"Are you drunk?"

You stare up at Killian with a wide grin and squint one eye.

"Did you know you sound so hot when you're angry?"

"Glyndon," he grinds out.

"You sound hot when you say my name, too."

He taps a finger against the counter, obviously waiting for a reply.

"What? I only had, like, two drinks. Right, Niko?" You glance at your partner in crime as the two of you sit on the kitchen counter while Gareth mixes more drinks.

Okay, maybe there was more alcohol than you admitted, but it's all Killian's fault. You got bored waiting for him to come home from his hospital shift, so when Nikolai started drinking, you joined him.

And you still waited, because it’s, like, eleven p.m. now, and you’re tired and you have an early class tomorrow. But you couldn’t go back to the dorm, because this bastard has totally trained you to only sleep on top of him.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The sad truth is, you’ve been falling head over heels for this man over the past few months, and you’ve been enjoying every second.

Killian will always be Killian, with his unorthodox methods, brooding personality, and bleak mind, but he smirks when he sees you. He kisses your forehead after he pleases you. He fucks you like he can’t breathe without you.

He shows you parts of himself the world isn’t privy to, like the photographs he’s been taking over the years. Lately, his red room has been filled with pictures of the two of you—or more specifically, you. In all different positions. During sex. Outside of sex. When you’re looking. When you’re not.

He told you you’re his masterpiece.

And you don’t even have to worry about other people, because he sees no one but you. You know, because the other day you surprised him at med school for lunch, and a girl was practically rubbing her breasts against his arm while he was reading from a textbook.

He simply placed a hand on her forehead and pushed her away as if she were a pest—without breaking his focus.

When you’re around, though, he finds it hard to focus on anything else—his words, not yours.

Only when you were a few steps away did he look up with that heart-stopping smirk. It’s seriously bad for your health at this point.

He’s definitely not smirking now. In fact, his eyes narrow the slightest bit. "What did I say about getting drunk when I’m not around? And the motherfucker’s name is Nikolai."

"I say, are you jealous that Glyn and I are bonding, Satan’s heir?" his cousin points a half-empty shot glass at him, a shit-eating grin curling his mouth.

Killian completely ignores him, then wraps an arm around your back and effortlessly throws you over his shoulder.