Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Lying on the couch in the living room, watching the trashiest British reality show I can find, I hear Killian stomping down the stairs, and I glance up and feel my jaw drop as I take in his appearance.

Normally he’s in boots, and they clunk loudly against the wood floors, and it sounds like we’re being attacked by a giant. But this sound is different. It’s lighter and softer.

I pick myself up from the couch to peer back at him as he enters the room.

He’s in his green and white kilt with the same slate gray jacket he wore at our wedding. There is no way to fully prepare myself for the effect that kilt has on me.

I completely skip over confused and directly into aroused.

Then it dawns on me. I bolt further upright. “We’re going to the party?” I chime excitedly.

“Get dressed before I change my mind,” he mutters lowly.

I’m not even focused on the sexual favor I have to perform in order to get him to do this, but I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I’m busy barreling up the stairs, thinking about which dress in my closet will work for tonight’s event.

I settle on a gold velvet gown that hugs my curves. The plunging neckline is covered by a piece of netting covered in gems. My hair doesn’t take long to pull into a half-up style with a clip at the back of my head. I spray my curls with something to clean up the frizz. Then I quickly apply some makeup and scurry downstairs before Killian has a chance to back out.

I’m not sure why I’m so anxious for this party. Maybe it’s the promise of ten thousand dollars for getting him to go. Maybe it’s the sex. Or maybe it’s for the look on his family’s face when he shows up and blows them all away.

When I come down the stairs, Killian is waiting.

“That was…” His eyes lift from his phone as he settles his gaze on me. “Fast.”

I stop near the bottom step, struggling for something to say. “Ready?”

He swallows. “You look nice, wife.”

“Not too bad yourself, brute.”

I grin to myself as I sit down on the bench to put on my shoes. Moments like this always strike me as ironic, the way we can banter like a married couple and how real it feels, even though it’s not.

As I slip on my heels, I glance up at Killian’s hair. It’s past his shoulders now. It looks silky smooth and well kept, but honestly…too long.

Standing up, I tug on the ends. “Can we please trim this up?”

“Now?” he asks in disbelief.

“It’ll only take a minute.” I grab his hand and drag him back up the stairs. “Come on.”

Begrudgingly, he lets me pull him into my en suite bathroom. I pull the chair from the vanity and gesture for him to sit. A small giggle escapes when I see how massive he looks on the tiny thing. But it puts him at the right height for me.

Snatching a towel off the rack, I drape it around his shoulders and fasten it into place with a hair clip. Then I pull open the top drawer and retrieve the scissors I use to cut off my split ends.

I feel Killian’s eyes on me as I move around the bathroom. When I spray his hair with water, he winces and curses under his breath. And I’m not gentle when I comb through the long strands.

“Who has been cutting your hair?” I ask as I try to line up the ends.

He shrugs. “Random women. Sometimes the housekeepers. Sometimes me.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I reply.

Leaning back, I take a look at him. “How much can I take off?”

“It’s hair. I don’t care how much you cut. It grows back.”

I screw up my lips as I think this through, trying to imagine what he’d look like without the messy mop of wild brown hair on his head.

“Okay…” I reply. Then I lean in and start chopping. He barely reacts as long chunks of hair fall off the white towel and onto the floor. It’s a little nerve-racking to watch the way his signature look slowly morphs into something cleaner and simpler.

“Are you a hairdresser?” he asks as he watches me work.

“No,” I reply as I style the length I left on the top. “But I’ve always loved styling hair.”

“So, why don’t you do it?”

“As a job, you mean?” I reply.

“Yeah.”

I stop and look at the finished product. It’s not too short but still looks fresh on him. And I think back to when I was growing up. There was never a moment when I considered this as a career path.

“I’m a writer,” I reply without enthusiasm.

“I haven’t seen you write a thing,” he replies.

“I need to trim your beard now,” I say, quickly changing the subject.

Leaning over, I get dangerously close to Killian’s face as I comb through the length of it, trimming the excess as I go. His eyes stay glued on mine, but I don’t dare look at him. It’s too close. Too intimate.

“Who decided you were a writer? You?” he asks softly.

I force myself to swallow. But I don’t answer.

“Do you light up when you write the way you’re lighting up right now?”

I freeze. In my mind, the answer is immediate—no.

