Killian
Liberty and I don't make it to my house. We barely make it off the living room floor, but I know she can't possibly be comfortable after I fucked her like a beast. I feel a little guilty about that. She was a virgin and I took her hard. I know she got off on it though. I also know she heard what I said…but she didn't say it back.
She's quiet as I pick her up, carrying her down the short hall to her bathroom. I turn the shower on and let it heat while I cuddle her against my chest. Neither of us speaks, but it's a comfortable silence. Once the water is warm enough for her, I pull her into the shower, and clean her up, taking my time.
She melts in my arms, letting me take care of her. I can't resist placing kisses all over her as I wash her up and rinse her off. Keeping my hands and mouth off her is going to be a never-ending struggle. She doesn't seem to mind.
She's pliant in my arms, purring like a little kitten while I wash her hair. I try to be gentle with the tangles so I don't hurt her. Gentleness seems to come a little easier the longer I'm around her, like being with her is breathing life back into that part of me that I thought I'd lost to the stench of war long ago. It wasn't lost though, simply buried. But the need to care for her overrides everything else, bringing that softer part of me to the surface.
The hot water doesn't last long. By the time I wash her up, it's lukewarm. But I've bathed in frigid lakes and worse. Spots of her blood stain my cock. The sight of it sends a wave of possessiveness through me. She's mine now, tied to me in ways that can never be undone.
I reluctantly wash off her blood before turning the water off and leading her out of the shower.
Once she's dry, I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to bed.
Her bedroom, like the rest of her house, is warm and inviting. Her four-poster bed dominates the small space. Her walls are a soft lavender and gray, with a brighter purple pentaptych hanging on the wall above the bed. Each of the five panels show part of the same watercolor scene. Her bedding matches the painting. The hardwood floor is covered in a plush rug that matches the gray in the walls. There's a small chair in one corner, and a dresser in the other, with matching tables on each side of the bed. The room is comforting more than girly, an oasis of tranquility.
I pull the covers back and lay her on the sheets, pressing a kiss to her temple. She curls up with a soft sigh, already on the verge of sleep. She looks so goddamn beautiful with her hair still damp, no makeup on her face, and my marks all over her. My dick stirs at the arresting sight, gearing up for another round. He's not going to be satisfied tonight. I already know she's going to be sore.
The reminder keeps me from crawling into the bed beside her. I backtrack out of the room into her bathroom. I prowl through her cabinets until I find a bottle of Tylenol and shake two out into my hand for her. I fill the little cup by the sink with water.
My shoulders are a mess of angry claw marks. I'm sure my back probably matches. She's a little lioness in bed, more than capable of taking me. I fucking love it.
She watches me with wide eyes as I stalk toward her, breathless all over again at how beautiful she is. Her body is incredible, lush in all the right ways. Her tits are more than a handful, her waist trim before flaring out to her wide hips. She was made to carry babies.
I hope I bred her the first time, hope my seed is already taking root.
"Sore?"
She shakes her head, her eyes drifting from mine.
"Liar," I mutter, holding the Tylenol out to her. "I was rough with you."
She licks her lips, meeting my gaze again. "You didn't hurt me. I liked it."
Thank God for that.
"Take these anyway," I order her, worried she'll wake up sore tomorrow if she doesn't. The thought of her in pain makes me feel like someone has a hook in my guts, twisting it.
She shakes her head at me but takes the Tylenol anyway. She hands the glass back to me when she's done.
"What's your code?"
"Hmm?"
"Alarm code. What is it?"
"Oh. 8675."
I stride out of the bedroom to lock up and arm the system. I'm more than capable of killing to protect her but having an alarm to alert me if anyone tries to get close will help me rest easy. Because I already know I'm not going to be able to do that with her here to protect. She's necessary for my survival now, far more precious than anything else in this world. I'll guard her with my dying breath.
I set the alarm, lock the door, and then gather up our clothes.
She's still awake when I make it back to the bedroom, watching me with that same wide-eyed expression on her face. I can see her mind working, see her trying to process my confession and the fact that she gave me her virginity. I don't rush her. That's not why I told her how I feel. I needed her to know that she matters to me, that my heart belongs to her.
I've been at war so long, I forgot what peace felt like. I gave up thinking the American Dream was something I could have too. I know better now. This brilliant, beautiful woman gives me what I haven't even let myself dream about before now: Peace. Hope. More. My future is in her hands, and I've got all the time in the world for her to realize she loves me.
I already know she does. She never would have spread those legs for me if she didn't. But she has to work it out for herself. She's been neglected by the world for far too long. She's skittish, afraid to trust. I'll wait however long I have to wait for her to let those walls come tumbling down completely.