Hollow

Twenty Six | Lift

I groan, pissed that someone had the audacity to wake me up. Not bothering to open my eyes, I try to push Killian away but he doesn't budge. He lets out a chuckle and continues his little expedition, alternating from my neck to my jaw and to my shoulder blade. I open my eyes to meet his eyes and somehow, I get lost in his gaze dreamily before closing my eyes again, ready to drift back to sleep.

Suddenly, the blanket is ripped off of me and I feel a tug on my arm, dragging me out of the bed and bringing me to stand face to face with him.

"You're a piece of shit."

"I could have sworn I heard you call this piece of shit daddy a few hours ago."

"You're a di—"

"Keep running that pretty mouth and I'll fill it with something." He cuts in, his lips curling into a devilish smirk. "Now get up, we're going for a run."

I sit up and reach for the remote turning on the TV, flipping through Netflix settling on the second season of Bridgerton. Since he won't let me sleep, maybe he'll finally comply and watch it with me.

"Go change."

"Why can't we stay here?" I pout.

"Mama, you can either change or I'll do it for you."

I sigh and quickly change into a sports bra and yoga pants. Killian whistles as I walk past him and leave the house.

I grumble for the fifth time, unable to formulate coherent words. My feet are pounding against the sand as my breath cokes out in harsh pants. It's painful to breathe, and the music in my ears isn't loud enough to drown my loud breathing. I put one foot in front of the other, trying to keep up but I trip on something and land on the sand.

"You okay?" Killian asks casually, making no effort to stop.

I shake my head no, heaving for dramatic effect.

He looks down at me, trying to hold in a laugh as he reaches for my hips and lifts me up, positioning me on his back. I wrap my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck. He asks me if I'm comfortable before resuming our little run.

<<·>> <<·>> <<·>>

"I hate you!" I hiss, slapping him arm away.

"It's funny, you said the same thing last night." He laughs and reaches for my thigh again, holding me in place. "Yet, you came like what...seven, eight times?"

"Just do it but please shut up."

He grins knowingly, his signature smirk appearing slowly and without warning, an alcohol wipe meets my wound, shooting immense pain through my whole leg. I try to move my leg from his grasp but he's faster; he quickly pins my wrists together with one hand, keeping the other on my wound causing me to let out small inaudible screams and close my eyes in pain as he cleans the wound. I pry my eyes open to see him placing a band-aid on my wound before heading to the sink to wash his hands.

Looking at him now, as he rummages through the cabinets and pulls out ingredients, I finally realize I like this man —maybe even a little too much. We don't exactly spend a lot of time together but somehow, there are some unspoken commitments already. Despite our busy schedules, we find our way back to each other. How corny.

I walk over to him, wrapping my arms around him. "Let me help."

"I got this, just sit back and relax."