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply as I set the scissors on the counter and unclip the towel from around his shoulders.

“It doesn’t?” he asks.

“No. It doesn’t matter whether I’m supposed to be a writer or a hairdresser or a grumpy Scot’s wife. Because no matter what I do, it will never be enough.”

“Enough for who?”

“Drop it, Killian,” I harp in return. Then I gesture to the mirror. “Just look at yourself. Tell me if you like it.”

With a disgruntled sigh, he stands from the tiny chair and turns toward the large mirror. Pausing for a moment, he stares at his reflection with hesitation.

“You don’t like it,” I say, suddenly nervous about his reaction.

He angles his head back and forth to see the new look. Immediately, I notice that he appears older with a more sophisticated style. But older in a good way. There are patches of gray starting to peek out around the edges of his hairline.

“I love it,” he says in a low whisper.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying,” he says as he turns toward me. “You did a bloody good job.”

I swallow again, twisting my mouth in uncertainty as I force my eyes away.

“Good. I’m glad you like it.”

When I turn to walk out of the bathroom, he snatches my arm and pulls me back toward him.

With two fingers under my chin, he angles my face upward. “It does matter.”

I clench my jaw and fidget impatiently, waiting for him to let me go so I no longer have to stare into his eyes. “Okay,” I mutter unconvincingly. “We’re gonna be late.”

Relenting, he lets me go, and I march out of the room. Blinking the emotion out of my eyes, I paint a smile on my face and try to look forward to the way his siblings are going to react when they see him.

***

When we climb into the car, I start to feel Killian tense beside me. His leg is bouncing, and I can hear the clicking of his jaw as he clenches it. Peter tries to make small talk to cover up the fact that Killian is a mess of nerves.

It’s glaringly obvious to me that Killian’s choice not to leave his house in six years wasn’t much of a choice at all. He’s struggling right now. I wish there was a way to help him, but I don’t know how.

Reaching my hand across the seat, I rest it on his bare knee. It doesn’t do much to calm the jittery movements. He stares out the window with a scowl, so I reach over his lap and take one of his large hands in mine.

While Peter continues to chat with us about the weather and the holidays, I squeeze Killian’s hand and watch as the jumping in his knees quiets.

That is, until we pull up to a large house outside the city. It’s nowhere near as big as Barclay Manor, but it’s still large nonetheless. There are other cars parked in the large circular drive, so Peter pulls all the way up to the door to let us out.

Killian doesn’t even move until Peter opens his door.

“Have a lovely evening,” he says before we both climb out.

“Thank you,” I reply softly.

There is a bagpiper near the door, playing as guests arrive, although we seem to be the last to get here. It takes me off guard to see him there. I sort of assumed this would be an intimate family gathering, but judging by the size of the house and the noise coming from inside, this is a full-blown New Year’s bash.

Standing at the front entrance, I wait for Killian to take the first step. But he’s hesitating. So I wait beside him. After a moment of loaded silence, I turn toward him.

His face is tense, and his chest moves with slow, shallow breaths. Reaching out I take his hand again. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “We’re going in. Just give me a second.”

“Take all the time you need,” I reply, giving his hand a squeeze.

His gaze cascades down to our linked hands and then up to my face. After a moment, he seems to reach a conclusion, and he turns toward the front door with purpose.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters before pulling on the handle.

We enter through a foyer first, much like something from a normal-sized home. Nothing like the mansion we live in. He takes my hand again and walks through the hallway of the family home until we reach a large living room.

The moment we step inside, the conversation immediately dies.

I glance around at the crowd, recognizing Anna first. Then I find Killian’s brother, Lachy, talking to his other brother, Declan, both decked in matching kilts like Killian is in. They are all staring at us with their mouths hanging open, frozen in shock.

It’s Killian’s sister who approaches first. Anna hurries over to us with her arms stretched wide for a hug. I notice tears in her eyes as she throws her arms around her brother. When she finally releases him, she smiles at his new haircut.

Then, Anna hugs me, whispering a grateful “Thank you” as she does.

A sense of pride floods through me at that sentiment. I really didn’t do much, and she probably doesn’t want to know what I really had to offer in order to make him come, but she doesn’t need to know. At least he’s here.

Next, Lachy wraps me up in a hug. “It’s been too long, little sister,” he says with a playful tone.

