Chapter Thirty-Four

                                    

                                          



Killian loved their new arrangement for the most part.
In private, he could touch his mate without the fear of her cutting his hands off. So long as they were behind closed doors, she welcomed him to touch her, kiss her and hold her as he pleased.
Anything physical was allowed.
Which meant there'd been plenty of touching, kissing and holding.
He made it a part of his morning routine to drink from her as she did from him.
Equally, Killian hated this new arrangement.
Reagan, as she did with most other things, took the no forming feelings thing to a whole new level.
He'd eat her out, wreaking orgasm after orgasm from her body. Then she'd stand, put her clothes back on and leave.
In her own room, she'd ditch him to go shower, locking the door and making it perfectly clear he was to be gone by the time he returned.
Irritating woman.
Would sleeping beside her for one night be the worst thing?
So what if she woke up with his arm slung across her body? It'd take more than something so trivial as a hug to have her falling head over heels in love with him.
Sitting behind her, he pulled his fangs free from her neck, licking up the lingering blood with soft kisses. His arm was drawn around her body, his wrist clutched to her mouth as she drank from him slowly.
"How much longer is this going to last?" He asked, nursing a raging hard-on. Her blood always had that effect on him.
Grumbling, she removed her fangs from his wrist. "I'm done now. Gods."
"Not that." He guided his wrist back towards her mouth and sighed. "Take all you want of that."
Her touch on his arm became tentative. Reagan didn't like surprises. She didn't like being out of the know. "Then what?"
Since she didn't care for drinking anymore, he lowered his arm to her waist, trapping her against him as a precaution.
When she realised where he was going with this, he wouldn't put it past her to flee the scene completely. Then, in their next meet up, she'd pretend it had never happened.
"How much longer will you keep kicking me out of your room for?"
She slumped into his body, muttering, "You said you were letting me call the shots."
"Your shots are fuck-ish."
After fucking her six ways to Sunday, he'd like for nothing more than to tuck her up in his embrace, collapse into the pillows and call it a day. Instead, they faced the palaver of one of them having to leave. And then the bed was cold and empty, his body feeling used.
"My shots get you fucked," She stated wisely. Which was true, but it didn't make the situation any easier. "You're not complaining when that's happening."
He scoffed. Would anyone in his position?
My Reagan writhing around me, cumming all over my cock?
Only an idiot would complain about that.
He spent most of his days fantasising about the space between her legs. About what he wanted to do with her lips.
There was no chance of him passing that connection up.
"No, but I am when you're kicking me out two minutes later."
"We agreed on a no strings attached deal."
She shrugged his hold off, shuffling to turn and face him.