Plausible Deniability

Aila stares at her reflection in the guest bathroom. She looks no different, but her very soul feels ages older with the confessions Tania spilt. The confidentiality of the horrors in her past.

Aila hardly dares to believe any of it is true. She doesn’t want to believe it’s true. Tania deserves far better than she got. The hand she was dealt held some shitty cards. Aila wants to cry—because Tania was shaped into a weapon, because her childhood was stolen from her so viciously, because Tania suffered through worse than Aila could ever have imagined.

The tears don’t come. Tania would kill her for the pity, and Aila knows she has to get used to this. This life is what she is willing to get involved with. With Niall comes the responsibility of everything his profession holds. Including murder. Including the risks to his own life.

“You left.”

Aila jolts at the unexpected voice, the sudden burst of light. Niall glares at her from the armchair. Her gaze runs along his bare torso and the shorts that expose his thick thighs. Forcing a smile, she closes the bedroom door behind her. “I came back.”

“Where’d ya go?”

“Out.”

“What are you hiding?” he asks as he pushes himself to his feet. His lips press together, and the familiar ice creeps back into his eyes. He advances slowly, a tiger stalking its prey. “Aila, I don’t take kindly to secrets.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

She moves toward the bed, but his hand on her wrist stops her. His grip isn’t nearly as tight as it was in the car. He obviously remembers what she’d said: He lets go of her before she can open her mouth. She steps around him and sits down on the mattress with her back to him.

“Where did you go?” he asks again.

“I told you. I went out.”

“Tell me now.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

And god, he has never spoken to her like this—demanding and hard, voice trembling with ill-concealed rage. She doesn’t face him; she only stares at the wall with her arms folded over her belly. She barely blinks before she is flat on her back, his fingers pinning her hands on either side of her head and his body holding her down.

“Tell me where you went,” he growls as he squeezes her wrists.

“No.”

His eyes widen, shock rippling across his face, as she shoves against him. The surprise disappears in an instant. He releases one of her hands, and she gasps as his palm pushes against her throat. His thumb forces her face up. A shiver runs down her spine at the dark expression he wears. She reacts, clumsy and unfamiliar, smacking at him with her freed hand. He doesn’t relent, fingers tightening a fraction.

“Let fucking go of me,” she wheezes, struggling to break free. A clench around her throat, one that rips away the last of her oxygen, and she falls still.

“Do you know how goddamn worried I was when I woke up and you weren’t here?” he snaps out, his face only inches away. Each word feels like a slap to her cheek. “I was nearly out the front door when Robert told me you and Tania had left together.”

“Niall—”

“You don’t ever leave here without telling me, do you understand?”

“You aren’t my father. I don’t answer to you.”

He leans down, nose brushing her cheek, as his hand slips from her throat. Her heart thunders beneath her ribs when his hand slides down her belly, back up under her shirt. His lips find the curve where her jaw meets neck, teeth scraping on her skin. Aila can’t stop herself. She arches into the sharp sensation.

“You will tell me, or I will burn this city down to find you.”

“I—I was with Tania,” she gasps, nails digging into his chest. “I was safe. You trust her, right?”

“When it comes to you, I trust no one.”

Another nip, then Niall crashes their mouths together. The kiss is hard, cold, graceless. Taking but no giving. Lightning crashes as his hand tugs at the hem of her leggings and underwear. Her breath stutters out when his body leaves hers—but only for a moment. Long enough for him to drop to his knees beside the bed. She yelps as he yanks her closer to the edge.

“Take your shirt off,” he growls before diving in.

Thighs draped over his shoulders, all Aila can do is cry out and move against his tongue. She obeys his command, clumsily rising up enough to slip the T-shirt over her head. The movement forces her further onto his tongue. Niall slaps her hand away when she tries to wrap her fingers in his hair, and she whimpers when his fingernails leave crescents in her skin.

He is relentless, rage etched in every thrust of his tongue and fingers. She’s just dropped over into the heavens when he pushes her legs apart, pushes her knees closer to her chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she pants as he continues his ministrations. She can’t breathe as her knee knocks against her chin, as he yanks her impossibly closer.

The room fills with the sounds of her sharp breaths and the groans escaping his throat. The yelps when his teeth catch against her, lips wrapping around her clit before his tongue takes over. Her fingers lace in his hair, and this time, he doesn’t stop the touch. The tugs to hold him still.

Everything he does screams of possession. Promises an exquisite Hell if she refuses to concede. Demands she acquiesce and admit she’s his more fully than she has ever been her own. She breathes out a confession—a prayer—a millisecond before she cants her hips down and exhales a wanton moan, twitching all over while he works her through the second orgasm.

“Please—holy shit, please, Niall, just… Oh, god, c’mon.”

