Very naughty girl

Rae’s POV

Killian’s chest was still heaving when he rolled us gently, pressing one last lazy kiss to my swollen lips.

“You,” he rasped, voice deliciously wrecked, “are a very naughty girl.”

I giggled, high and breathless, and he scooped me up before I could protest, one arm under my knees, the other cradling my back like I weighed nothing. My arms looped around his neck on instinct.

“Where are we going?” I mumbled into his shoulder.

“To clean up my mess,” he said, nipping my earlobe. “You made me lose control, kitten.”

He carried me into the en-suite, the motion easy and familiar, and set me on the wide marble counter while he turned on the taps.

Warm water thundered into the deep soaking tub, steam curling up around us.

He tossed in a handful of bath salts that smelled faintly of cedar and lavender, then stripped off his sweatpants, the only thing either of us was still wearing and stepped in first.

He reached for me. “C’mere, naughty girl.”

I slid into the water between his legs, back to his chest, sighing as the heat enveloped us both.

He wrapped his arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder, and we just sat there for a minute, quiet, lazy, the water lapping gently at our skin.

His hands skimmed idly over my stomach, my hips, never demanding, just touching because he could.

I felt boneless, floaty, the ache between my thighs a sweet reminder of everything we’d done.

After a few minutes he grabbed a soft cloth, wet it, and ran it gently over my shoulders, my arms, between my breasts, careful, reverent, like he was washing away the evidence but memorizing it at the same time. I let my head fall back against his chest and closed my eyes.

“Stay awake for me, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing my temple.

“M’trying,” I slurred, already half gone.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest into my spine. “Come on, let’s get you dry.”

He lifted me out as easily as he’d carried me in, wrapped me in the fluffiest towel I’d ever felt, and dried me off with slow, gentle strokes, my hair, my back, down my legs.

Then he dried himself quickly, scooped me up again, and carried me back to bed.

The sheets had been changed while we were in the bathroom, somehow, magic Killian, cool and crisp and smelling like fresh linen.

He laid me down, climbed in behind me, and pulled the duvet over us both.

I curled into him immediately, face tucked into his neck, one leg thrown over his. My whole body felt heavy, used in the best possible way.

“Killian,” I mumbled, already drifting, “I’m so tired.”

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I got carried away.” Another kiss, this one to the tip of my nose. “You were perfect. So perfect.”

His fingers started combing through my damp hair, slow and soothing, nails scraping lightly against my scalp.

He tucked me closer, palm sliding down my spine in long, gentle strokes.

“Sleep, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing my temple again. “I’ve got you. Always.”

I made a tiny, happy sound and let the darkness pull me under, safe in the circle of his arms, his steady heartbeat lulling me to sleep.

~~~~

I woke to the softest sensation, warm lips brushing the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, slow, deliberate kisses that felt like sunlight made physical.

Each press of his mouth was followed by the faintest graze of teeth, then the soothing swipe of his tongue. A small hum vibrated against my skin, and I realized it was him content, sleepy, happy.

My eyes fluttered open.

Killian was propped on one elbow, hair tousled, blue eyes soft in the morning light filtering through the pool-house blinds.

The second he saw I was awake, his smile broke wide and devastating.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough from sleep. He leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose. “I made you breakfast.”

I blinked, still half-dreaming. “You did?”

“Mhm. Pancakes with extra blueberries, crispy bacon, fresh orange juice. Come eat before it gets cold.”

He was already sliding out of bed, gloriously shirtless, gray sweatpants riding low. I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest, cheeks warm. “Thank you,” I said softly.

He turned, crawled back over the mattress like a panther, and silenced me with a gentle finger against my lips.

“Shh. I’m the one who should be thanking you.” His eyes roamed my face like he was memorizing it all over again. “You’re amazing, Rae. You make me stupidly happy. Let me spoil you, okay?”

I nodded, throat tight.

He scooped me up, sheet and all, and carried me to the little dining table on the patio outside the pool house.

The morning air was cool, the sky pastel pink and gold. A full breakfast spread waited: fluffy pancakes stacked high, blueberries bursting, bacon perfectly crisp, a little pitcher of maple syrup, and a glass of orange juice already poured.

He settled me in a chair, tucked the sheet around my shoulders like a cape, then sat beside me, close enough that our thighs touched.

He cut a perfect triangle of pancake, swirled it in syrup, and held it to my lips.

“Open, baby.”

I obeyed, letting him feed me. The pancake melted on my tongue. He watched my mouth like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, thumb brushing away a tiny drop of syrup at the corner of my lips and sucking it clean without breaking eye contact.

Every bite was like that, him feeding me slowly, attentively, eyes soft, murmuring “good girl” between forkfuls of bacon and sips of juice.

When I tried to reach for the fork myself, he playfully batted my hand away.

“Nope. My job.”

Halfway through the plate I noticed his own was untouched.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, worried.

He shook his head. “I was waiting for you.”

I stole the fork, cut a big piece of pancake, and held it to his mouth. “Open.”

He lifted a brow, amused, but didn’t move.

“Killian,” I said, mock-stern. “Eat.”

“I’m fine—”

“Please? I want you to eat too.” I gave him my best puppy eyes. “There’ll be a reward if you do.”

His eyes darkened instantly. “A reward?”

I nodded, suddenly shy but determined.

He opened his mouth obediently. I slid the fork in, watching him chew, then cut another piece. And another. Every time he swallowed I praised him softly.

“Good boy,” I whispered after the fourth bite, meaning it sweetly.

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

I froze, face flaming. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean— that sounded—”

Killian’s laugh was low and delighted. He leaned in, nipped my bottom lip. “Oh, I’ll absolutely be your good boy, kitten. Say it again and see what happens.”

I hid my face in my hands, giggling. He kissed my knuckles until I peeked out, then let me keep feeding him until both plates were clean and the orange juice was gone.

Eventually I stood, stretching. “I’m gonna take a quick bath and get dressed.”

He watched me with lazy, satisfied eyes. “Take your time.”

After a long, steamy shower, his body wash, his shampoo, everything smelling like him, I blow-dried my hair, slipped into a soft sundress I’d left in the pool-house drawer months ago, and padded back out.

He was leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed, looking unfairly gorgeous in a black T-shirt and jeans.

I smiled shyly. “I’m heading out for a bit.”

His whole expression shifted, smile gone, brows drawing together.

“Heading out?” he asked, voice suddenly quiet. “To where?”