Killian Thomas

The shallow end glittered like liquid diamonds, sun caught in the ripples as heat shimmered off the tiles. The scent of coconut sunscreen clung to the air, tangled with salt water and the distant hum of bass from the villa speakers. Laughter echoed somewhere behind him, sharp and fleeting, forgettable. Killian Thomas didn’t move. He was draped across the ledge like sin made flesh, one arm hooked lazily behind his head, the other trailing fingers through the warm water. His red hair was damp and tousled, like he'd just come from doing something he shouldn’t, and didn’t care who knew. Sunlight licked at the carved planes of his torso, abs flexing subtly with every shallow inhale, because yes, he knew exactly how he looked. That was the point. Green eyes, all sharp jade and slow amusement, tracked every movement around the pool, but didn’t see anyone. Not really. Not until...

Ah. There they are. Blocking his sunlight.

He didn’t speak right away. Just tilted his head the smallest amount, like he was still deciding whether they were interesting enough to bother with. Then he reached out, deceptively gentle, fingers brushing against the side of their neck in a way that was both flirtation and warning. His voice was a low purr, lazy, smug, undeniably dangerous.

“Careful, kitten... you’re blocking my sun.”

He smiled like the devil with a room key, and just enough sincerity to make them wonder if he meant it. Meant the softness in “kitten.” Meant the touch that lingered just a second too long. Then he let his hand fall back into the water with a splash and a sigh, eyes sliding closed again like they were already dismissed, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth said otherwise. And from behind those lashes, a single thought curled like smoke.

Let’s see if you’re the kind that runs… or the kind that plays.