Page 26 of The Final Contract (The Black Ledger Billionaires #5)

I ’ve never almost come from giving a blowjob. Not without touching myself.

But with Killian—his cock in my mouth, his filthy words, the way I made him feel—I almost did.

God, I wanted to so badly.

He doesn’t even wipe himself off. Just slips his cock, still hard and slick from my mouth, back into his pants and zips them.

A tug of his shirt, a shift of his shoulders, and within seconds he looks like nothing happened.

Untouchable. Controlled. While I’m a mess on my knees, panting, my lips swollen, my thighs pressed tight together because I’m dripping for him.

“Come here, baby.” His voice is low—a command more than an invitation.

I’m half pulled, half climbing onto his lap. The moment I straddle him, his hands clamp to my hips, grinding me down against his cock beneath his slacks.

“You felt so fucking good,” he growls, claiming my mouth in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and possession.

The friction nearly undoes me. I could come so fast if he let me move how I want. I know how wet I am—I know I’m about to ruin his pants. And he knows it too.

“You want to keep being my good girl tonight? On your date?”

I nod, breathless.

“While you pretend you want these fucks you’re courting?” His tone sharpens with anger, and the sound makes me gush harder, heat flooding between my legs.

“Yes,” I pant against his mouth.

“You want me to make you come so hard you’ll think about it the rest of your life?”

“Please, Killian.”

I’m desperate now, grinding slow because he won’t let me go faster, won’t let me hump him the way I need. His grip is iron, controlling every roll of my hips, every brush of my clit against his cock. He’s killing me with restraint.

The limo turns, slowing as it pulls into the movie theater lot.

“When you’re on your date tonight,” he murmurs, nipping my lip—slipping into that Irish brogue that undoes me. “I want you to kiss him.”

I freeze. “Kiss him?”

“Kiss him, baby.” His gray eyes are darker now, storms I can’t escape. “Kiss him and let him taste my cum on your tongue.”

A broken whimper tears out of me at the thought—how dirty, how wicked it is.

“Let him get a taste of what he’ll never have.” His hips grind harder, a slow press that makes my clit throb, and I know—he’s going to leave me on this high. He’s not giving me the release I want.

“Let him taste what belongs to me.”

He rests his forehead against mine, his voice softer but no less dangerous. “Will you do that for me, angel?”

The car slows to the curb. My heart pounds. My pussy clenches. And I nod. “Yes.”

His mouth curves into a wicked smirk as he stops my hips dead. The sudden loss of friction makes me ache, my clit pulsing, my body begging.

His gaze drops between my legs, a finger lifting my skirt just enough to give him a view of what’s beneath. My pale-pink panties are soaked, nearly transparent with how wet I am. The groan that rumbles out of him is raw, reverent.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers—just like he did when he was looking at his cum in my mouth.

He slides a finger beneath the damp fabric, stroking between the lips of my cunt. When his nail flicks my clit, I jolt, crying out as a surge of an orgasm threatens to crash—only to fizzle when he pulls away.

My entire body trembles, desperate, needy.

He slips the finger into his mouth, sucking it clean with a satisfied hum.

“Let’s go.”

The limo door opens, and the humid night air hits me as I step out—aching and damp—Killian’s words echoing in my skull. Kiss him. Let him taste what belongs to me.

My date waits outside the theater, bouquet in hand.

I’m just able to apply a fresh swipe of pink gloss to my lips—still tingling from Killian’s dick—when he smiles politely.

Says my name with the kind of reverence men use when they think they’re winning something.

He doesn’t matter in tonight’s game. I thank him, take the flowers, and slip my arm through his.

Inside, he orders us drinks—some overpriced sparkling cocktail that tastes like syrup—and we sit in the dim glow of the lobby bar. He talks: about work, about stocks, about whatever the hell he thinks will impress me. I smile when I need to, nod at the right times, my hands folded neatly in my lap.

But every so often, my eyes wander. To him.

To Killian.

Standing at the edge of the crowd like a shadow come to life. His gaze sweeps the theater, cataloging every face, every movement—the watchful guard. And then—he looks at me.

It’s like being struck. My breath stalls, my pulse leaps, and his promises are there, swimming in his eyes. Mine. Good girl. Kiss him with my cum still on your tongue.

By the time we file into the theater, the previews are about to start. My date guides me to our seats, his hand lingering a second too long at my waist.

The lights dim. The room hushes. The first trailers roll.

He leans in close, whispering a comment against my ear.

His arm brushes mine, testing—casual but deliberate.

I nod, smile politely, though my mind is elsewhere—tracking every subtle shift in the dark.

Killian’s outline a few rows back against the wall, posture coiled, eyes fixed.

Not on the screen. Not on anyone else. Me. Always me.

Halfway through the film, a couple kisses on the screen. Sweet. Predictable. A cue.

My date has been trying to figure out the right time to break the touch barrier, so it’s the perfect opportunity to do it for him.

I turn my head, touch my date’s jaw with my fingers, guiding him to face me. My lips brush his first—soft, grazing—before I open for him. His tongue meets mine, eager, greedy.

But my eyes are on Killian.