He rises but doesn’t remove his fingers from inside of her. She whines when he strokes once, twice, and a smug smile spreads across his lips. “No.”

Aila gapes even as he lets his shorts fall to the floor. His free hand finds his cock, fingers wrapping around the hard length. She groans, pleading desperately, but continues watching his hand sliding along the shaft. Precum glistens in the dim light. The danger in his eyes has never been more thrilling.

Niall stays out of reach, only moving closer to grab a condom from the drawer and nip at her breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth. Aila groans at the rough flick of his tongue, the too-hard bite of his teeth. His fingers shove into her again and again. He pulls back, moving to the other, even as he continues stroking himself.

She grins a sloppy, hopeful thing when he stands upright again. He raises a brow as she spreads her thighs further apart, but then he shakes his head and motions for her to turn around. Her body betrays her—it forces her to obey without her permission, leaving her with her hands planted on the mattress and feet on the floor.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs in a voice almost inaudible. His hand kneads into her skin, then she squeaks when his hand lands firmly on her bare ass. The smack is just this side of too hard. “Oh, I think you liked that. Do ya? Like being punished, I mean.”

“Fuck you, Horan,” she bites out through gritted teeth; every nerve ending in her body lights up at the next slap, another. Three given in quick succession, and she pushes back as well as she’s able. His cock brushes against her core, but he doesn’t push into her like she wants. Needs. “Jesus, you gonna stand there all night?”

“If it means I get to see you begging for it, yes.”

But he’s a traitor to his own words, gripping her hips and sliding into her without hesitation. Her body rocks with each thrust, each blow of his hand to her ass, and she lets out a breathless gasp when his hand pushes against her back. With her chest pressed to the bed, the angle is different, better in the most painfully pleasant of ways.

Niall rests his torso along her back, hips slamming against her ass, and murmurs in her ear, “I swear I’m gonna tie you up one day. Leave you here in the bed until I’m done with work, make you wait for me to make you feel good. I can do it. I own this town. No one would dare have a problem with it. Come on, darling, let go for me.”

“No,” but she can’t breathe, can’t ignore the way her body is trudging toward the edge once more. He sinks his teeth into the curve of her shoulder then straightens his spine. She cries out as he scrapes his fingernails down her back. Her skin prickles, burns.

“I’ll get you to listen, even if I have to spend all my time fucking you like this,” he growls while he wraps his fingers in her hair, and she gulps at the sharp yanks. “Never obey mindlessly, never lose your stubbornness where it matters. But you will listen to me keeping you safe.”

“I was sa—safe with Tania,” she exhales, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. Sweat drips along his temple, his cheek, and the dark glee on his face should terrify her. She knows this isn’t a good idea, not after he’s put his hands on her. She should be petrified of him right now. But he’s saved her twice. He has proved time and time again he will never hurt her. He’ll protect her.

He tightens his grip on her hair, holding her head down. The snap of his hips, the impact of their connection, echoes through the room. His voice scratches against her ears, a low hiss, “Not safe enough.”

“Ni—Damn it, I… I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, darling,” he croons, and she shudders at the tender hand sliding along her spine. A contrast to the way his hips are snapping forward, the way her breasts drag along the bedspread, the fingers pulling her hair. “You can do this for me, I know you can.”

She aches to believe him, but the voice in her head tells her she can’t. She can’t. It’s too much. He barely gets his arm under her belly, hand between her thighs, before a sob bubbles out of her. Pain-pleasure tears through her, jagged edges exploding in and around her. It hurts beneath the high.

Her hands clench around the comforter, her breath breaking on tears and cries of his name, and Niall takes it as victory, fucking into her as she spasms on his cock. She feels as if her body is being sheared apart, broken down to its basest of atoms, and built back up around him. As if she will never know anything like what he is giving her. As if her entire being is meant for his use, for his love.

“That’s my darling,” he whispers, voice drenched in adoration, seconds before he stills, spilling his release into the condom.

Aila whimpers when he finally slips free, her knees shaky and threatening collapse. Niall curses under his breath as she falls to the floor. With gentle hands he helps her fully onto the mattress, then he’s walking away. When he comes back, he has a washcloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

She lets him tug her into a sitting position, lets him hold the glass to her lips, lets him clean her up the way he’d allowed her to do for him the first time they had sex. Aila slumps against the pillows when he’s finished, and a lopsided smile tugs at her lips.

“I love you,” she breathes as he guides her to lie down.

He freezes in the middle of pulling the sheet over her. Where did the comforter go? “Don’t say that.”

His plea holds a dreamlike quality, and she isn’t sure he’s really spoken. She’s already slipping into unconsciousness by the time she decides he didn’t.

