Page 81 of Third Strike Smitten

His breathing has slowed, but his eyes haven’t left mine. Those hazel depths, now clearer, more focused, are studying me with an intensity that might otherwise scare me, but today, I welcome it.

“Okay,” I say, trying to maintain my composure despite the way my heart is hammering against my ribs. “Tell me two things about me that you can smell.”

Killian leans forward slightly, his nose nearly brushing my neck as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer. I feel his warm breath against my skin as he inhales deeply and I’d be lying if I said the gesture wasn’t a huge turn-on for me.

“Laundry detergent,” he states, his lips grazing my collarbone. “And your hair after last night’s shower.” He pulls back slightly, his expression suddenly apologetic. “I’m sorry it wasn’t the strawberry scent.”

The tenderness and apology in his voice make me want to cry. Even in his spiral, he’s thinking about me. “You…you remembered,” I stutter, surprised.

“I remember everything about you, Isla.”

His words hang in the air between us and I’m suddenly aware of how close we are. His hands have stopped trembling, but they’re still gripping my waist like I’m the only solid thing in his world. I swallow hard, my voice shaking slightly, and say, “One more. The last one is⁠—”

“I know what the last one is,” he interrupts, his voice rough. His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel my mouth go dry. “One thing about you I can taste.”

I should pull away. I should stick to the agreement that was my idea in the first place, the boundaries I insisted on. But his hands are warm on my waist, his eyes are clear and focused on me now, and I don’t want to move.

“Yeah,” I breathe, though it comes out sounding more like a plea.

He doesn’t hesitate. He closes the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s nothing like the ones we’ve shared before. This isn’t for show, isn’t for the cameras or the front office. This is just us, real and startling in its intensity. I know kissing is not the cure for a panic attack but if I can be a distraction for him…a way for him to let go and get out of his own head for just a minute, I’ll give myself to him freely.

Because fuck it.

I really do care about Killian Haynes.

His lips are soft against mine, moving with a gentle urgency that makes my head spin. I feel his hands tremble slightly as they cradle my face, careful to avoid my bruise, and it’s his unique tenderness for me that has me melting against him.

The taste of mint toothpaste and something uniquely Killian fills my senses as I part my lips, inviting him deeper. The sound that escapes my throat when his tongue meets mine is exactly the whimper he mentioned; soft, needy, completely involuntary. Killian responds by pulling me closer, one hand sliding from my face to the nape of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.

I’m vaguely aware that I’m sitting in his lap, wearing nothing but his T-shirt and boxers, making out with him on the floor of his gym, but I don’t care. All I care about is the way his lips feel against mine, the way his hands are exploring my body like he’s memorizing every curve.

His kiss deepens, becoming more insistent, more desperate, as if he’s trying to pour all his fear and anxiety into this one moment of connection and I respond in kind, my fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him closer.

His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips as he shifts beneath me. I can feel him hardening against me, and the realization sends a bolt of heat straight to my core. My body responds instinctively, pressing against him, seeking more contact.

Oh God…

“Killian,” I whisper against his lips when we finally break apart for air. His breathing is ragged, his pupils darkened with desire as they search mine.

“Isla,” he drawls, his voice rough with need as he peppers kisses across my jaw and down my neck.

I should stop this. I should honor the agreement we made. It’s what I asked of him. It’s our safety net so feelings don’t get in the way. But his hands are warm on my skin, his expression pleading, and I can’t bring myself to deny what we both clearly want. Rules be damned.

“We shouldn’t,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can reconsider. “Your game tonight⁠—”

“I know,” Killian says, his lips still brushing against mine. “We shouldn’t.”

But his hands are already sliding under my shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on my back that make me shiver. I can feel his erection pressing against me. The rational part of my brain is screaming that we need to stop, but my body has other ideas.

“Maybe we could...” I start, not even sure what I’m suggesting.

“Just this,” he suggests, his voice husky with desire. “Just for now.”

“Yeah…”

He pulls his hands from under my shirt and brings them back to my hips, guiding me as I begin to move against him. The friction is intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure through me that make my head spin. Fuck, I haven’t felt this good in so long. Killian’s breath hitches as I rock against him, his fingers digging into my skin.

“Fuck, Isla,” he groans, his head falling back against the wall. “I want to touch you. Will you let me?”