Chapter 5 Afterglow
Valentina’s POV
A few minutes pass before Killian finally rolls off me, peels off the condom, and tosses it into the trash by the bed. He disappears into the adjoining bathroom, the hiss of the shower mixing with the rush of water in the sink. Seconds later, he returns, his presence filling the room as he leans over and scoops me into his arms. I cling to him instinctively, wrapping around him like a koala, pressing kisses to his jaw, his cheek, his lips. He carries me, unhurried, back to the bathroom.
The room is steamy, the tiles cool against my back as he pins me gently to the wall. I notice towels folded neatly on a chrome rack, and a washcloth-stained bright red-abandoned on the floor. Killian doesn’t release me. The water streams over us as he steps into the shower, his body shielding me from the spray. He pins me against the cold tiles, mouth claiming mine, hungry and sweet.
“Baby, I want you again,” he murmurs, voice rough in my ear. “But I don’t have any condoms in here. I’m clean, I swear-got tested four days ago.”
I meet his eyes, breathless. “I’m clean too. I’ve never gone without protection before, but right now… I want to. I’m on birth control. Shots every three months.”
We hold each other’s gaze, silent, letting the water and desire fill the space between us. He shifts, bodies aligning, and I feel him pressing into me, slow, deliberate.
“Oh, God,” I whimper, and I mean it-nothing compares to this. Skin against skin, nothing between us. He stretches me wide, every nerve ending alive, pleasure blooming sharp and sudden. He groans, his thrusts shallow at first, then lengthening, deepening, pounding into me until I’m seeing stars, until I’m shaking and sobbing and the orgasm tears through me, brutal and blinding. I scream, crying out so loud my own ears ring.
He swells inside me, and I gasp, “Let me-let me go-”
He pulls out, and I sink to my knees, opening my mouth. He curses, his hand stroking frantically, and then he’s spilling into me, hot and thick.
“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he groans, voice ragged.
I hold his gaze, tongue out, letting him fill me. He mouths the word swallow and I obey, swallowing every drop. His thumb slides across my lower lip, gentle and possessive.
“Good girl,” he praises, and I shiver at the sound.
“You like being my little slut?” he asks, and something sharp and sweet twists inside me. I love it-why do I love it? My eyes widen with the realization, innocence mingling with something darker. Am I a
secret masochist? I wonder, dizzy with excitement.
“Come here, Angel,” he growls, scooping me back up. He turns me beneath the shower, letting the spray wash us both clean. He soaps my skin, gentle now, his hands drawing slow circles, then works the shampoo through my hair and massages my scalp. When I’m rinsed and soft, he ducks under the water, scrubs himself, then shuts off the spray. He grabs a towel, wraps me up, squeezes the water from my hair, and dries himself with quick, brisk movements.
We move in silence back into his room. He strips the tangled sheets from the bed, tossing them aside, and I help him fit a clean set from his closet, our naked bodies brushing, heat lingering. He slides into
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bed, and I hesitate, watching him-strong, sprawled, waiting. He opens his arms. I crawl in, lay my head on his chest, drape my arm across his torso. He pulls the comforter over us, wrapping me in warmth and muscle.
His fingers trace lazy lines along my spine. “I’m not finished with you, Angel. But we need a little rest. Sleep while you can-if it’s not too late when we wake, you’re going to ride me like you promised.”
His hand soothes me, and before I know it, I drift into the deepest sleep I’ve had in years.
I wake slowly to fingertips gliding up and down my back. I stretch, boneless and content. I’ve never slept so well.
“What time is it?” I murmur.
He reaches for his phone. “Two-thirty. We slept for three hours.”
“Shit. Sorry-I didn’t mean to crash out for so long. I’ve never felt so comfortable in my life.”
He chuckles, low and satisfied. “Guess I wore you out.”
A humming laugh vibrates in my chest. “I should go home. You think there are Ubers out this late? I mean, it’s New York, it never really sleeps, right?” I ramble, nerves fluttering as the city’s endless night presses against the windows.
“I’ll take you home,” Killian promises, his voice low and certain.
We slip out of bed into the thick darkness. He flicks on the lamp, a gentle halo of gold illuminating the chaos of clothes and bodies. I shimmy into my dress, find my heels-how did they end up across the r oom?-and snatch my clutch from the floor. As I open it, my phone lights up: fifteen missed calls, thirty-five unread messages. All from Sterling.
