YURI

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Hey, aunty.”

I turned my head to see Austin grinning at me like he’d just stumbled onto the juiciest piece of gossip in town.

“Austin, hi,” I replied with a polite smile, already sensing trouble from the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wow,” he said, giving me an exaggerated once-over, “I didn’t know aunties could look this hot.”

My jaw dropped slightly, half in disbelief and half in embarrassment. “Bye

Come on, everyone, have a seat,” Mom called out cheerfully.

I slid into the chair beside her, and of course, fate decided that Killian would end up directly across from me. He didn’t even look my way—just sat there cool and composed while Mom began her prayer.

We all chorused “Amen” and dug into the feast, laughter and chatter filling the warm evening air. I noticed Killian and Kendall locked in a deep conversation, his full attention on whatever she was saying. Something about that made my pulse pick up—not jealousy exactly, but something dangerously close.

So, I decided to test him.

Slowly, I slipped off one of my shoes under the table, my toes brushing lightly against his leg. He didn’t flinch. No reaction. Nothing.

I smirked to myself and moved a little higher, tracing small, teasing paths along his calf. Still nothing. The man might as well have been carved from marble.

My movements became bolder, my foot gliding up and down his leg in slow strokes, waiting for the telltale flicker in his eyes or a break in his calm façade.

But no—Killian just kept nodding along to Kendall, sipping his drink like I wasn’t practically declaring war under the table.

That bastard.

Oh, he wanted to play? I could play dirtier.

After dinner, Mom stood at the doorway, giving everyone her warm goodbyes as they trickled out one by one. The air still smelled faintly of grilled meat and wood smoke.

I made my way around, pressing a kiss to Mom’s cheek, then to Kirby’s, giving Joe a quick hug, and scooping Danielle into my arms for a squeeze before she scampered off after her dog.

Once the last wave and smile were exchanged, I headed upstairs, my footsteps slow but deliberate.

Inside my room, I shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, replaying the night—the conversations, the teasing, the maddening way Killian hadn’t even flinched earlier. That stubborn, controlled look of his was burned into my mind.

I let out a breath, peeled off my clothes piece by piece, and crossed to my dresser. Sliding open the bottom drawer, I pulled out the delicate Victoria’s Secret matching set I’d bought during my last girls’ shopping trip. Black lace, silk straps, and just the right amount of wickedness.

Tonight, I thought, was no night for subtlety.

I tied the red robe loosely, letting just a teasing hint of lace peek through, and perched on the edge of my bed, listening. The quiet hum of the house slowly deepened into that familiar stillness—the creaks settling, distant doors closing, the faint murmur of the TV downstairs finally clicking off. One by one, everyone retreated to their rooms.

When I was certain the coast was clear, I slipped out, my bare feet silent against the hallway floor. The air felt charged, like I was doing something forbidden, which, technically, I was. My pulse drummed in my ears as I made my way to *his* door.

I didn’t knock. I didn’t hesitate. I turned the handle, slipped inside, and padded toward the bed. The room was dim, smelling faintly of cedar and his cologne.

He was lying on his side, broad shoulders outlined in the shadows. Without a word, I slid under the covers, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.

That got his attention. He shifted, frowning slightly, and reached for the lamp on his nightstand. With a soft click, warm light spilled over us, catching the curve of my robe and the surprise on his face.

His eyes locked on mine—curious, cautious, and just a little dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low, almost a growl.

I just held his gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at my lips.

I swung one leg over and settled onto his lap, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric between us. My heart was hammering, but my voice was steady, almost playful.

“I also wanted to tell you what I love about you,” I murmured, leaning just close enough for him to feel my breath.

“I love the way you stare at me,” I said, my tone dropping, “it makes my n*****s hard.”

His jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he didn’t move.

I reached for his hand, guiding it to rest firmly on my waist. “I love how big your hands are… and how they feel on my bare skin.”

His thumb flexed instinctively, brushing against my side, and I bit my lip before continuing.

“I love your voice. I’ve imagined it moaning my name… several times… while I make you climax.”

His breathing deepened, and I could feel the tension building between us.

“I’ve imagined these lips on mine…” My gaze dropped to his mouth, and I didn’t wait for permission.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his, and *God*. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was deep, hungry, and unapologetically male. His hand tightened on my waist as if he didn’t want to let go, and mine tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

It was the kiss of a man who knew exactly what he wanted… and the kiss of a woman who had no intention of stopping.

I lived for it.