Idol(33)

Killian’s shoulders go stiff. I swear he stops breathing. Or maybe I do. Silence falls over us just as the cicada song ends. Neither of us moves or says a word.

And then everything changes.

It doesn’t matter that it’s barely a graze of his fingers against my shirt, the second he touches me, my body tenses, then vibrates like a tuning fork struck. I pause a beat, breath halting before escaping in a silent rush. The scissors hesitate then snip through his hair with a loud snick. The tips of his fingers gently press against the dividing line between my shorts and shirt, holding me steady as I sway a little.

I close my eyes for a second. I could move away, tell him to get off. But I don’t. That small yet significant touch sends heat and need throbbing through me, and it feels so good, I almost whimper. I swallow hard and continue to cut his hair, less steady now but determined to finish the job well.

Neither of us acknowledges the fact that he’s touching me. We don’t say a word when his fingers slowly move up under my shirt, seeking bare skin. But, Jesus, I feel it, and my knees threaten to cave.

Idly he moves, as if he’s simply enjoying the feel of me. As if I’m his to touch.

I can’t pretend anymore. The scissors clink when I set them down.

Killian tilts his head back to stare up at me. There’s something almost defiant in his expression, and I can’t meet his eyes.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, heart pounding.

“Touching you.” Gently he strokes my skin, and he sighs as though in heaven.

“Why?” I croak, because I’ve lost my damn mind, apparently.

Killian’s tone stays soft, almost thoughtful. “It’s all I think about lately, touching you.” A low sound leaves him, as if he’s laughing at himself. “Can’t seem to talk myself out of it any more. Don’t want to.”

My hands shake, my breath growing uneven as he slowly, softly, plays along the curves of my waist. His gaze burns, zeroes in on my breasts that tremble right before his eyes. My nipples harden, wanting more of that attention.

He lets out a soft exhale, barely a sound, but I’m so aware of him now, it’s as loud as a bomb to my ears. “You ever think about it?” he asks, a whisper. “What it would be like? You and me?”

“Yeah.” It’s a breath of sound, because I’ve lost the ability to talk. But he hears it. A gleam lights his eyes, his grip tightens a fraction, and he pulls me forward.

As if I’ve been waiting for it, I straddle his thighs, coming into contact with a considerable hard bulge. I want to grind myself against it but settle for resting on it now. Killian grunts low in his throat and slides me closer, holding on to my hips as if he’s worried I’ll run away. Not a chance.

For a second we just breathe, staring at each other as if trying to figure out how we got here. Killian looks me over, his expression relaxed but intent. Then he cups my cheek. His hand is huge, the skin rough. I want to kiss each callus. But I don’t move.

He touches my lower lip with the tip of his thumb. His gaze rests there, thoughtful, as he brushes his thumb back and forth. My lips part, my breathing light and agitated. I want him to kiss me so badly it aches. But he doesn’t.

His fingers trail down my neck, sending shivers along my skin. And he watches the path his hand takes. When he reaches my collarbone, he stops. His gaze lowers and a sound rumbles in his chest. It’s greedy, impatient. He cants his hips, a slow roll as if he’s already inside of me.

“You’ve been teasing me all day with this thin excuse for a top,” he murmurs, his voice dark and rough. I whimper, wiggling on his lap, so hot I can barely stand it. He cups my ass and, with little effort, hauls me up higher as he slides farther down in the seat.

The chair creaks in protest. Killian spreads his thighs wide, cradling me in his lap. I hold on to the hard curves of his shoulders.

Dark eyes roam. His breath gusts over my skin, his mouth so close to my aching nipple. “Barely covers those sweet little tits. You gonna show them to me now, Libby?”

God, his voice. It’s heated toffee, sticky and rich, coating my skin. It’s black magic, taking command of my body. I sway a bit, wanting to press myself against him, fighting for just a little longer because anticipation aches so sweet.

“You like me looking at you, Libby?”

I can only make a strangled sound.

“Yeah, I think you do.” His fingers twitch on my side, his gaze hot and needy on my breasts. “Lower your top, baby doll. Show me what I’ve been dreaming about for weeks.”

The sound of my own whimper turns me on. Beneath me, his erection pushes against my ass. I take a shuddering breath and slowly reach for the strap on my shoulder. The thin cotton slides easily down my arm. I shrug off the other side and the top slithers over my chest like a caress.