Black Swan Affair(2)

By: K.L. Kreig

A knock on the door startles me and I jump.

It’s time.

Fuck. It’s time.

I take a calming breath in. Blow it out slowly. Turning away from my deceitful eyes, I make my way to the door and open it after only a brief hesitation, expecting to find my father on the other side.

But instead of graying hair and deep laugh lines framing a soft smile, I’m greeted with a melted dark chocolate stare and thin, angry lips.

He’s here.

My “if” has arrived.

“Killian?” I breathe, hope rising in me like a tidal wave. I discreetly pinch my arm to make sure this isn’t a dream. Nope. I look both ways down the hall to find we’re alone. “What are you doing here?”

He steps inside and closes the door. Then he gets right in my space, grabbing my face between his monstrous hands. My soul sighs, and I close my eyes to focus on the touch I’ve been paralyzed without.

This is happening.

It’s really happening.

He’s come for me at last. It’s almost too late, but that doesn’t even matter.

He’s here.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, I silently scream.

When I don’t feel his lips on mine, I pry my lids open. Killian’s staring at me with turmoil on his face. My heart sinks. He’s standing here, touching me, yet a whole gulf still separates us.

“I love you,” I vomit.

It’s the same words I spoke to him on his own wedding day two years ago. To my sister.

I begged him to choose me. Love me. Marry me.

But he butchered me, marrying her instead.

“Don’t do this, Small Fry,” he pleads, his voice strained. “I’m begging you not to do this.”

I used to love that endearment…now I fucking hate it. Every time he says it, it reminds exactly what he thinks of me.

“Leave her,” I demand. “Tell me you’ll leave her and I won’t.”

His face screws up. His eyes close. His head drops heavy on his neck. It’s the same response he always gives me.

He’s not here for you, Maverick. He never is.

I yank out of his hold, pushing him away. The half sandwich I ate an hour ago threatens to make a reappearance. “Get out,” I choke, stabbing my finger toward the door.

He squares his broad shoulders, standing to every inch of his six feet. “You’re being reckless and immature. You’re not in love with him.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know shit.” He hates it when I curse. Says it’s “unladylike.” Well, fuck him and the fucking gentlemanly horse he fucking rode in on. Fuck has now become my favorite fucking word.


“Don’t,” I whisper, close to breaking, which I swore I would never do in front of him again. “Unless you’re here to finally admit you married the wrong sister then just get the fuck out.”

“Just wait. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Wait? Wait for what, Killian? Wait for you to grow back the balls Jilly cut off and tucked under her pillow? Wait for you to tell her that you know what my pussy tastes like or how you can’t forget that I made you come harder than you have in your life when I deep throated you? Wait for you to confess that all you can think about is fucking me and you can’t stand the very sight of her in your bed? Wait until she gets hit by a car so you’re free to be with me? Tell me…what exactly is it I’m supposed to wait for?”

“You’re being crude and petulant.” My eyes track the crossing of his arms. I hate that I throb in my very center, knowing what every muscle and ridge under that tux feels like. Tastes like.

“Well…bleeding out on the inside tends to make me snarky and bitter.”

His clean-shaven jaw clenches and his stare turns flinty. He’s here begging me not to marry his brother, but that’s all I’ll get. Sorrys, empty promises, no commitment. Nothing. Always nothing.

A wave of incredible—almost debilitating—sadness washes over and through me, threatening to drown me in a lifetime of permanent sorrow at the prospect of being without him in the way we both want.

I don’t get it. I don’t understand how we got here…to this very moment. I don’t know where the wheels fell off, changing our course or why he won’t just admit he made a mistake marrying someone who treats him like a worthless pile of shit.

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