Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance (14 page)

A
ll of the
blood in my brain goes straight to my dick as this woman standing in front of me steps forward and flicks the edge of my towel open, catching it before it falls to the ground. Her eyes remain trained on mine as she slowly folds the fabric in half.

"I can apologize better," she tells me as she lays the towel gently on the front deck before falling to her knees. We're not even inside the house. We're standing in front of the door and I'm naked as a jaybird with this woman at my feet this woman who makes me crazy, who seems to have a way of getting under my skin and grating on my nerves and pissing me off. Except that she also turns me on so hard I can't see straight.

"I'm still pretty irritated." That's a lie. I might be irritated later, but right now all I can think about is her mouth. That is the only thing in this entire world that matters.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, wrapping her hand around the base of my cock. I shudder at the sensation of her touch. How many times have I jerked off to the thought of her hand sliding down the length of my cock? Or her lips wrapped around me?

Her thumb brushes over the tip, catching the pre-cum that beads there. As she opens her mouth, she looks up at me with those large blue-grey eyes. When she pauses, my cock so close to her that I can feel her warm breath, I want to freeze-frame this image in my head forever. I've never seen anything as sexy as she looks right now.

Then she wraps her lush lips around me. Her mouth is the warmest, wettest thing I've ever felt, and I want to feel it there forever. As she bobs up and down my length, taking more of me with each pass, I grip a handful of her hair, telling myself to stay in control. I try desperately not to do what every part of me is screaming to do: yank her further onto my cock and hold her tightly while I fuck her sassy little mouth.

I tell myself to be civilized.

This girl is civilized,
I remind myself.
She's classy. And smart.

And she's on her knees, her mouth tight around me, making these little moaning sounds in her throat that send vibrations roaring through me, making it virtually impossible to not lose control.

She takes away her lips, substituting her hand as she looks up at me. "Still irritated?"

I can't stifle my groan as her hand works me. How am I supposed to keep from coming when she's on her knees, looking at me the way she’s doing right now? "Yes," I groan. "Apologize harder."

Lily laughs, her other hand finding my heavy balls, cradling them in her hand as she jerks me off. God, this woman's touch is making me insane. "You're a hard man to please."

Even if she hadn't wrapped her lips back around my cock, I'd have groaned at the way she just talked about pleasing me. "That's it," I encourage her, my fingers laced through her hair.

She moans when I grip her hair tighter, holding her head as I thrust my cock into her mouth. She fucking moans. “Do you like that?”

Oh, hell.
She nods, groaning her approval.

Heat washes over me in waves as I struggle to maintain control. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to fuck your mouth?”

She whimpers, her hands on my thighs, her only response being to pull me closer. Gripping her hair tighter, I thrust into her mouth, this time deeper. I don't stop talking to her, murmuring her name and asking her if she likes it, but I'm not sure what the hell I'm saying because she has me losing my damn mind. It’s not long before I’m close to the edge, and I pull out of her mouth, my cock in my hand.

"Why did you stop?" she asks, her brow furrowed. She licks her lips, her face upturned, and I can barely keep myself from coming on her.

I want to mark her. I want to make her mine. It’s not logical, and it makes no sense, but it’s some kind of primal thing, this urge I can’t control. I want to know she’s mine. "Because I'm so damn close to coming in your mouth, cupcake."

She doesn't take her eyes off of me. She puts her hand over mine, stopping me, and grips the base of my shaft. "Do it."

I groan as she envelopes my cock with her mouth again. There's no holding back now. The minute she resumes sucking me the way she did before, I let go into her perfect mouth. She takes everything I have, draining me dry until I have nothing left.

When she’s finished, she looks at me with a self-satisfied expression. "Was that a decent apology?"

"I can't remember what I was mad about." I pull her to her feet, my hands circling her tiny waist. Picking her up and pressing her against the side of the house, I don't bother with words before I dive underneath her skirt.

I need to taste her. I want to devour her.

So I do. She's soaking wet. If I'd had any question about whether she was turned on by having my cock in her mouth, that question would be answered.

She tastes like heaven. Sweet and womanly and like everything good in the world. I can't get enough of her.

My tongue works circles over her clit, then down lower, entering her as my hands grip her ass and hold her firmly in place. I fuck her with my tongue as she moans and whimpers her approval, and when I enter her with my fingers, my mouth enveloping her clit, she comes immediately. Her hips thrusting against my fingers, she cries out my name so much louder than she did at the bakery. She comes with abandon.

When she finishes, she looks at me, her lips parted and her chest still heaving.

"That was fast," I note, pulling her against me as I stand.

Her eyes are wide as she nods. "I know."

"Apologizing is that much of a turn-on, huh?"

"Don't get any ideas."

"About your lips on my cock or about you issuing apologies?"

"Me issuing apologies."

