powerful woman frightens your alpha male sensibilities so terribly, then leave.”
“Leave? I can't leave,” Arlo roared, wet and dripping from his swim in the bayou. “She's already named me her damn Lord of Spring. I'd rather not have the Wild Hunt on my ass.” He stormed past us and tore the bathroom door open, slamming it shut behind him.
“I haven't officially named him,” I told Killian, leaning up on my elbows, the sharp scent of Arlo's anger … arousing me even further. He was like a beast that needed taming. Or mating. I would do either and both with him if he would only calm down. “Shall I let him go?”
Kill snorted.
“He doesn't want you to let him go,” he told me, pushing my thighs apart and dropping his head between them. Since my legs were dangling off the end of the bed, I hooked my knees over Killian's strong shoulders for support, gasping in surprise when the firm, wet heat of his tongue flicked over my clit.
Reaching my right arm up, I blindly grasped for the first pillow I could find and yanked it to my face. Good thing Arlo and I had left the bed messy this morning or else I wouldn't have been able to reach it.
Biting down hard, I curled the fingers of my left hand into Killian's silken locks, the thick ebony strands of his hair smooth against my skin.
“Is this temperature play?” I choked out, swallowing hard and groaning as Kill locked his fingers around my hip bones to hold my thrusting pelvis in place. I couldn't help myself—I wanted to be pressed up against his face. I wanted more. “Because your mouth is fucking hot. Almost too hot.”