He’s watching. And when our gazes lock, I slide my tongue into my date’s mouth, and I nearly come undone. Killian’s irises are so blown they look black, pupils swallowing the steel gray I know so well. His mouth curves, slow and feral, into a smirk that makes heat pulse low in my belly.

Approval. Possession. Pleased with me.

And I realize why. Because he said they’d know I belonged to him. And by kissing my date—just like Killian wanted, the taste of his cock lingering—I’ve made that true. I’m saying I do belong to him.

The movie winds down, some sweeping finale I barely register. I’m too aware of myself, of my shadow watching over me. For the millionth time tonight, I peek back at Killian.

He’s standing attentive now, one hand pressed to his ear. Communicating with Finn, Jaxon, or one of the other guards, no doubt. Business as usual.

But it strikes me that his plan worked almost too well—he distracted me so completely I almost forgot why we were here in the first place.

The stalker.

A shiver runs through me. Is he here? Watching? Sitting somewhere in this dark theater, eyes pinned to me?

As if he hears my thought, Killian’s gaze cuts to mine. He gives his head a slow shake, deliberate. No. He didn’t show.

Relief crashes into me, loosening my chest. But disappointment lingers too—sharp and unwelcome. I want this over. I want him caught. I want to move on.

The lights rise, and people stand, gathering jackets and empty popcorn tubs. My date turns toward me, lips parting like he’s about to ask if I’d like to grab a bite to eat, but he doesn’t get the chance.

Killian is suddenly there, looming, every inch the professional bodyguard. “It’s time for her to go.” His voice is calm, clipped. Business.

But when his eyes slice to mine, there’s nothing professional about it. They’re feral, wild, still echoing with the promises he made in the back of the limo.

He leads me through the crowd without hesitation, a hand at my back that burns through my dress, steering me down a side hallway and out a service door. We spill into the cool night air of an alley, the scent of damp asphalt rising around us.

And then he’s on me.

My back slams against the wall, his body pinning mine, his mouth devouring me. All command, no patience—his kiss demanding everything I have left to give. His weight presses me harder into the bricks, his cock thick and unrelenting against my belly through his slacks.

The world shrinks to nothing but him—his taste, his heat, his promise finally snapping its leash.

His thigh wedges between mine, hard muscle pressing up against me, and I can’t stop myself—I grind down on it. Desperate. Starving.

A growl rumbles from his chest. His mouth drags to my ear, voice a dark snarl. “Such a fucking slut. You’ll use anything to come, won’t you?”

“Yes,” I whine, hips rolling against him shamelessly. “Yes.”

I don’t even see him move, but suddenly his knife is in his hand, the glint of steel catching the alley’s dim light.

My heart stutters, heat flooding me. He slices through my panties with a quick flick, the fabric giving way like nothing.

He tucks the ruined lace into his pocket—souvenirs, just like before.

The flat of the hilt brushes my bare slit, and I gasp, thighs trembling.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging the handle against my clit in slow circles. “So wet, angel, I could fuck you with this handle, couldn’t I?”

“Please,” I pant, clutching at his shoulders.

“Quiet.” His gray eyes cut to mine, razor-sharp. “The car’s right there. Guards just on the other side of this wall. You want them to hear you fall apart on my knife?”

The shame, the danger, makes my pussy clench harder.

He strokes the hilt over my clit—steady, relentless. My hips buck, chasing it, my nails digging into his chest through his shirt. I bite my lip, fighting the moans building in my throat.

“Come for me,” he whispers, calm and brutal. “Be my good girl and come quiet.”

The orgasm tears through me, my body trembling as I smother the sounds against his chest—my clit pulsing against the cool, unforgiving handle. My release soaks him, slicking my thighs, wetting the weapon still pressing against me.

Before I can catch my breath, he shifts the knife, pressing the hilt to my entrance. My eyes fly wide.

“Killian—”

“You can take it,” he rasps, propping his booted foot on a ledge so he can sling my leg over his thigh.

He spreads my pussy lips with his fingers and watches as he wets the weapon with my juices, then carefully slides the handle inside me, stretching me open with a filthy squelch.

“So fucking wet…Christ, you were made for this.”

The intrusion is obscene, raw. My body clamps down around it, every nerve ending on fire. He pumps it in and out, fucking me with his weapon, the steel handle coated in my slick.

“Shhh.” He clamps his palm over my mouth, eyes burning into mine. “Stay quiet while I ruin you.”

I sob against his hand as the second orgasm slams into me—harsher, wilder than the first.

“You’re safe with me, baby.” My release gushes, dripping down his hand, down my thighs, soaking the alley floor. He works the knife, never letting the blade come close to me. “As long as I’m by your side, I’ll never let you get hurt.”

He keeps me pinned there, trembling—still stuffed full of his knife—until the aftershocks leave me weak. He gives me a gentle kiss against my temple, such a contrast to what we just did.

Then he slides the knife free, sucks the handle clean, and wipes the slick hilt across my ruined panties before securing both like trophies.

He doesn’t give me time to recover. He straightens, grabs my hand, and leads me out of the alley like nothing happened. My legs shake as we approach the waiting car. The guards take to their doors without a word.

Killian opens mine, and when I bend to climb inside, he smacks my bare pussy—sharp and sudden. I yelp, jerking forward, heat blooming across my ass and cunt.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmurs behind me, voice dark silk.