"That's good, because I have lots of thoughts about your lips on my cock. Highly inappropriate thoughts."

She laughs, the movement vibrating through her. "I'm sure."

"Don't pretend you don't have the same thoughts."

She raises an eyebrow. "About my lips on your cock?"

"Say that again."

The corners of her mouth turn up. When she speaks, she does it with exaggerated slowness, punctuating each word with a breathy inhale. "My lips. Your cock."

"That's it." I slip my palm under the edge of her t-shirt, running it over her taut stomach. "You've been thinking about it, haven't you?"

She blushes. "You're so full of yourself."

"Just like your mouth."

"Just like my mouth what?"

"Was so full of me."

She slaps my arm. "You're really juvenile."

"Yet you're completely obsessed with my dick."

"I am not obsessed with your dick."

"It's okay to admit it. I won't judge."

Lily rolls her eyes. "Is this the mountain man version of foreplay?" she asks as my hand slides around her back. "Adolescent banter and talk about your cock?"

She asks the question like it's something bad, but she's not even trying to hide her smile.

"Well, I don't know 'bout no witty rep-ar-tee," I say, affecting an accent, "but up in these parts, talkin' don't count as foreplay."

"Oh yeah? What we just did, was
that
foreplay?"

"Definitely not. Foreplay would assume I'm going to stick it to you."

"I think this might be the classiest conversation I've ever had in my life." She pauses for a beat. "Wait, so you're saying you're not going to stick it to me?"

"'Fraid not, ma'am."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Why not?"

"Already told you. I need to be wined and dined first, romanced a little."

She laughs. "Is that how you're going to play it, caveman?"

"Yup."

"This is your ploy to get me to go out with you?"

"Is it working?"

She doesn't answer, just turns and walks down the steps to the driveway. Then she looks over her shoulder, a grin still on her face. "Fine. But you know the whole town's going to be talking if they see us together."

I shrug. "Maybe you confused me with someone who gives a shit what people think."

"I definitely haven't forgotten that." She opens her car door. "See you, caveman."

"Is that a yes?"

She pauses for a minute. "Fine. It's a yes."

I watch her pull away, no doubt on her way to pick up her kid from school. It's only after she pulls away that it dawns on me. I just talked my way into a date with a woman who was totally fine just screwing me, without any strings attached – and told her she had to wait for sex.

What the ever-loving hell is wrong with me?

"
M
ommy
," Chloe moans from the sofa, her voice hoarse. "My throat hurts."

"Do you want some more juice?" I touch the back of my hand to her forehead. "You're pretty warm, sweetheart."

"Orange juice, please," she requests, her gaze going behind me to the television, attention completely focused on the cartoon she's watching.

I grab a Tylenol and her orange juice and she takes them wordlessly, her head craning to see the TV around me. She's snuggled up with her favorite bear and her books, but has mostly been watching cartoons and sniffling on the sofa. The pediatrician said it was nothing to worry about, probably the flu, and that it should pass in a few days. He prescribed fluids and rest. Of course, like most seven-year-olds, Chloe isn't so great about resting. She's already going stir-crazy.

In the kitchen, I'm working on a birthday cake for a customer – a small one, fortunately, otherwise I'd never be able to fit it in my refrigerator. But I can’t afford to fall behind. It’s times like this that I realize I really have to find someone else to help out at the store. I can’t just rely on Opal to help take care of things when Chloe gets sick or if there’s an emergency.

Opal reassured me that the store was just fine without me today. Tomorrow, Bethany, my babysitter, will come hang out with Chloe while I go to work. Everything is taken care of. Except I have the nagging feeling that I forgot something.

My phone vibrates and I look down at the text message from Killian.

Oh shit. The date.

I swipe the screen on my phone and text Killian back.

My phone buzzes again.

I pause before I respond.

The phone goes silent after that. He probably thinks I’m blowing him off and using Chloe as an excuse. I second-guess the text message about a hundred times as I busy myself with work, taking advantage of the fact that Chloe is quiet and settled. I should text him back, I tell myself something less abrupt, apologize for not being able to make the date.

I pipe flowers onto the cake in various shades of pink and purple before dusting the entire surface with edible glitter.

Chloe calls me from the living room. "Mo-
om
!"

"Hang on a second." I slide the cake into the refrigerator before heading for the living room.

"This is over. I don't want to watch TV anymore. I'm bored," she complains before putting her head on the arm of the sofa.

"Why don't I read you a book?"

"Can you get the princess and the dragon one?"

"Do you know where it is?"

"No," she whines. "In my room somewhere. Will you find it? I'm tired."

"I'll go find it."

"Can we paint our nails? And do makeup?"

"I thought you were too tired to look for the book yourself. I take it you're feeling better than you were earlier?"

"I'm bo-red."

