Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
God, that voice had a way of crawling inside him and eroding away his resistance, his willpower, until whatever Brendan wanted him to do…Cillian couldn’t deny. It was a little thrilling, a little terrifying, a little too much openness to just…describe it this way, and if he was going to do this…
He couldn’t look at him.
He couldn’t look at Brendan with that voice that could talk the stars into changing their positions and that darkly commanding gaze that seemed to demand some secret part of Cillian that he didn’t even know himself.
Licking his lips, he whispered, “I…I want to feel…vulnerable. As if you could really hurt me. As if you need me so much you can’t control yourself, can’t listen to my no. As if you’re so in control of me that you can make me want you even when I beg you to stop. And when…when I beg you to stop…you don’t. Not unless I say the safe word. You just…make me take it, take the choice out of my hands, take me so hard I can’t do anything but scream helplessly and wait for you to finish using me. And then when I can’t take anymore…make me, anyway. Make me feel good even though I’d swear I don’t want to, but my body says I’m a liar.”
The words had come out of him dry and rough, aching his throat. He couldn’t help how he flushed, how his entire body hurt thinking of it, wondering if…if Brendan would be slow and controlled, or fast and harsh, but Cillian couldn’t believe he’d just…poured all of that out until he could taste it on his tongue, and the silence left his heart trembling and quivering and waiting to crush itself small with pain when Brendan either laughed or just told him to get out.
But instead…a rough knuckle traced against his cheek, igniting a rush of warmth bleeding across his skin as that touch skimmed down onto his jaw. “So you want me to make you feel cherished,” Brendan murmured, “by making you feel filthy.”
With shaking breaths, Cillian nodded. “…yes. Just that. I know…it’s…probably not normal to want that…”
“Forget normal. Stop being ashamed of wanting things.” That tracing finger left—replaced by a hot hand curled against the back of Cillian’s neck, heavy weight pressing down, and his gut clenched, his eyes squeezed tighter shut, and he nearly moaned. “Tell me your safe word. Tell me what not to do. And then tell me where to start.”
“…blackberries,” Cillian gulped out quickly. “My safe word is blackberries. And…and you can do anything…just…don’t hit me. No blood, no broken bones. No burning or abrasions or cutting.” He was talking faster and faster, anticipation building up inside him, this entire conversation was the strangest, most delicious torture… “You…you can pin me, bruise me a little…throw me around a bit…pull my hair. Choke me, but not until I pass out. It’s…it’s okay to call me names, mock me…it’s okay to make me cry, make me scream…it’s okay to fuck me hard.” He trailed off, wrapping his tongue around the words, curling his fingers helplessly against the cool floor. “Please fuck me hard.”
No answer.
Until that large, strong hand drifted upward.
And abruptly snared in his hair, a thousand points of burning pain electrifying across his scalp and surging through him to bolt into his cock as if pleasure had teeth and was hungry. Cillian cried out hotly, eyes snapping open—just in time to catch Brendan’s cold, cruelly impassive face just before Brendan threw him down onto the sofa by his hair.
Cillian hit hard, bouncing against the cushions on his back, sprawled there, stunned, his blood running hot. He barely had a moment to realize what was happening before Brendan was on him—grappling for his wrists even as Cillian tried to shove him off, greater strength batting his protests aside so easily before strong fingers locked around his arms, forced them upward, pinned them to the sofa. Brendan straddled him, firm-muscled thighs gripping and pinning him, while Brendan looked down at him with livid eyes.
Cillian arched his back, gasping out, “Stop—don’t—”
Brendan stopped, locking in place, staring down at him.
Groaning, Cillian slumped. “…I didn’t say blackberries.”
“…right.” Brendan’s grip had gone loose on Cillian’s wrists, but now he tightened his fingers subtly. “So…shall I continue?”
“Yes…?”
Brendan slammed his wrists down again, then, and hunkered over Cillian.
And snarled.
Only…it was less an animalistic snarl and more a…he looked like a cartoon villain, his brows thick and thundering, his face contorted into this exaggerated mask of fury that looked nothing like the Brendan Lau he’d seen a thousand times on the silver screen, convincing whether he portrayed menace or lovelorn remorse.
And Cillian?
Cillian burst into laughter.
He couldn’t help himself. The way Brendan was scowling, he just—he—
“Oh, come on,” Brendan muttered, letting go of Cillian’s wrists and sitting back on his heels. “I’m trying. It’s my first damned time.”