Page 108 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

His admission catches me off guard, and I feel some of my anger deflate. Still, I hate that he thinks he suddenly understands me so intimately, even if he can apparently relate to this weakness.

No.

Nope.

I’m not going down this road with him.

Instead, I glare at him with my jaw clenched tight. “I don’t need your fucking empathy. Just patch me up and leave me alone.”

He doesn’t flinch at my harsh tone. “I’m not going anywhere, siren. You can push all you want, but I’m staying right here.”

“Why?” I narrow my eyes, my pulse still racing far too fast. “Because you think you understand? You don’t know shit about what I’m going through.”

His eyes harden, but his hands remain gentle as he finishes cleaning the wound. “I know more than you think. And I know you’re trying to push me away because you’re scared.”

“Fuck off,” I growl, shoving at his chest. “I’m not scared. I’m pissed off.”

He doesn’t budge, just continues working on my stitches. “You can be both.”

I fall silent, seething as he finishes. He might be right, but I’m not in the mood to hear it. And I’m sure as hell not ready to admit it. The moment he’s done, I leap to my feet, ready to bolt from the room. But he’s faster than I expect.

His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back. Before I can react, he spins me around, pinning me against the wall. His body presses against mine, trapping me in place.

“Let go of me,” I hiss, struggling against his grip. But there’s not much force behind the words. My breath is coming faster, my pulse racing—and this time, it has nothing to do with PTSD or flashbacks.

He leans in, his eyes fixed on mine. “You’re scared, siren. And you’re trying to hide it behind anger and words.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat as he tightens his grip on my wrist. Being manhandled like this should feel threatening, but instead, it’s doing something else entirely to me. Something I don’t want to admit or analyze.

My arousal bubbles up, unwelcome, mingling with the flood of other confusing thoughts and feelings I’m having. I’m aware of my nipples hardening against the fabric of my bra, of the ache building deep in my core.

“You don’t want to be comforted,” he says, his voice low and intense. “You want me to take control. To make you feel something other than fear.”

I try to speak, but he interrupts me, pressing his lips against my neck. His touch is rough, demanding, and it sends a jolt through my body.

His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. The sting of his teeth on my skin makes me gasp, and I can feel him smirk against my throat. His hand slides down my body, reaching for the button of my jeans.

I start to protest, but he silences me with another bruising kiss. His fingers find their way under the denim, stroking me through my panties, and I moan, unable to hold it in another second.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “Tell me to stop.”

But I can’t. Because even as my mind is screaming at me to push him away, my body is screaming the exact opposite—and my heart is stuck somewhere in between. All I know is that I don’t want this to end. As fucked up as it may be, this feels like exactly what I need.

His hands find the hem of my shirt, and in one swift move, he rips it over my head. I flinch at the sound of tearing fabric, but he doesn’t stop.

“Safe word,” he grunts against my lips. “Remind me what it is.”

The word jolts me back to reality—or whatever version of reality we’re currently inhabiting. My voice is hoarse as I force the word past my lips, whispering it against his as he kisses me like he’s trying to devour me.

“Use it,” he insists as he draws back suddenly, his eyes burning into mine. “If you want this to stop. You. Will. Use. It.”

His command sends a little thrill of electricity through me, lighting up my nerve endings.

“I will,” I whisper, knowing I won’t. Not unless?—

“Say it,” he demands.

“I will,” I agree, nodding fervently to make sure he believes me.

He searches my eyes for a long moment, as if trying to gauge the truth of my words.

Finally, he seems to accept my answer, because he pulls me toward his room, his steps purposeful, mine stumbling as I try to keep up.

There’s no time to think, to question, to feel anything but the raw, primal need that’s burning inside me.

He pushes the bedroom door open and gives me a moment to find my feet again.

“Get on the bed,” he orders, and I scramble to obey, my hands shaking as I clamber onto the mattress.

In an instant, he’s on top of me, his weight pinning me face down as I arch my back, wanting to feel every inch of him against me.

A strangled moan escapes my throat, and his hands grip my hips, holding me in place as he whispers in my ear.

“You need to come, don’t you? Bet you’re so close you can barely stand it. So fucking desperate for this. For my cock.”

I don’t respond, but my squirming hips give me away. I’m not usually like this—I like to be in control, to keep a tight rein on my emotions and my body. But Killian has always been able to see right through me, to look right into my soul with those piercing eyes that seem to devour every detail.

“Yeah, that’s it. Move for me.” His lips find the sensitive spot just below my ear, sucking gently, and I gasp, my fingers digging into the sheets. “You’re gonna come just like this, aren’t you? Dry humping the fucking bed.”

I whimper, ashamed of how my body is betraying me, of how deeply he seems to understand the unbearable need that’s consuming me.

“Admit it,” he growls, nipping at my earlobe. “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I…” The word catches in my throat, but I force it out anyway. “I need it. God, please.”

His chuckle vibrates against me, and he presses down harder, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm that has me arching my back and pushing against him.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Just let go. No more pretending, no more holding back. Just feel.”

And I do. Everything I’ve been feeling—the fear, the anger, the confusion—it’s all crystallizing into white-hot arousal. It’s like he’s burning away all my fucked-up emotions with the intensity of his touch, the roughness of his words.

“That’s my good girl.” His hand slides up my stomach, his fingers dancing just below my breasts. “You’re gonna come so hard for me, aren’t you? So fucking hard.”

I can feel how hard he is, pressed against me, and I squirm, wanting to feel him inside me, needing so badly for him to fill me.

“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for anymore. I just need more.

Killian’s hand tightens in my hair, and he pulls gently, forcing my head back to expose the sensitive skin of my neck. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “Not until I say so.”

I huff out a short breath, my frustration building alongside the relentless throbbing between my legs. But I want this, need the release he’s offering, so I force myself to focus on the sensation, on how good it feels to have his body pressed against mine, to let him take control.

I wriggle against him, my hips finding a rhythm of their own as I grind against him. He lets out a low groan, his hips thrusting in response. I can feel his desire, how close he is to the edge, and it only spurs me on further.

But before I can ride out the orgasm that’s building inside me, he pulls me up, positioning me on my hands and knees. I can’t hold my cry of frustration in this time, not when my body is fucking aching for his cock, for my release, for something that will bring me down from this high.

“Not yet,” he says again, his voice firmer now. His hand finds my hair, tugging forcefully, guiding my head back. “You’ll come when I say you can.”

The sting of pain from my hair being pulled shoots a spark straight to my clit.

It mingles with the rush of submission coursing through me.

I need him to take control, to push me past my own mental blocks.

If he doesn’t, I know I’ll keep getting caught in my thoughts, slipping into the trauma, the doubt, and the fear that always seem to be waiting just below the surface.

I need him right now, even though this is the only time or place I’ll admit it.