My gaze lands on the princess book shoved sideways between a couple of other books in the living room bookcase. "Is that the princess book you were talking about?"

"Yes!" Chloe leans forward and grabs it from my hands before I even reach the sofa. "Will you read it to me?"

"Let me get my water, and I'll come back and read." Chloe is reading on her own now, but the princess and the dragon is one we read together. I want to keep that as long as possible.

The doorbell rings, and Chloe perks up. "Who's that?"

"Probably a salesperson or something," I say, holding my hand up when she sits up. "Don't come to the door with me. You're sick."

"But I'm bored, too."

I give her a glare. "You're supposed to rest. I'll get it."

"Mo-
om
."

"Don't
mom
me," I call as I walk down the hallway. I pull the door open to see Killian standing there, holding two paper bags. "What are you doing here?"

Oh, God. Killian is here and I look like. . . well, I look like I’m a mom hanging out with my sick kid.

My hand flies to my hair, pulled up into an unruly pile on top of my head. I glance down at my clothes, even though I already know I'm wearing my stay-at-home outfit – this faded pair of striped pajama shorts that barely cover my ass and a ratty white tank top with a hole in the side. And no bra. Or makeup.

Killian's eyes drift down the length of my body and up again, and he does absolutely nothing to even try to hide it. My cheeks warm under his gaze, and I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling naked in front of him, which is totally ridiculous given the fact that his mouth has been between my legs.

Killian holds up two paper bags. "I brought supplies."

"What kind of supplies?" I take one of the bags from his hand as he follows me into the kitchen. Setting the bag on the counter, I pull out a bottle of whiskey, a glass jar of honey, and a lemon.

"My grandma's recipe. Whiskey, honey, and lemon. Works for a cold or the flu – burns the germs right out of you."

"You understand that it's my seven-year-old child who's sick, right?"

Killian stares at me blankly. "Yeah. Whiskey helps them sleep." I gape at him for a second, mostly because I can't believe he really doesn't know the bare basics about kids. Then he chuckles. "I'm kidding, shit. There's chicken soup in this bag. The whiskey is for you. I do know enough not to feed whiskey to a seven-year-old." He pauses for a beat. "You have to wait until they're twelve, right?"

I slap him on the arm.

"Who is it, mom?" Chloe yells from the sofa.

"My friend from the bakery," I call. "He brought soup."

"Friend, huh?" Killian asks, standing beside me, far too close to be friendly.

I clear my throat, trying to shake off the goose bumps that dot my arms just because I'm standing so close to him. "Friend," I repeat.

What the hell else would we be? My mind immediately goes to Opal and her terms for her relationship with Bert: booty call, fuck buddy.

Killian and I haven't had sex yet, so there's no
fuck buddying
involved. So we're friends. Just friends.

He moves so he's right behind me and whispers in my ear. "Totally platonic."

I swallow hard as heat surges through my body. "Platonic."

"Platonic friends who are going out on a date."

"Who
were
going out on a date," I correct. “We haven’t gone out on a date yet. And does going out on a date mean we’re not friends anymore?”

He touches his fingertips to my arms, and I shiver as he traces them lightly across my skin. "Maybe I don't want to be your friend."

"Hey! Guess what we're doing in math?" I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Chloe's voice.

In a flash, Killian turns and moves an appropriate distance away from me. "What? Tell me."

"Subtraction. I'm really good at it."

"No doubt," Killian says. "You're a smart cookie."

"I know," Chloe replies. "I'm sick."

"So I heard. You like chicken soup?"

"Does it have noodles? I don’t like it without noodles.”

“What else would it have in it?”

“Rice.”

“This has noodles.”

“Does it have carrots?”

Killian shrugs. “It has whatever CJ’s Restaurant down in town puts in their soup.”

“Okay. Can I eat it on the sofa, mom?"

"If you promise not to get it everywhere. I'll put it on a tray for you."

"Okay." She directs her attention to Killian again, her gaze falling first on him and then me. "Why are you here?"

"I was bringing you soup."

"Is that your job?"

"No, that's not his job, Chloe," I say. "He's doing it as a friend."

She crosses her arms over her chest and surveys us. "So he's your boyfriend?"

Killian coughs.

"No, he's not my boyfriend. He's a friend who happens to be a boy."

"Yeah. A boyfriend."

"But not a
boyfriend
."

"Rowdy is my boyfriend."

"He's your friend. . . who's a boy."

"No, he's my
boyfriend
. We held hands during recess last week."

"You did
what
?" Did my heart just stop beating? My just-turned-seven-year-old is holding hands with a boy during recess?

"Is his name actually Rowdy?" Killian asks.

"Yeah. His brother’s name is Tuff. They’re twins. They’re both in my class. Mrs. S had to tell their mother that they can’t wear the same thing to school because she can’t tell them apart.”

Killian glances at me. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. Tuff and Rowdy?”

