Killian (On the Line #1) - Brenda Rothert Page 0,57

in the living room. He tugged my hand to turn me his way, putting his other hand on my lower back. It took me a second to realize I was supposed to be moving to the music that was still playing.

“I don’t dance,” I said. “I don’t know how.”

“Shh. I’m leading.”

I bit back a comment about that being my job. The intensity on his face melted me into a puddle. I was in his arms and we were dancing. The fact that I didn’t know how seemed insignificant.

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice serenaded us as he led me around the wood floor of my living room. His movements were smooth and measured. Killian was a dancer. My head was spinning with surprise and relief. He was here. His warm, solid body was pressed against mine and the softness in his eyes told me this was an apology.

The song ended and we stopped dancing, our eyes locked. When a Nat King Cole song started, I laid my head on his chest and said, “More.”

We danced until my playlist ended. By then I felt soothed and comforted beyond anything he could have said with words.

“Are you staying?” I asked him.

“I want to.”

His gaze was on my body now, which was only covered by a short silk robe. He reached for the smooth dark blue fabric on my hip and ran his hand over it. I swallowed hard, drinking in his hungry gaze on me.

When his fingers moved to the tie on the robe and pulled on it, the fabric parted and cool air touched my exposed skin. He slid the robe back on my shoulders and it fell into a puddle at my feet.

The pain and worry of the past three days without him resurfaced. I had to know if he was worth it.

“Have you been with anyone else?” I asked softly.

He pulled back, his brows lowered in a look of surprise. “What?”

“Have you? I need to know.”

He ran his thumb over my jaw line, the tender touch making my lower lip quiver with worry and longing.

“No,” he said softly. His thumb found my lip, running across it gently. “I’d never do that to you.”

I nodded and dove against him, crushing myself into the soft leather of his jacket. He wrapped his arms around me and brushed a hand over my hair. When I tipped my face up to look at him, his mouth was on mine in an instant. This kiss wasn’t soft or sweet. I bit his lower lip and he tugged on a handful of my hair in response. His other hand was on my ass, and he squeezed one cheek so hard I moaned into his mouth.

His body nudged me toward the couch, and I backed up a few steps and fell against the leather surface. His gaze was hot as he pulled off his jacket and then his clothes. I parted my thighs wide, throwing one leg up on the back of the couch and setting my other foot on the floor.

By the time he got his boxers and jeans off, Killian’s erection stood straight. He reached for his jeans and pulled his wallet from one pocket.

“No condom,” I said, a note of pleading in my voice. “I want all of you this time, if you—”

Cutting me off, he leaned his face down to mine. “I want it, too. But not here. In bed.”

He slid his hands beneath my body and picked me up, carrying me into my bedroom. We lay down together, my arms still wrapped around his neck.

He pushed himself into me, making a sound of anguished pleasure.

“Jesus, you’re so wet.” He kissed me hard, still deep inside me. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” I said, my fingers winding into his hair. “I want this so bad, Killian. Fuck me hard. Don’t stop until you come inside me.”

With a groan, he pulled back and thrust into me again. My head fell back and I lost myself in the sensations of his hips grinding into mine, his teeth tugging my nipples, his deep, powerful groans and the minty smell of his hair.

He was close—I knew by the strain in his groans and his tortured expression. His pleasure, and knowing he was about to give me something he’d never given a woman, sent me into an orgasm that racked me from head to toe. I cried out his name as he shoved himself deep inside me one last time, my name a guttural groan on his lips.

When he