He teases before sliding halfway into me. I gasp, the ache excruciating and wonderful.
“Want all of me, doll?” His nose brushes against mine.
“Yes,” the word comes out like a plea. Cillian pulls my thigh up onto his hip and slams into me.
I cry out in pleasure, back arching, opening myself to him as much as possible.
So good. So—I come around him, hands fisted in the duvet, body shaking.
He doesn't stop. “That's it, Toni,” his voice is low. “Gonnagive me another, doll? Go on.” His lips hover above mine, green eyes burning. “Show me how good this cock feels.”
“Fuck!” I cry. Cillian swallows the rest of my sounds with his kiss.
The muscles of his back tense. “Toni,” he breathes, brows knitting. “Oh god.” He tucks his face into my neck, his own orgasm pulsing through him.
He lifts his head, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You ok?”
I huff a laugh. “I'm great.” No lie in sight. Every muscle in my body is warm and relaxed, my head comfortably hazy.
He nods and gets up to dispose of the condom. When he returns to the bed, he pulls me to his chest, covering us both with a light blanket. I don't resist, settling comfortably against his right side.
My fingers trace the wing of a large black bird, its body covering much of his left shoulder, carefully avoiding a puckered circular scar above his heart. Cillian absently strokes my temple, the motion matching our steady breathing, and begins to lull me too close to sleep.
I force myself to sit up. God, the sleepy, satisfied look on his face makes me want to kiss him. “Bathroom?” I ask.
“Through that door.” He gestures to the left of the large window. “You're welcome to anything in there,” he says as I make my way across the room.
I dry my hands on a neatly folded hand towel.
Everything is so perfect. The bathroom accoutrements on the shelf behind me, the spotless etched glass of the large standing shower, and the mirror over the sink. Even the towels are crisp and white, complementing the very 1980s shade of teal tiles covering most of the room.
Ordered. Settled.Not for you.I tell the woman in the mirror, her cheeks still rosy with pleasure.Don't bring your chaos here.
It shouldn't make me ache. It should be easy to accept that this has to be one and done.
But good things are hard to let go of, and while I don't know this man, something about Cillian seems...good.
I shake my head, square my shoulders. That goodness is even more of a reason to exit his life expeditiously.
When I step out of the bathroom, I find Cillian leaning against the foot of the bed. A dark robe in a floral pattern covers his shoulders, hanging open, stopping at his mid-thigh. Something about the juxtaposition of his masculine frame and the feminine pattern makes my heart trill.
He looks up, gives me an easy smile, and offers a bottle of water.
“Nice robe,” I say, accepting the drink.
“Thanks. I have one for you if you'd like.” He gestures to a robe, cream with a peacock pattern, laid on the bed next to my own clothes. “But I have a feeling you won't be staying.” I meet his eyes, my chest constricting. “You're welcome to.”
“No.” I shake my head, summoning all the determination I possess. “This was—You're—” I gesture to him, “wonderful. I just—I don't?—”
“It's ok.” He lightly presses a finger to my lips. “You don't have to explain.” I swallow hard and nod, reaching for my shorts.
“Would you like a ride home?”
“I can call a car.” It wasn't even past midnight, so there should still be plenty of drivers out. “Thank you, though...for everything.”
“Nothing to thank me for.” Running fingers through his mane, he huffs something like a laugh. “If anything, it should be me who's thankful.” He pushes off the bed and grabs my bag from where I'd abandoned it earlier. “It's, uh, been a minute.”
I raise a brow at that. “If that's you out of practice, I doubt I could handle you in peak form.” I pull my phone out, my fingers protesting my attempts to open the ride app. Still, I manage to make the appropriate selections.