“Language,” I warn.

“You’re not supposed to say that word,” Chloe lectures.

“You’re right. I should probably pay you a dollar every time I curse.”

Chloe’s eyes grow large. “No way. For real?”

Killian shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

I shake my head. “You’re going to lose your shirt to her.”

“Gross. I don’t want his shirt,” Chloe protests. “Can I watch Scary High?”

“Is this a TV show?” Killian asks.

I roll my eyes. “Don't even try. You know what shows you're allowed to watch."

"Bo-ring," Chloe sighs. "Hannah watches it."

"Well, I'm not Hannah's mom." Killian's eyes meet mine and I swear he's trying to hide a smile. "I guess you must be feeling better if you're so bored. And if the shows you're watching are so boring, maybe you don't need to watch TV at all."

Chloe wrinkles her nose. "Are you going to read the princess and the dragon book?"

"Yes. Give me a minute to get your soup and I'll be in there."

Chloe directs her attention to Killian. "You could read it."

"A princess book?" Killian asks.

"She's not a lame princess," Chloe says. "She has ninja-fighting skills. It has dragons, too."

"I think Mr. Saint has to –"

Killian interrupts. "The dragon breathes fire, right?"

"Of course," Chloe says.

"I'm in."

"Yes!" Chloe cheers. "You can be the dragon. I know everything the princess says in the book already."

"You don't have to –" I start, but Killian is already following Chloe. He looks over his shoulder and winks.

"Oh. Is this a dramatic reading?" Killian asks.

"I don't know what dramatic means."

"You're doing the princess parts?"

"Yeah, like a performance. Let me get my sword. And my tiara."

"Oh good. Costumes," Killian says, a tinge of sarcasm evident in his voice. I stifle a laugh.

When I get to the living room with the soup, Chloe is perched on the edge of the sofa wearing her tiara while Killian sits across from her in an armchair sporting a silver cape.

"Silver is clearly your color," I note, setting the tray with Chloe's soup on the coffee table.

"Hey now. Dragons can wear silver capes."

"We're playing, mom," Chloe says, matter-of-fact. "He has a silver cape because he's a magic dragon."

Killian looks at me, his expression impassive. "Obviously."

"And because he's a girl dragon."

"Now I'm a girl dragon?"

"You need a wand," Chloe says. "Mommy, you can be the queen. But she's under a terrible spell, so you have to lay down and pretend to be asleep."

"Why am I a sleeping queen? That's not even in the book," I protest, crossing my arms, acutely aware of the fact that I'm standing here in a tank top and no bra.

Killian looks at me. "At least my character is alive," he says. "Chilly in here, isn't it?"

I look down at my shirt. "Shut up."

"I can handle the dragon thing if you want to change."

"Yeah, mom. Your shirt has a hole in the side, you know."

I look back and forth between the two of them warily. Killian shrugs. "Or not. I'm a fan of what you're wearing right now."

"I'll be ten minutes," I say, clearing my throat to distract from the flush of embarrassment I know is evident on my cheeks. "I'll be right upstairs."

"I think she'll be alright for ten minutes," Killian says. "She's allowed to play with matches, right? And use a hatchet?"

I narrow my eyes. "You better be kidding."

"Am I?" Killian taunts.

"I'm not allowed to get near fire," Chloe says. "That can burn you."

"Bummer. When I was your age, I played with explosives."

"Killian!"

He looks at Chloe. "Don't play with explosives."

"What are explosives?"

"Nothing you need to know about," I interrupt. "Ten minutes. Don't let her talk you into ice cream. And no matches. Or sharp objects. Please don't burn down my house."

"Killjoy," Killian mutters teasingly.

"I have a sore throat," Chloe protests. "I should have ice cream."

"Uh-huh. Eat your soup before it gets cold."

Upstairs, I scramble to pull on clothing a cotton skirt and an unwrinkled t-shirt. I even manage to find a set of matching bra and panties. I brush my hair quickly into a ponytail, then decide against it, surveying in the mirror the messy waves that tumble down to my shoulders. Butterflies flit through my stomach, my body a bundle of nerves since Killian showed up at my house.

Killian is in my house. Interacting with my kid.

I'm not supposed to let guys I date meet my kid. This is definitely not how it's supposed to go. I swore that if I ever dated someone, he wouldn't even meet Chloe until the relationship was serious. Really serious. Like long-term serious. Now Killian is just downstairs – and I'm not even dating him.

Why is my stomach all tied up in knots?

I try to shake off all of the doubts running through my head as I look in the mirror. I pick up a tube of lipstick and set it back down. Too much. A dab of lip gloss is good enough. At least I showered and shaved my legs today.

When I get to the living room, I stop short. Killian is still in the armchair slouched over and angled to the side, and Chloe stands in front of him with her back toward me.