otherwise quiet room. She came so hard her vision blurred and every muscle in her body clenched and contracted. And still he didn’t let up, slamming into her again and again.
His control was about shot, though. She could hear it in the hitch of his breath, could feel it in the way his hands tightened almost painfully on her hips.
Had it really been over two years since he’d last had sex? How was that even possible for a man who looked like Killian? Surely he couldn’t go anywhere without getting propositioned by at least a few bang-able women.
And when they were both soaked with sweat, when she wondered if she’d even be able to walk when he was done with her, when her throat felt like she’d been gargling broken glass because she’d been screaming his name so loud for so long, he buried his head in her hair and came with a possessive, intense growl that wrangled another quick, surprise orgasm out of her.
Killian collapsed on top of her with a deep, contented sigh. They stayed that way for what could’ve been minutes or could’ve been hours (did time even really matter when that many screaming orgasms were involved?), him pressing her into the mattress while she ran her fingernails lightly up and down his back.
“So,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “Maybe you weren’t exaggerating. Maybe you do have superpowers of your own.”
He lifted his head off her shoulder and frowned. “Maybe?”
“I mean, how can I really be sure? It was just that one time and all…”
She squealed when he flipped her over onto her hands and knees and gave her ass a sharp swat. “Round two it is,” he growled in her ear.
Which was followed by round three, four, five…
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE NEXT WEEK was a blur of dizzying pleasure. Greer wasn’t technically back on duty yet, so she spent pretty much the entire time naked, sweaty, exhausted, and sprawled across an equally naked, sweaty, and exhausted Killian. Her naked ass had been on just about every flat surface of his apartment…and all the not-so-flat surfaces, too.
Sadly, the arm of his sofa and two of his kitchen chairs hadn’t survived. The washer had a nasty dent in it now, too.
Oddly enough, though, the sex wasn’t her favorite part of their week together. Sure, it was beyond fantastic. Mind-blowing. Life-altering, even. But in between all the orgasms and screaming out her pleasure until her throat was raw, Greer and Killian laughed, talked, and watched TV while gorging on takeout and wine from Killian’s stash that probably cost more than Greer made in a year.
She still giggled when she remembered the look on his face when she’d suggested they watch The Great British Baking Show.
“So,” he’d said, looking adorably confused, “they just…bake stuff?”
“Yep.”
“And you enjoy watching them bake stuff?”
She’d nodded. “I really do. It’s very relaxing.”
He eventually shrugged and said, “Well, if you agree to snuggle up to me while we’re watching, I suppose I can sit through anything.”
Three hours later, when Netflix rudely asked them if they were still watching, Killian quickly—very quickly—fired up the next episode. Ten minutes after that, he muttered, “He better hope to hell he can pull off a decent show stopper, because he was a disaster in the technical challenge. One more soggy-bottomed puff or stodgy sponge from him and Paul will kick him the fuck out of there.”
She’d burst out laughing at the very earnest look on his face. He’d retaliated by tickling her until she was afraid she might pee. Then he’d kissed her and dipped his very talented fingers into the waistband of her panties, and everything got very naked after that.
It was all, well, terrifying, if she was being honest with herself. He was too gorgeous, too kind, too funny, too protective, too everything for her to wrap her brain around. She’d loved her husband with what she thought had been her whole heart, but what she was starting to feel for Killian was way more intense.
She’d survived losing her husband. Hell, she’d thrived without the bastard. If she were to lose Killian…
Logically, she knew that moving on would still be possible. It’s what people did. They survived loss and moved on.
But he’d definitely take a big chunk out of her heart with him wherever he went.
It made her feel so vulnerable. And vulnerable was just not a feeling she was comfortable with.
Women who could fly and dead-lift five thousand pounds shouldn’t ever feel vulnerable. It was unnatural.
Too