Killian and I were made for this. We were made to fuck. To be together. “Let me in,” he grunts, burying his head into my shoulder as he drives into me. His fingertips dig into my soft flesh, making his own bruises into the marks his father had made. His voice is all hard viciousness, but there’s something buried below it. A plea that stretches with desperation. “Let me in, let me in, let me—fuck.” He goes rigid, and then I feel it: his dick pumping me full of his hot come. He lets out a growl that tapers off into a long, pained groan. “Goddamn, little sister. You’re trying to fucking kill me.”
