I jerked my arm away and clutched the robe tighter over my chest, mortified and furious and—God help me—aroused.
The ache between my legs had already begun, a slick, needy throb that made my thighs press together instinctively.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I hissed, lifting my chin defiantly.
“You can stay.
But only because I don’t want to deal with Joe’s bullshit when he gets back.
Stay out of my way.
Don’t touch anything.
And keep your stupid comments to yourself.”
Killian’s smirk turned into something darker, more dangerous.
It was the smile of a man who had just won a bet with the devil.
He stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounded far too final.
The lock engaged, and suddenly the house felt smaller, the air thicker, every inch of space charged with his presence.
“Whatever you say… sis.”
He brushed past me as he headed toward the guest room, his arm grazing my shoulder deliberately.
The scent of him—clean soap, faint cologne, and something darker, more masculine—filled my lungs.
My robe shifted slightly with the contact, the tie loosening just enough to reveal a hint more cleavage.
I quickly retied it, heart hammering.
I watched his broad back disappear down the hall, muscles shifting under the thin t-shirt, tattoos peeking from the sleeves.
My mind raced.
This was a terrible idea.
Killian had always been a problem.
From the moment Joe introduced us at our engagement party, he’d flirted shamelessly—subtle at first, then bolder.
Lingering hugs, heated stares across the dinner table, whispered comments when Joe wasn’t looking.
“You deserve better than my brother,” he’d once murmured in my ear during a family barbecue, his breath hot against my skin.
I’d laughed it off, called him an idiot, but deep down, the words had lodged in me like a splinter.
Because he was right.
Joe was safe, stable, boring, unfaithful.
Killian was fire—raw, unpredictable, the kind of man who looked at a woman like he wanted to devour her slowly, savoring every moan and whimper.
And now he was here.
In my house.
While my husband was gone for the next five days.
I retreated to the kitchen, pouring myself a large glass of wine with shaking hands.
The cool liquid did little to quench the heat building inside me.
I could hear him moving around in the guest room—drawers opening, the sound of a bag being unzipped.
Every noise made my nerves spark.
What the hell was I doing?
I was already sex-starved, my body betraying me at the slightest touch.
One wrong move and I’d be on my knees for him, begging for the kind of pleasure Joe had never even attempted to give.
I took a long sip, letting the wine burn down my throat.
Maybe that’s exactly what I needed.
A real man.
Someone who wouldn’t recoil from the taste of me, who would spread my legs wide and feast like a starving animal.
Someone whose cock would stretch me until I saw stars, who would fuck me for hours instead of minutes.
Killian emerged from the hallway a few minutes later, now barefoot, his t-shirt slightly rumpled.
He looked even more imposing in the soft lighting of the living room.
Those blue eyes found me immediately, raking over my robe-clad body again with unabashed hunger.
“Nice place,” he commented, voice casual, but the undercurrent was anything but.
“Joe always did have good taste in houses… and wives.”
I rolled my eyes, setting my wine down harder than necessary.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.
There are rules.
No parties.
No bringing random women here.
And stay out of my bedroom.”
He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed over that powerful chest.
The movement made his biceps bulge, tattoos flexing.
“Your bedroom, huh?
Afraid I’ll find something interesting in there?
Like that little rose toy I heard buzzing through the walls last time I visited?”
My face flamed.
He couldn’t have… Had I been that loud?
The memory of me desperately riding my toy two months ago, biting my lip to stifle moans while Joe snored beside me, flashed through my mind.
Killian had been staying over then too, in the guest room down the hall.
“You’re disgusting,” I muttered, but my voice lacked conviction.
My pussy clenched at the thought of him listening, imagining him stroking his cock to the sounds of my frustration.
“Am I?” He moved closer, circling the island until he was only a few feet away.
“Or am I the only one in this family willing to admit what you really need?”
I backed up until my lower back hit the counter.
He stopped just short of touching me, but the heat radiating from his body enveloped me like a caress.
“And what do I need, Killian?” I challenged, trying to sound scornful.
His hand lifted, fingers hovering near my cheek before trailing down to the edge of my robe, not quite touching.
“You need a man who knows how to worship this body.
Who’ll spend hours between your thighs, licking that pretty pussy until you’re shaking and begging.
Who’ll fuck you deep and slow, then hard and fast, until you forget your own name.
Until you’re dripping down his cock and screaming for more.”
My breath hitched.
Slick heat flooded between my legs, soaking my inner thighs.
I could picture it so vividly—his dark head buried between my spread legs, tongue flicking my clit, thick fingers curling inside me.
His cock, probably much bigger than Joe’s pathetic average one, thrusting into me with powerful strokes.
“You’re my brother-in-law,” I whispered, but it sounded weak even to my own ears.
“Exactly,” he replied, voice rough with desire.
“Which makes this so much fucking sweeter.”
He didn’t kiss me.
Not yet.
Instead, he stepped back, giving me space, but the promise in his eyes was unmistakable.
“I’ll be in the guest room.
Come find me when you’re tired of pretending you don’t want it.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me trembling against the counter, heart racing, body on fire.
I stood there for a long time, wine forgotten, thighs slick, mind reeling with forbidden images.
Joe’s face flashed in my mind—his quick, unsatisfying thrusts, his disgusted expression at the mere thought of going down on me.
Then Killian’s smirk, his heated gaze, the confident way he carried himself like a man who knew exactly how to please a woman.
The house was quiet now, but the tension hummed beneath the surface like a live wire.
I finished the last of my wine in one long, desperate gulp, the rich red liquid burning a warm trail down my throat.
It did nothing to calm the wildfire raging beneath my skin.
My body felt alive in a way it hadn’t in years—every nerve ending singing, every inch of me hypersensitive and needy.
I set the empty glass down on the kitchen counter with a soft clink and headed toward my bedroom, the silk robe whispering against my bare thighs with each step.
But halfway down the dimly lit hallway, my feet betrayed me.
They paused right outside the guest room door.
It was slightly ajar.
A soft, golden light spilled out into the corridor like an invitation I knew I should ignore.
My pulse quickened.
The robe suddenly felt too tight, too restrictive, the cool silk rubbing maddeningly against my hardened nipples.
Between my legs, my clit throbbed with a deep, insistent ache that made my knees weak.
I told myself I was only going to peek in and say goodnight—nothing more.
Just a quick, polite exchange to prove I wasn’t affected by his presence.
I should have turned around.
Instead, I pushed the door open a little wider and stepped inside.