“Eyes on me, Toni.” She locks in without hesitation. “Good girl,” I purr. “I wanna see that pretty face when you make a mess all over my hand.”
She sucks in a breath. “Cillian, I—” A whimper cuts her off.
“Go on. Show me how much you like being fucked on top of my bar.” Gooseflesh pebbles her arms, her breath catches, her sweet mouth opens, but no sound escapes. “Come for me, Toni,” I demand.
God, she does.
I brace her with my free hand, working her until the aftershocks begin to fade and she wilts against my chest.
If I could bottle this feeling, take little hits of it throughout the day, I'd be a much happier man. Seeing as that isn’t possible, I settle for drinking this moment in, happy for what time I have with this glorious creature.
Once she catches her breath, I coax her upright, gently pulling my fingers free. Toni watches with rapt attention as I taste her, savoring her pleasure. She licks her lips.
“You should know how good you taste.” I press my fingers to her lips, she takes them into her mouth, sucking them clean. My cock presses painfully against my jeans. “Fuck,” I huff.
A reckless part of me wants to turnher around and fuck her right here. My place is simply too far, and if the whole city wanted to watch on in envy, let them. Instead, I pull her in for another possessive kiss, the taste of her dancing on our tongues.
Better demons ultimately prevail.
Gripping her hair by the roots, I pull her head back, breaking the kiss. “We're going to your place. And I am going to make you come until the only thought left in that pretty head is how good it feels to be mine.”
CHAPTER 21
Toni
“I love being right,”Jac says, sounding almost wistful.
“About what?” I hang another painting, stepping back to assess if I like the placement.
One green eye peeks intensely from the center of a sculpted 3D flower. I almost didn't show this one. The realism of the eye juxtaposed with the not-quite-real individual petals, their color vibrant at the center but just beginning to darken and curl at the edges, feels unsettling when paired together. An effect I appreciate, but one that may not be for everyone.
Not to mention the non-zero chance the owner of that green eye would clock it as his own.
But Jac and I found a frame at the thrift store that fit it perfectly, so I couldn't resist.
“I said I doubted your art was terrible.” They gesture at the wall. “I was right.”
“Approximately how long will you be smug about it?”
They take a thoughtful sip of their cold brew. “Indeterminate.”
“I'll be putting that on my cons list for sticking around.”
“She has jokes!” Jac teases.
A customer comes in, drawing Jac's attention, and I finish hanging the few remaining pieces.
If I were being fair to myself—and I rarely was when it came to my work—this wasn't a bad showing for only a couple of months. A curator would scoff; the collection wasn’t what most could call cohesive. But to me, the threads connecting the works are clear in the glimpses of people I'd met here, slivers of the city popping up in color and texture.
“Be serious,” Jac returns to my side. “Are you still thinking of leaving me?”
“It's a consideration.”
They grab my hand, tilting my face toward them. “I thought we had something special.” We stare into one another's eyes, dripping with dramatic faux sincerity, until we crack, bursting into laughter.
“But you should know, this is absolutely triggering my abandonment issues,” they say.
I take a seat. “It will just give you something to talk about with your therapist.”
