Rae's POV

I woke up for the 2nd time feeling like my entire body had been rewritten.

I lay there in Zara’s bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second. I left there earlier and headed to Zara’s place.

His hands. His mouth.

The way he whispered praise like it was holy. The tongue piercing.

The kiss on my forehead after I came so hard I forgot my name.

I pressed my legs together.

And still - my body tingled.

“Rae?” Zara’s voice broke through the haze. “You alive?”

I turned my head slowly.

She stood at the door with two mugs of coffee and the world’s most annoying smirk.

“Well,” she drawled. “Do I get the post-sin breakdown or what?”

I groaned. “I’m too sore to sit up.”

She squealed, jumping onto the bed like a 5-year-old.

“No way. Was he hot? Like hot hot?”

I blinked. “He had a tongue piercing.”

Zara dropped her mug on the nightstand like she’d just heard God speak.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“On his tongue?!”

“And tattoos. Everywhere.”

Zara clutched her chest. “Oh, you definitely got picked by one of the Room 40s. That’s where the real men live.”

I nodded slowly. “He… took his time.”

“Girl, you are glowing. I feel like I should applaud.”

I laughed and covered my face with a pillow. “Can we pretend this didn’t happen now?”

“Nope.” She sipped her coffee. “You’ve officially been corrupted. No turning back now.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I wasn’t the same girl who walked into that room.

And I sure as hell wasn’t the same girl walking into my mother’s house that morning.

~~~~~

When I got home, the front door was already open.

We lived in one of those fancy neighborhoods with manicured lawns and annoying birds that chirped too loudly.

I kicked off my heels at the door and padded inside quietly, hoping to sneak into my room and sleep off the heat still buzzing in my veins.

But I heard voices. From the living room.

My mom’s cheerful laugh. And a deeper voice.

Male.

I paused.

There was someone here?

I adjusted my skirt and cleared my throat before stepping in.

“Hey, Mom, I’m-”

My entire body stopped mid-word.

And my soul left my body.

Because standing in the middle of the living room, holding a coffee mug in one hand and smirking like the devil himself…

Was him.

Killian.

In jeans. Black t-shirt hugging his broad chest. Hair wet like he just showered.

And the same blue eyes that had watched me fall apart just hours ago.

My stomach dropped.

My knees nearly buckled.

I gripped the wall for support.

He looked at me.

Calm. Confident.

His tongue piercing glinted for half a second when he sipped from the mug.

He knew.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Oh, Rae!” my mom chirped. “Finally! I wanted you to meet our guest.”

I blinked at her.

Guest?

She motioned toward him.

“This is Killian Hale. Your stepfather’s brother.”

No.

No.

No.

I must’ve heard that wrong.

Killian smiled, slow and sharp, like a wolf dressed in Sunday best.

“Nice to meet you… Rae.”

His voice.

The same one that told me to open my legs last night.

The same one that called me kitten while his mouth was on my-

I nearly choked.

My mother kept going, blissfully oblivious to the flames exploding inside me.

“Victor didn’t want me to tell you until he got back from his trip. Killian’s staying in the pool house for a while. Isn’t that lovely?”

I nodded slowly. Or maybe I just swayed.

The room felt sideways.

I couldn’t breathe.

He stepped forward, extending a hand.

Like this was the first time we were meeting.

Like he hadn’t had his tongue inside me just hours ago.

Like he hadn’t said he wanted to ruin me.

I stared at his hand like it was a bomb.

He arched a brow.

Play along, his eyes seemed to say.

I swallowed and reached out - his fingers closed around mine.

Firm. Warm. Familiar.

Too familiar.

The second our skin touched, a rush of heat traveled straight to my core. My cheeks burned.

“Rae,” he said, still holding my hand. “You look… different from how I imagined you.”

My breath caught.

My mom laughed. “She’s shy.”

Killian smiled. “She wasn’t last night.”

Not out loud.

Just with his eyes.

And the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that told me he was enjoying this.

I yanked my hand back. “I - I need to go lie down.”

“Late night?” he asked casually.

My head snapped toward him.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

My mom nodded. “Zara’s been dragging her out to clubs again, hasn’t she?”

I forced a laugh. “Something like that.”

“Well, Killian’s going to be around for a while,” she said. “Maybe you two can get to know each other better.”

I nearly passed out.

Killian just smiled.

“I’d like that.”

~~~~~

I locked myself in my room and collapsed against the door.

My heart was still trying to claw its way out of my chest.

Of all the men in the club…

Of all the rooms…

I’d given my firsts to my stepdad’s brother.

And now he was sleeping twenty feet away in our pool house.

Sipping coffee with my mom.

Looking at me like he already owned my body.

My phone buzzed.

A text.

Unknown Number:

Your mouth said “yes.”

Your eyes said “please.”

And your body?

It’s still mine, kitten.

I threw my phone onto the bed and buried my face in my hands.

What the hell had I done?

And worse…

Why did I want to do it again?

Rae’s POV

The rest of the day crawled by in a haze of torture.

I hid in my room, pretending to study, pretending to breathe normally, pretending I wasn’t hyper-aware of every footstep in the hallway.

Every time the floorboards creaked, my heart slammed against my ribs.

Every time he laughed at something on his phone, the low rumble seeped through the walls and slid straight between my thighs.