Heavy aching. A burning in her thighs, in the half-moons on her hips. That’s all Aila feels when she wakes the next morning. A haze coats her brain, and she groans as she pushes her face further into the pillow. She has something to say, words to hurl at Niall like weapons for his behaviour the night before.

But she just wants to sleep again. Niall’s soft chuckle floats across the room, and she fumbles for his pillow, lobbing it in the direction she thinks he’s in.

“Fuck you, Horan.”

“You said that last night, too.” He hums. “Or was it this morning? What could two o’clock be considered?”

“It’s too early for this. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Actually, I have plans for us today.”

“’Actually, I have plans for us today’,” she repeats in an awful imitation of his accent, even as she sits up. Niall raises a brow at her shiver in the cool air, his gaze skimming over her exposed breasts. “Do those plans involve explaining what the fuck made you think it was okay to put your hand around my throat?”

His blue eyes widen as he stares at her. After a moment, he clears his throat and sets aside the book in his hand. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she snaps. “I warned you to never put your hands on me like that again.”

“Gonna kick my arse?”

He’s mocking her, she realises belatedly. Niall watches her, gaze intense, as she storms across the room. A smile tugs at his lips, but it’s less amusement than it is a challenge. His head snaps to the right when her hand slams into his cheek. The red splotch on his skin leaves Aila swelling with pride, even when he becomes dangerously still.

Violence doesn’t solve violence, but she can’t deny the thrill of doling out punishment—both for his actions before he gave her three orgasms in a row and the doubts he had about her meaning what she said. It’s a punishment usually reserved for his own hand. At his own discretion. He glares up at her, and his hands shake in his lap. She steels her spine and lifts her chin.

“Don’t ever do it again. Ever. I don’t give a fuck what you think I’ve done wrong. I won’t tolerate abuse.”

His mouth opens, but she strides away. He groans out a ‘fuck’ when she slams the bathroom door behind her. She starts up the shower, steps into the stall, and sighs in the heat of the water. Her body continues aching, reminding her of how rough he’d been. How careless he was with her, as if he didn’t care so much about her pleasure as he was invested in his. In every throb, she can still feel the sharp thrusts that rocked her so hard.

“Can I join you?”

“Think you can keep your hands to yourself?”

“The only time I’ll touch you is with your permission.”

Aila pushes open the steam-covered door and glares at Niall. He shifts his weight between his feet, stares down at the floor. He hasn’t undressed—he didn’t assume it was a foregone conclusion that she would allow him to shower with her. She rolls her eyes and closes the door again.

“Come on in.”

The words are barely out of her mouth when she hears the door squeaking open and a foot splashing in the water on the shower floor. His tremulous breathing is louder than the spray, and she hesitates before leaning back against his chest.

“You don’t get to hurt me.”

“I know. I’m—God, Aila, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

She closes her eyes as his hands rest on her hips, his face pressing into the curve of her neck. “I really thought you’d strangle me.”

“Oh, darling, no. I’d never. I… I lost my temper. I was scared something had happened to you, and I took it out on you. Really, I should have found Tania and punished her.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Aila sighs and turns to face Niall. Her fingers brush his damp hair from his eyes, and the tightness around his lips softens. “She wanted to tell me her story, and that has nothing to do with you.”

“She told you?” he asks, brows raising and jaw dropping.

“Yeah. She did. That’s where I went.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

She frowns, pulling away, and reaches for the shampoo. “Because it wasn’t your business. I’m allowed to keep some things to myself, and a midnight chat with Tania is one of them. You trust her. You trust me. Robert told you we were together. Why couldn’t you just trust that I was safe with her?”

“I told you,” he whispers as his arms wrap around her shoulders. She lets him tug her in against his chest. “I don’t trust anyone when it comes to you. I barely trust myself.”

Blowing out a breath, Aila clings to Niall as hard as he clings to her. “You touch me again, and I’ll walk. I swear on everything you hold dear.”

“I won’t, darling. I promise.” His lips brush her forehead, and his voice is thick, shaky, when he says, “I can’t lose you.”

As they wash each other’s bodies clean, Aila struggles to remember. The voice in her head is begging for her to remember, but… What? What forgotten memory is she supposed to recall? She watches the suds wash down the drain then stretches up to kiss him gently.

“I don’t want to lose you, either, but I’ll leave in an instant if you don’t get your temper under control.”

“I will,” he vows, slick fingers pressing into her lower back. “For you, I’ll do anything.”

They dress in silence, but Niall’s gaze repeatedly lands on her. As if he’s reassuring himself she hasn’t walked away. Like he is reminding himself of what he has to lose if he continues letting his anger get the best of him. Aila will never know what he sees in her—what has him so interested—but she isn’t going to question it.

Despite her better judgement, she won’t let this relationship slip through her fingers.