Rae’s POV
The rest of the day crawled by in a haze of torture.
I hid in my room, pretending to study, pretending to breathe normally, pretending I wasn’t hyper-aware of every footstep in the hallway.
Every time the floorboards creaked, my heart slammed against my ribs.
Every time he laughed at something on his phone, the low rumble seeped through the walls and slid straight between my thighs.
By six o’clock I was a wreck.
I came downstairs for water (liar, I came downstairs because I was starving for the sight of him) and found him leaning against the kitchen island, one hand in his pocket, the other scrolling lazily on his phone.
Black T-shirt stretched across his chest, gray sweatpants hanging criminal-low. He didn’t even look up, but the corner of his mouth curved like he could smell my desperation from across the room.
I was halfway to the fridge when the front door burst open.
Mom rushed in, already flustered, phone pressed to her ear.
“Yes, yes, Marissa, I’m packing right now. I’ll be there in three hours.”
She ended the call, tossed her keys into the bowl, and looked between us like she’d only just remembered we existed.
“Sweetheart,” she said, breathless, “Marissa’s mother had a fall. Broken hip. I’m driving up tonight and staying the week to help. The guest room at their place is tiny, so I’ll just sleep there.”
My stomach flipped.
A whole week.
Alone.
With him.
Killian finally lifted his head. His eyes met mine over Mom’s shoulder, blue and wicked and unreadable.
Mom didn’t notice. She was already rummaging for her overnight bag.
“Killian, honey,” she said, turning to him with that sweet, trusting smile, “would you mind keeping an eye on Rae for me? She burns water when left unsupervised, and I don’t want her ordering takeout for seven days straight.”
He pushed off the counter, slow and graceful, and walked over. Every step felt like it sucked the oxygen from the room.
“Of course, Lisa,” he said, voice velvet and polite. “I’ll take good care of her.”
The way he said it (low, deliberate, eyes locked on me) made my knees threaten to fold.
Mom beamed, completely oblivious. “You’re an angel. There’s lasagna in the freezer, and the pool house is fully stocked if you two want to—”
“We’ll be fine,” he cut in gently. “Drive safe.”
Two minutes later she was kissing my cheek, telling me to text her when I woke up, and then the front door shut.
The house went terrifyingly quiet.
I heard the click of the deadbolt.
Then his footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming for me.
I didn’t move from the spot by the fridge. My fingers curled around the cold handle like it could save me.
He stopped right behind me. Close enough that the heat of his body licked up my spine.
“Turn around, kitten.”
My breath shook out of me.
I turned.
His hand came up instantly, cupping my jaw, thumb pressing into my lower lip. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, pupils blown wide.
“Seven days,” he said, voice rough. “Seven nights. No one to hear you scream my name.”
Then his mouth crashed into mine.
It wasn’t a kiss; it was a claiming. Hungry, filthy, teeth and tongue and the cold shock of his piercing dragging over my bottom lip.
I whimpered into him, and he swallowed the sound, backing me up until my spine hit the fridge door with a metallic thud.
His hands were everywhere, sliding under my cropped hoodie, palms hot against my bare waist, dragging up to cup my breasts through the thin lace of my bra. He groaned when he found me already hard for him, nipples straining against the fabric.
“Still sore?” he rasped against my mouth.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Good.”
He pinched one nipple, rolled it between his fingers until I cried out, then soothed it with a slow circle of his thumb.
His mouth dropped to my neck, open-mouthed kisses, sucking hard enough to bruise, marking me where Mom would never see.
I clutched his shoulders, dizzy, drowning.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and yanked them down in one rough motion, taking my panties with them.
Cool air hit my skin, and then his hand was between my thighs, cupping me possessively.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re soaked already.”
Two thick fingers slid through my folds, spreading me open, teasing my entrance without pushing in. I tried to rock against him, but he pressed his forearm across my hips, pinning me to the fridge.
“Greedy girl,” he murmured, biting my earlobe. “You’ll take what I give you.”
Then he pushed inside.
Two fingers, slow and deliberate, stretching me open. My head fell back against the fridge with a soft thud. He curled them instantly, stroking that spot that made my thighs shake.
“Look at you,” he growled, pumping slowly. “Taking me so well.”
He added a third finger, scissoring gently, stretching me further. The burn was perfect (sharp pleasure laced with the memory of last night). I could hear how wet I was, the slick sounds filling the kitchen, obscene and intoxicating.
His thumb found my clit, circling in tight, ruthless strokes.
I was already climbing, embarrassingly fast.
“Daddy—” I choked.
“Not yet.”
He pulled his fingers out.
I whined at the loss, but then he brought them to my lips, glistening with me.
“Open.”
I parted my lips without thinking.
He slid all three fingers into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue so I tasted myself - sweet, salty, filthy. His eyes flared as he watched me suck him clean, cheeks hollowed, tongue swirling around the digits like I was starving for it.
“Good girl,” he praised, voice gravel. “Now get on your knees.”
My legs almost gave out.
He stepped back just enough to give me room. I sank down slowly, the cold tile biting into my knees, my leggings still bunched around my thighs.
He looked down at me (towering, dark, beautiful) and dragged his thumb across my wet lower lip.
“Hands behind your back.”
I obeyed.
He reached down, hooked a finger under my chin, and tilted my face up.
“Seven days, kitten,” he said again, softer this time, almost reverent. “I’m going to ruin you so completely you’ll feel me even when I’m not inside you.”
Then he tangled his fingers in my hair, tugged my head back gently, and smiled like the devil who’d finally come to collect.
“Now open that pretty mouth and show Daddy how grateful you are.”