By six o’clock I was a wreck.

I came downstairs for water (liar, I came downstairs because I was starving for the sight of him) and found him leaning against the kitchen island, one hand in his pocket, the other scrolling lazily on his phone.

Black T-shirt stretched across his chest, gray sweatpants hanging criminal-low. He didn’t even look up, but the corner of his mouth curved like he could smell my desperation from across the room.

I was halfway to the fridge when the front door burst open.

Mom rushed in, already flustered, phone pressed to her ear.

“Yes, yes, Marissa, I’m packing right now. I’ll be there in three hours.”

She ended the call, tossed her keys into the bowl, and looked between us like she’d only just remembered we existed.

“Sweetheart,” she said, breathless, “Marissa’s mother had a fall. Broken hip. I’m driving up tonight and staying the week to help. The guest room at their place is tiny, so I’ll just sleep there.”

My stomach flipped.

A whole week.

Alone.

With him.

Killian finally lifted his head. His eyes met mine over Mom’s shoulder, blue and wicked and unreadable.

Mom didn’t notice. She was already rummaging for her overnight bag.

“Killian, honey,” she said, turning to him with that sweet, trusting smile, “would you mind keeping an eye on Rae for me? She burns water when left unsupervised, and I don’t want her ordering takeout for seven days straight.”

He pushed off the counter, slow and graceful, and walked over. Every step felt like it sucked the oxygen from the room.

“Of course, Lisa,” he said, voice velvet and polite. “I’ll take good care of her.”

The way he said it (low, deliberate, eyes locked on me) made my knees threaten to fold.

Mom beamed, completely oblivious. “You’re an angel. There’s lasagna in the freezer, and the pool house is fully stocked if you two want to—”

“We’ll be fine,” he cut in gently. “Drive safe.”

Two minutes later she was kissing my cheek, telling me to text her when I woke up, and then the front door shut.

The house went terrifyingly quiet.

I heard the click of the deadbolt.

Then his footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

Coming for me.

I didn’t move from the spot by the fridge. My fingers curled around the cold handle like it could save me.

He stopped right behind me. Close enough that the heat of his body licked up my spine.

“Turn around, kitten.”

My breath shook out of me.

I turned.

His hand came up instantly, cupping my jaw, thumb pressing into my lower lip. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, pupils blown wide.

“Seven days,” he said, voice rough. “Seven nights. No one to hear you scream my name.”

Then his mouth crashed into mine.

It wasn’t a kiss; it was a claiming. Hungry, filthy, teeth and tongue and the cold shock of his piercing dragging over my bottom lip.

I whimpered into him, and he swallowed the sound, backing me up until my spine hit the fridge door with a metallic thud.

His hands were everywhere, sliding under my cropped hoodie, palms hot against my bare waist, dragging up to cup my breasts through the thin lace of my bra. He groaned when he found me already hard for him, nipples straining against the fabric.

“Still sore?” he rasped against my mouth.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Good.”

He pinched one nipple, rolled it between his fingers until I cried out, then soothed it with a slow circle of his thumb.

His mouth dropped to my neck, open-mouthed kisses, sucking hard enough to bruise, marking me where Mom would never see.

I clutched his shoulders, dizzy, drowning.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and yanked them down in one rough motion, taking my panties with them.

Cool air hit my skin, and then his hand was between my thighs, cupping me possessively.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re soaked already.”

Two thick fingers slid through my folds, spreading me open, teasing my entrance without pushing in. I tried to rock against him, but he pressed his forearm across my hips, pinning me to the fridge.

“Greedy girl,” he murmured, biting my earlobe. “You’ll take what I give you.”

Then he pushed inside.

Two fingers, slow and deliberate, stretching me open. My head fell back against the fridge with a soft thud. He curled them instantly, stroking that spot that made my thighs shake.

“Look at you,” he growled, pumping slowly. “Taking me so well.”

He added a third finger, scissoring gently, stretching me further. The burn was perfect (sharp pleasure laced with the memory of last night). I could hear how wet I was, the slick sounds filling the kitchen, obscene and intoxicating.

His thumb found my clit, circling in tight, ruthless strokes.

I was already climbing, embarrassingly fast.

“Daddy—” I choked.

“Not yet.”

He pulled his fingers out.

I whined at the loss, but then he brought them to my lips, glistening with me.

“Open.”

I parted my lips without thinking.

He slid all three fingers into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue so I tasted myself - sweet, salty, filthy. His eyes flared as he watched me suck him clean, cheeks hollowed, tongue swirling around the digits like I was starving for it.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice gravel. “Now get on your knees.”

My legs almost gave out.

He stepped back just enough to give me room. I sank down slowly, the cold tile biting into my knees, my leggings still bunched around my thighs.

He looked down at me (towering, dark, beautiful) and dragged his thumb across my wet lower lip.

“Hands behind your back.”

I obeyed.

He reached down, hooked a finger under my chin, and tilted my face up.

“Seven days, kitten,” he said again, softer this time, almost reverent. “I’m going to ruin you so completely you’ll feel me even when I’m not inside you.”

Then he tangled his fingers in my hair, tugged my head back gently, and smiled like the devil who’d finally come to collect.

“Now open that pretty mouth and show Daddy how grateful you are.”