In Fury Lies Mischief (Midnight Mayhem 2)

Killian’s hand slides beneath my panties. He flicks his finger over my clit, leaning closer to my ear. “Do you fuck like you dance, Little Hellhound?”

His finger teasingly dives into my pussy and my walls clench around his invasion, unwilling to let him go. My eyes roll to the back of my head.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Watch Kenan try to fuck Kyrin as I fuck you.”

My eyes open. He bends me over once I’m standing, tearing my tights down from my inner thighs and sliding my panties to the side. He wraps my hair around his fist with his left hand and pulls me back onto his lap while using his right to direct his cock against my entrance.

His fingers come to my hip and he flexes, just as I swallow him inside of me. He fills me to the brim. I have to pause, because I don’t think I could take him all at once. He’s big. Too big. I feel as though I’m suffocating around his size.

Tugging on my hair, he further pulls me against him while slowly continuing to drive inside of me. I can’t hear anything unless he yells or he’s right near my ear, but he’s not talking right now. He draws out, taking part of my soul with him, before pushing back in. Just when I think he’s going to go slow, he picks up force, slamming into me harder. Not faster, just harder. He fucks with a brutality that makes me want to whimper, pray, and plead to the gods to give me more. I need more. I need to feel his skin against mine and his lips all over my body.

His hand comes to the front of my throat and he clenches, leaning up to run his lips over my ear. “Let go.”

I do, releasing myself all over him. He spins me back around roughly until I’m straddling his waist. He pushes me back down over his dick and I’m seeing stars all over again. If you’re in Mayhem, you’re on the pill, so when he leans forward and sucks my lace covered nipple between his teeth, groaning while emptying himself inside of me, I don’t think twice. Our bodies descend, my heart rate pounding as we play out the remaining minutes before the curtains draw closed.

The lights cut out when the curtains have dropped. I brush my hair into a high pony, the slick sweat clinging to my skin. Spinning around to face Killian, my face burns when I see that he’s already gone.

Bring on the guilt.

The door swings open and Keaton steps inside, laughing like a fucking maniac. “Oh you just couldn’t help yourself, eh, fucker? You had to piss on her.”

I toss my shirt across the couch and smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you fucked her.” He raises a brow. “Now what? On to the next?”

I falter slightly, reaching for the milk carton in the fridge. Slamming the door closed, I pop the carton open and wrap my lips around it. I can still smell her pussy on the tips of my fingers, and I have to fight the urge to lick every single bit of her hellish little stench off me. “You’re awfully interested.”

Keaton flips me off, climbing the stairs. “I mean, now that you’ve popped that cherry, maybe you’ve started a fetish with her. I saw the way she responded to you, Kill. That’s a woman hungry for cock now, and not just any dick—Kiznitch dick.” He disappears up the stairs just as the door opens again, but instead of it being Kyrin or King, it’s Delila.

Shit. I’m probably in trouble for the act I pulled during Saskia’s skit and she’s probably in trouble for challenging me during mine.

The fucking menace.

I underestimated her completely.

“Killian.” Delila climbs the stairs, and it’s then that I realize she’s in sweats and her hair is up in a small bun. She’s wearing no makeup, and it looks like she hasn’t had her monthly Botox juice because the bags under her eyes are worsening.

“Everything okay?” I ask warily. I know the answer, though. Delila wouldn’t look like this unless it was bad. She prides herself on her appearance.

“No. I don’t think so.”

I wave her into the kitchen, taking a seat on the table.

“We’re going to need that bottle of whiskey your father passed down to you for this conversation.” She’s talking about the three-hundred-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch that has been passed down through the Cornelii generations. I got it when it was half full, and plan to drink the whole fucking lot of it before I die. My son can have the empty bottle because the shit is lethal.

Making my way to where I keep it, I take down the bottle of aged poison and two glasses, pouring us both a decent amount.