Cillian motions for me to lead the way to his attic-level room, and I feel his attention—and my calves—burning the whole way up.
At the foot of the bed, he takes hold of the back strap of my harness, drawing me to a stop. Holding me in place, hetraces the high neck of my dress before loosely wrapping his fingers around my throat, tilting my head back onto his shoulder.
The contrast of his rough palm and the cool texture of his rings against my skin is delicious.
His lips barely graze my ear as he says, “Tell me your safe word, Toni.”
I shiver. “Hurricane.”
“Thank you.” He kisses my temple.
I drink him in as he comes to stand before me.
Tall and broad, Cillian cuts an intimidating image without much effort on his part. But it’s the way he softens his edges that I find irresistibly compelling. The loose fit of his sheer button-up, the smudge of black making the green of his eyes stand out even more, his silver manicure.
As he traces my bottom lip with his thumb, my tongue flits out, hungry for the salt of his skin. Taking that as an invitation, he slips it into my mouth. I tease the digit with my tongue, delighted at the way his nostrils flare as he tries to take a steadying breath.
With visible effort, he drags his eyes from the moisture he left on my lips to meet my eyes. “Take my rings off.”
Without thinking, I reach out to do as he says.
Grinning wickedly, he grabs both my wrists. “Did I say you could use your hands, doll?”
My body tingles. “No, sir.”
He guides my hands back to their previous location. The action brings him close enough that I can breathe in his scent this time, a piney, musky fragrance and a touch of tobacco from his cigarettes. My mouth waters.
“Now,” he says, index finger brushing over my lips. “Take them off.”
I wrap my lips around the first ring. He pulls away, holding his hand out to receive it. I let it fall into his palm. Werepeat the process for all of his rings, the taste of salt and metal and desire coating my tongue.
“Very good.” He slips the rings into his pocket as he pulls me in for a kiss.
We hadn't kissed like this since that night on my porch, the same night he'd placed his wager. It’s the kind of kiss that overwhelms everything. I can't say I forgot how good it felt to kiss this man; I'd thought about it far too often for that to be true, but I had begun to wonder if I'd blown it out of proportion. After all, the first time I'd been painfully hard up after several months of self-imposed celibacy, and the next I'd been pleasantly drunk.
But no. I hadn't. If anything, I'd undersold it.
My body melts into his, the missive to keep my hands to myself lost. I take hold of his shirt, pulling the soft chiffon into a death grip.
Gently, he tugs my hands away, holding them against my thighs. “Guess I'm gonna have to do something about these hands, huh?” He asks, panting.
“Guess so.” I wiggle my fingers.
His rumble of laughter makes gooseflesh rise over my whole body. “Alright, then.”
Cillian repositions me a bit to make room for the chest he slides from under his bed. My eyes pop at the delightful collection of tricks and toys. A bevy of fun to be had, though, as I anticipated, there isn't a single impact tool present. Pain, he'd said, wasn't something he enjoyed dabbling in. Pleasure though-
He closes the chest, having found what he wanted, and pushes it back under the bed.
“Hold this.” He presses a bell into my palm before binding my hands to the front of my harness with bondage tape. Each movement of his hands displays a practiced proficiency that makes comfort and excitement sing throughmy veins.
When he’s satisfactorily dealt with the issue of my wandering hands, he grabs a thick fleece blanket from the foot of his bed, laying it on the floor before him. “Kneel.”
It isn't just the effortlessness of the command that sends me to my knees so fast a better woman might be ashamed. I'd mentioned, cheekily but sincerely, that I felt slighted he'd gotten to taste me last time, but I hadn't had the pleasure. Clearly, he'd paid attention and intended to fix this imbalance.
“The bell?” I ask giving it a little ring.
Cillian looks down at me, a wolfish smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Your mouth will be too busy for your safe word, I'm afraid.” He unbuckles his belt. “Eyes up here,” he says, the sound of a repressed laugh coloring his words.