“Och, leave them alone, Lach. You know what they’ve been up to in that big house all this time.”

“Declan!” Anna snaps, scolding him with a slap on his chest. The men laugh, and I instantly glance up to see Killian’s reaction. The tension in his face is gone, and he’s even cracking a smile now.

The rest of Killian’s family comes over and greets us. We’re offered drinks and food, and we stay at each other’s side the whole time. An hour easily goes by before his aunt finally comes over to greet him.

I met her briefly at the wedding, but it was clear to me then, as it is now, that she is not the biggest fan of Killian. My shoulders immediately tighten as she approaches him.

“It’s about damn time, nephew,” she says.

She’s an elderly woman, probably in her late seventies. Like Killian, she has dark hair and pale skin. Unlike Killian, she is gaunt and thin.

“Hello, Auntie Lorna,” he replies in a low, muttering voice.

“You look good,” she says with a drink in her hand, letting her gaze scan his clothing. “And you brought your American wife.”

My jaw tightens as I glare at her. If this is the woman pulling the strings on this whole scheme with Killian, I have a very bad feeling about it all of a sudden.

“Of course I did,” Killian replies, pulling me closer. I rest a hand on his chest and stand close to him.

“What would your father say about your long absence?” she asks over the rim of her crystal glass.

“I’m sure he’d be very happy to see Killian doing so well,” I reply, tapping my husband on the chest.

His aunt laughs into her wine. “You didn’t know him.”

“I’m sure if he was here,” Killian says, breaking in, “he’d love Sylvie too.”

My heart has the stupid idea of beating faster hearing him say that. But I quickly have to remind myself it’s just a trick. He doesn’t love me. But he’s doing a great job at pretending.

“Well, he’s not,” Lorna replies.

I notice the way she glares at him as she says that, and it makes my nostrils flare with anger. She slowly walks away from us, and I fight the urge to throw my punch in her face.

“Oh look!” one of the younger women, who I assume is Killian’s cousin, calls as she points above our heads. “Mistletoe!”

“You know what that means,” Declan adds with a haughty smirk.

I glance up and see the green ball hanging over our heads. I glance at Killian and give him a playful expression. Then, he does exactly what I hoped he would do.

He scoops me up by the lower back and tips me dramatically as he plants a deep, passionate kiss on my lips. His family cheers around us, and when he finally pulls me upright, I find it harder to wipe the smile from my face.

He’s starting to relax. I can tell.

When we first entered the party, Killian wasn’t himself. He was too tense to be the sarcastic, snarky asshole I know.

When Killian and I move to the corner of the room with fresh drinks in our hands, I turn toward him and whisper, “Your aunt is a real cunt.”

He chuckles to himself. “You’re not wrong.”

I glance around the room. “So, this is her house?”

“Yep.”

“Does she have anything cool we can steal?” I mumble into my glass.

“Nothing I want,” he replies.

“Come on,” I mutter, grabbing his hand. “I’m sure we can find some trouble to get into.”

No one notices as we slip out of the room. I pull him past the kitchen and up a flight of stairs. We come across an office, two bedrooms, a large bathroom, and the primary bedroom. We end up in what I assume is her bedroom, and I immediately start to snoop.

“Why does she hate you so much?” I ask as I peer at all of the jewelry on her dresser.

He shrugs as he leans against the doorframe. “She blames me for my parents’ death.”

My head snaps in his direction. “What? Wasn’t it a car accident?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he nods his head.

“That’s terrible.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replies, looking down.

Picking up a pearl necklace, I hold it up over my dress. “What do you think?”

“She’ll kill you if she catches you going through her things.”

I scoff. “I’d like to see her try. After the way she spoke to you tonight, she’s lucky I’m not doing worse.”

“Aww,” he says as he steps toward me, smiling. “You sound a little protective of me, mo ghràidh.”

I give him a twisted expression. “No. I just think she’s a bitch, and clearly, being a bitch to you is my job.”

He saunters up behind me, grabbing me by the hips and grinding himself against my backside. The intimacy still takes me by surprise, but it doesn’t stop the blossoming heat building in my belly.

I stand up straight as he brushes my hair away from my neck and kisses me delicately above my shoulder. Letting out a small hum, I let my eyes close as I savor the warmth of his touch.

