Page 51 of The Final Contract

My fingers find her panties, damp silk clinging to her. I press against her, feel the heat. She presses back, a small sound breaking in her throat.

“You’re wet,” I murmur. “But not for him.”

“Yes,” she snaps back, chin high. “For him.”

I smirk. “Liar.”

I push under the band, thick finger sliding through her hot cunt. She ignites instantly, her hips betraying her even as she glares at me.

“Stop pretending,” I rasp, circling her clit, working her fast enough to have her panting. “Your body already knows who it’s for.”

Her hand fists in the front of my shirt—not pulling me closer, not pushing me away. Just holding on like she can’t decide which lie to tell.

I play her mercilessly, pressure building tight in her. She moans, sharp, then bites her lip to smother it.

She’s close. I feel it in the way she trembles, the way her hips buck for more.

And just before she can fall, I pull back.

Her eyes fly open, blazing. “Killian?—”

I smile, slow, cruel. Slide my hand down her thigh like I never touched her. “Not until you admit it.”

“Admit what?” Her voice is ragged.

“That you wanted me. That all of this—” my fingers press into her again, teasing, withdrawing “—was never about Hall. It was about getting me to break.”

She shakes her head, stubborn, breathless. “No.”

I plunge back between her legs, working her hard and fast. Her moans echo in the tiled room, raw and helpless.

And again, just before she tips over, I stop.

She’s shaking now, furious, desperate, lips parted like she’ll scream.

I lean in, mouth brushing her ear. “You’ll say it, angel. Sooner or later. Because I’ll keep you right here, begging and dripping, until you do.”

I drag my mouth up the column of her throat, tasting sweat and champagne. When I reach the soft place beneath her jaw, Isuck hard enough to mark her. I want anyone to see she can’t belong to them.

My fingers work her faster, deeper, until she cries out, arching her back, one leg kicking wide to give me more.

“Killian—” she gasps, voice breaking.

Her head tips back, lips parted, eyes wild. “Someone could see,” she warns, a desperate whisper.

I grin against her skin. “Let them. Make your peace with God now, angel. Because when I’m done, you’ll be screaming my name while you come on my hand.”

Her breath stutters, her hips grinding down onto my fingers, and I know she wants it. I can feel her unraveling, feel the truth in the slick heat soaking my hand. My mouth hovers over hers, so close we’re breathing the same air.

She teeters, right there at the edge—and she calls it out. “Yes—yes, it’s you. I wanted you.”

That’s all it takes.

I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her confession. My tongue drives into her, ruthless, claiming, erasing any trace of that bastard Hall she let near her tonight.

She shatters. Loud. Her cries ricochet off the marble walls as her pussy clenches around my fingers like a vise. She grinds against my hand, holding me there, milking every ounce of her release while I keep her pinned to the counter.

“That’s it,” I rasp against her lips, still working her with relentless precision. “Make a mess on my hand like a good little slut. So wet for me you can’t fucking lie anymore.”