“Shit,” I mutter, scrolling.
Killian glances my way, still shirtless, slipping into gray sweatpants and his cut. “What’s wrong?”
I can’t help but stare at him: the rough beauty, the careless confidence. “You actually make that look work,” I tease, and he grins as he laces up his sneakers.
He repeats his question. “What had you cussing?”
“Sterling. Blew up my phone. It’s a mess.’
Killian’s face goes still, unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly, “Do you regret this?”
My answer is immediate. “Fuck, no. This was the best night of my life. I have no idea how I’ll ever go back to boring, vanilla sex after this. You had my knees up by my ears-I almost wish…” I trail off, suddenly shy, afraid to hope for more.
He catches it. “Wish what?”
I dodge. “Nothing. We should go. I need to get laundry done for next week. Giuliana and I have breakfast with Dad every Saturday. I’ve got, like, five hours to sleep before I see him.” My words tumble out, nervous and fast.
He just laughs, grabs his wallet, keys, and phone, and leads me out. The clubhouse is still alive with late-night stragglers, but I don’t see Giuliana or Slate. I hope my sister got lucky too. Killian exchanges
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a few words with a silver-haired fox of a man-club royalty, by the look-and then we’re out in the night, walking toward his Harley.
I pause, eyeing the bike. “What kind of Harley is this? How am I supposed to ride in this dress? I’ll be flashing the whole city.”
He smirks. “Softail. You can sit in front of me. You’re tiny enough.”
He stows our things in a saddlebag, fires up the engine, and helps me climb on-right in front of him. My dress rides up, baring my ass to the night air. He groans, palms my cheeks, and I can feel him getting hard against me. The rumble of the engine and the heat of his hands send shockwaves through me. I squirm, helpless to resist.
He leans in, breath hot on my ear. “Trust me?”
I nod, already trembling.
He fits a helmet over my head, buckles it snug under my chin, then pushes me forward, grinding my clit against the vibrating leather. I moan, shameless, my breasts pressed to the tank. He fumbles behind me, lifts me, and slides his cock inside me in one slow, sinful motion. We both gasp.
“You’re going to give
me that ride, baby.”
He takes off, the bike surging down the street, and I’m lost in the wild blur of sensation. The wind, the vibration, the fullness of him inside me-everything collides. I rock my hips, riding him as the city becomes a streak of lights and shadows. I grip the handlebars, bouncing in small, hungry motions, careful not to disrupt his control. His hand steadies my hip, guiding me, and then I come hard, screami ng over the roar of the bike, shuddering as I squirt all over him.
He’s still thick and hard inside me when we pull up outside my apartment. He balances the Harley, kills the engine, and grabs my hips, slamming me down onto him, fucking me with rough, desperate thrusts as he chants curses under his breath. He holds me down as he comes, cock twitching, his groan muffled against my back. When he finally pulls out, he kisses my spine, lingering.
“Fuck, baby, I can’t get enough. Let me see you again tonight. I’ll take you out, wine and dine you.”
I turn, breathless. “You want to see me again? Really?” I can’t help the question. He’s still holding me, still inside me, as if he can’t bear to let go.
“Definitely. I need more of you.”
A quiet “Okay,” escapes me.
He helps me off the bike, fixes himself up, and I try to compose myself, but the front of his sweats is a mess. I can’t help but laugh.
“You’ll have a hard time explaining that at the club.”
He just grins. “Not the first time someone’s come back like this. I’ve seen worse.”
“Oh God.” I hide my face, cheeks burning.
He laughs. “You’re blushing after the way you took my cock tonight?”
My blush deepens. He digs my clutch from the saddlebag, fishes out my phone, and quirks an eyebrow.
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“5522,” I supply, and he unlocks it, adds his number, and texts himself so we’re linked.
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He hands me my things, then pulls me into his arms, hands warm around my waist. He kisses me, gen tly at first, then deep and hungry, our tongues tangled. He pulls back, kisses the tip of my nose.
“Best night of my life, Angel. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
I watch him climb back onto his Harley, remove my helmet, and flash a grin before roaring off into the city. I stand under the streetlights, clutching my bag, dazed and smiling. Best night indeed.
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