Chapter 10 Killian World Of Lust

She laughed at something I didn't hear.

Or maybe I just didn't care enough to register it.

Her fingers trailed along the inside of my arm as we stepped into the elevator, her perfume thick, too sweet. A contrast to Ivy's scent, which still clung to the edges of my memory like smoke I couldn't clear.

"Your place or mine?" she asked playfully, lips brushing my neck.

I hit the top floor button. "Mine."

She giggled. High, breathy. A sound that used to make me feel something.

Now it just grated.

I didn't remember her name. I hadn't cared to ask. She was a model or an influencer, someone used to being wanted. She clung to my arm like I was a trophy, not a man breaking at the seams.

The second the penthouse door clicked shut behind us, her mouth was on mine. Hands everywhere. Desperate. Maybe she thought I wanted it that way. Maybe I did.

I pushed her against the wall. She gasped, moaned into my mouth. Her fingers yanked at my shirt like she couldn't get it off fast enough.

But my head wasn't here.

It was still back at that goddamn gallery.

Back with Ivy.

She had no right looking that good.

She had no right looking that fucking heartbroken.

I grabbed the woman's face, kissed her harder. Bit her lip. Made her stumble.

"God," she whispered, breathless. "You're intense."

She had no idea.

I spun her around. Her dress hit the floor in seconds. She was stunning, flawless even, but when I fucked her, I closed my eyes.

And saw Ivy.

Her wide hazel eyes. Her parted lips. The way her breath had hitched when she looked at me across the room, like she'd remembered everything too.

That night in the club.

My hands on her thighs.

My name in her mouth.

"Fuck," I muttered, slamming deeper into the woman in front of me.

She cried out, nails dragging down my back. "Yes, Killian, harder."

I gave her what she asked for.

Because I didn't want soft.

I didn't want real.

I wanted to forget.

But I couldn't.

No matter how tight she was, how loud she screamed, how perfect she looked beneath me,

She wasn't Ivy.

Ivy with her haunted eyes and broken voice. Ivy who looked at me like I was the worst mistake she ever made, and still couldn't stop wanting me.

Ivy who belonged to my brother.

Who wore Victor's ring and his last name like shackles.

The woman came with a strangled cry. Her body arched, trembling. I chased my own release like it owed me something.

When it finally hit, it was empty.

A moment of silence stretched afterward.

She tried to curl against me. "That was..."

But I was already standing.

Pulling on boxers. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey. Ignoring the red marks down my back.

"You want a ride home?" I asked flatly.

She blinked at me. "Seriously?"

I looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time all night.

She was gorgeous.

And completely forgettable.

"I'm not in the mood for pillow talk," I said simply.

A beat of silence. Then she scoffed and slid off the bed. "Men like you always think the world should bend for you."

"Maybe it should."

"You'll die alone, Killian Wolfe."

I almost laughed. "That's the plan."

The door slammed behind her a minute later.

I dropped into the leather chair by the window, poured myself two fingers of scotch, and stared at the skyline.

Her face wouldn't leave me.

Ivy. In that black dress. In my brother's arms.

I took a slow sip. Let it burn.

Because nothing drowned out the memory of her.

Not even this.

Not even tonight.

Not even her name on my lips while I was inside someone else.