CHAPTER 5

​Killian didn't step back. He stood behind my chair at the vanity table, his massive frame looming over me in the mirror, his dark eyes burning into mine with an unyielding, possessive heat.

​“The gala starts at eight,” he murmured, his hands coming down to rest heavy on my shoulders. His fingers dug slightly into my muscle, asserting his dominance before his hands slid slowly down the silk of my robe, pooling it around my elbows until it fell completely from my upper body. “Which means we have two hours. And before I take my bride out to show the world, I want a demonstration of your obedience.”

​My heart hammered in my chest, a mix of genuine apprehension and a sudden, traitorous rush of physical heat. “Killian, the dress—the guards are outside—”

​“The guards stay outside, and you belong to me,” he interrupted smoothly, his voice dropping an octave into a low, gravelly command.

​He leaned down, taking my chin between his fingers, and forced my head back. His mouth slammed onto mine with immediate, punishing intensity. He didn't ask; he took. His tongue surged into my mouth, slick and demanding, drinking down every gasp I made as his large hand moved down to grip the silk belt of my robe, pulling it loose with one hard tug.

​The robe fell open entirely, exposing my bare skin to the cool air of the dressing room—and to his dark, ravenous gaze in the mirror.

​Killian broke the kiss, his breath coming in hot, heavy rasps against my lips. He reached down, gripping my waist with both hands, and lifted me effortlessly out of the chair, setting me back down onto the smooth, cool glass surface of the vanity table. Cosmetics, perfume bottles, and brushes clattered as he cleared a space, spreading my knees wide with his thighs as he stepped into the gap between my legs.

​The contrast was overwhelming—the cool glass beneath my hips and the scorching heat of his muscular body pressed flush against mine.

​His dark eyes held my gaze in the mirror as his calloused hands moved over my body without restraint. He cupped my breasts, his thumbs brushing firmly across my aching nipples until they hardened into tight peaks. A sharp, loud moan escaped my throat, echoing in the quiet dressing room.

​“Look at yourself in the mirror, Aria,” Killian growled against my ear, his hands squeezing my breasts, lifting them slightly as his teeth grazed the sensitive junction of my neck and shoulder. “Look at how your body responds to me.”

​I forced my eyes open, staring into the glass. My skin was flushed, my lips swollen, my chest heaving as he marked me with his mouth and hands. He reached down, his fingers sliding down my stomach, pushing past the lace of my panties to find the wet, swollen core of my heat.

​When his fingers made contact, I gasped, my head tilting back as a jolt of pure pleasure rippled through my lower abdomen. He didn't rush. His long fingers stroked over my sensitive center, slicking themselves with my natural moisture before pushing one finger deep inside me.

​“Ah! Killian...” I cried out, my fingers digging into his broad shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as his thumb began rubbing in firm, rhythmic circles over my clitoris.

​“So tight,” he rasped, adding a second finger, stretching me slowly, his rhythm relentless and precise. “So wet for a contract you claimed was illegal.”

​He pumped his fingers into me, establishing a rhythm that sent waves of intense friction shooting straight to my core. Every thrust of his fingers made my hips lift off the vanity table, reaching for the friction, completely betrayed by the violent physical arousal consuming my body.

​Before I could reach the edge, Killian suddenly pulled his hand away.

​I whined softly at the sudden loss, my eyes flying open to look at him. Killian was already unbuckling his belt. With swift, fluid motions, he freed his thick, erect shaft, heavy and throbbing with dark veins.

​He gripped my hips, pulling my pelvis forward until my wet center was pressed directly against the broad tip of his length. He didn't give me time to adapt. With one heavy, powerful surge, he drove his entire length deep inside me, burying himself to the root.

​A sharp, breathless scream tore from my throat as my tight walls stretched around his massive girth. The sensation of being completely filled by him was overwhelming, a mix of intense pressure and raw, incandescent heat.

​“Look at me,” Killian commanded, his voice thick with unbridled lust. He began to move, pulling back almost entirely before slamming back inside, his hips hitting mine with a hard, wet slap that echoed in the room.

​Thump. Thump. Thump.

​His pace was brutal, possessive, and unyielding. Every stroke hit deep against my cervix, sending sparks of intense pleasure through my nervous system. I gripped the edges of the vanity table, my knuckles turning white as he drove into me over and over, establishing absolute dominance through raw physical force.

​“You’re mine, Aria,” he growled, his face buried in my neck, his hot breath searing my skin as his thrusts grew harder, faster, completely uncontrolled. “Say it.”

​“I’m... ah! I’m yours, Killian!” I cried out, completely lost in the spiral of pleasure building in my gut.

​The tight coils in my lower body snapped. My inner walls clamped violently around his shaft, pulsing in a powerful, whole-body orgasm that made my vision blur.

​Feeling my inner muscles contraction around him pushed Killian over the edge. With a low, guttural roar, he drove deep into me one last time and poured his hot seed deep into my core, his body shuddering against mine as he marked me from the inside out.

​Twenty minutes later, the storm had cleared, leaving behind a heavy, lingering silence.

​Killian stood by the mirror, adjusting his tie and cuffing his sleeves, his face once again restored to the cold, unreadable mask of the Vance CEO. On the surface, he was back in control. But as he glanced at me through the mirror, a rare, fleeting shadow of something unreadable—almost vulnerable—passed through his dark eyes before he masked it away.

​I sat on the edge of the bed in a silk robe, my legs still trembling slightly from the intensity of the encounter. My body throbbed with a dull, satisfying ache.

​“The dress is on the garment rack,” Killian said, his voice clipped and businesslike. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”

​He turned and walked out of the dressing room, closing the door behind him.

​The moment he left, I let out a long, shaky breath. I stood up, moving toward the vanity to prepare for the gala.

​As I reached for the makeup bag, my personal phone—the decoy device Killian permitted me to keep under heavy monitoring—vibrating quietly on the glass top.

​A notification popped up from an burner number, disguised behind an encrypted routing header that bypasses standard carrier firewalls.

​It was a text message from Elena.

​“Killian knows who you really are. He’s setting a trap for you at the gala tonight. Don't go.”