Then I open my eyes and stare into the large mirror in front of us. My eyes devour the sight of us together. Something about it is satisfying, as if we fit so well together that I can’t possibly deny it. But the longer I look at us, the more shame I feel.

So I spin toward him and push him against the wall. Before he can say a word, I grab him by the neck and drag his mouth toward mine. I kiss him with fervor, devouring his lips and tongue. He matches my passion and kisses me back with just as much.

I feel his cock beginning to stiffen against my stomach, so I reach down and stroke it through the thick fabric of his kilt.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he mutters, pulling away from the kiss.

“What?” I ask breathlessly.

“I can’t do it in here.”

“Sure, you can,” I reply, pushing him back with a smile. Then I look down at where his cock is pitching a tent. “Because you certainly can’t go back down there with that.”

Digging a hand in my hair, he tilts my head back as he smiles down at me. “Then, maybe you can take care of that for me, darling.”

I quickly shove away, torn between wanting to cuss at him for teasing me with that pet name and desperately wanting to take care of that for him .

Naturally, I side with the latter.

My hand drifts downward, sliding his kilt up until I brush the fabric of his boxer briefs.

“Well, that’s disappointing. I thought you weren’t supposed to wear anything under these.”

He chuckles as he kisses my neck again. “It’s a wee bit cold out for that. Don’t you think?”

When I reach the waistband of his boxers, I gently tug it down, releasing his cock. The moment I have it in my hand, the heavy weight against my palm, I let out a mewling cry. He sucks eagerly on my neck as I stroke him, my fingers barely reaching all the way around.

“Wrap your lips around my cock, darling. I need to feel that mouth of yours.”

My core lights up with desire, and I don’t hesitate as he uses the hold on my hair to guide me to my knees. My head slips under his kilt as I pull down his boxers further to see his entire cock for myself. My eyes widen when I take in the size.

Long, thick, and bulging at the tip, I admire it for a moment too long. Wrapping my fingers around the base, I drag the head across the surface of my tongue. He lets out a growling moan as I do.

Closing my lips around the tip, I taste the precum leaking as I suck eagerly, licking my way around the rim. He groans again.

“Do that again, darling.”

I tease the head of his cock again, flicking my tongue just under the tip. His hand finds my hair again as he guides his dick farther into my mouth. Having his impressive length on my tongue is satisfying, and I challenge myself to go deeper and deeper with each stroke. I wrap my hands around the base and fill the space my lips can’t reach as I suck, feeling the way he tenses on every upstroke.

I can’t get enough of his moans, so I chase them with each movement of my mouth. Arousal pools between my thighs. With my free hand, I gently cup his balls and massage them as I bob my mouth up and down on his shaft.

“Fuck me, mo ghràidh. That mouth of yours feels so good.”

When I feel him nearing his climax, I ease up. I’m not ready for this to be over. I’ve never enjoyed a blow job in my life, but hearing Killian’s praise becomes my motivation. I need more of it.

“Sylvie,” he mutters in a raspy tone. “Look at me.”

I pause my stroking and gaze up at him. Holding his kilt up, he stares down at me, his face frozen in pleasure. “Keep going.”

Using my hands and mouth, I draw him closer to his climax again, this time gazing up at him as I do. I feel addicted to his pleasure and the intensity of his gaze, needing it more than my own. I’m moaning wildly around his dick, squeezing tight and sucking hard, knowing full well he’s about to unload in my mouth at any moment.

And I want it.

“I’m almost there, darling. Don’t stop.”

When he finally seizes up in my hand, I wait eagerly for the salty release on my tongue. When I finally get it, I’m not disappointed. I feel it hit the back of my throat, so I quickly swallow before I risk gagging.

Killian lets out a string of curses at the sight. I wait for his climax to end before I pull my mouth away, quickly wiping the mess from my lips. And when I venture to gaze in his direction, I notice he’s staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost.

“What?” I say as I stand up.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

But I notice that his hands don’t leave my body for a second. He holds on to my arms, dragging me closer to him. Then, instead of kissing me, he cradles me against his chest. I don’t expect it, but I also don’t push him away.

I let the pounding of his heart echo against my ear, and I try to push away any nagging reminder that this isn’t what people who hate each other do.