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)
“If…mmngh…if you keep doing that I’ll do whatever you want.” Brendan’s throat strained as his head fell back, his body arching toward Cillian’s hand in way that made Cillian’s breaths lodge in his throat. But Brendan’s hand encircled his wrist gently, stopping Cillian, holding him as Brendan took a ragged breath and opened his eyes further, lazy depths fixed hotly on Cillian. “Tell me.”
Biting his lip, Cillian stared down at that hand curled around his wrist. The strength of it, the gentleness of a touch that could so easily turn cruel…he shivered deep.
“Rape me,” he whispered, the words like liquor on his tongue, intoxicating and terrifying. “If…you think you can, if you’re ready to try…”
A certain stillness charged the air between them; Brendan’s fingers tightened around Cillian’s wrist, while his other hand rose to cup his cheek, warm against his already overheated skin, guiding him to meet dark eyes that questioned with such care, such tenderness.
“Are you sure?” Brendan asked. “That you trust me that much.”
“…I do. If…if you can trust me, too.”
Brendan’s only answer was a small smile as he shifted his powerful body onto his knees, his hold on Cillian’s wrist drawing him in closer to Brendan’s body heat, that coaxing hand against his cheek guiding him up into a kiss, a thing as soft and sweet as a promise teased against his lips.
“Blackberries,” Brendan reminded him in a low sigh.
“You need to tell me yours, too.” Leaning into him, Cillian traced Brendan’s upper lip with his tongue, something excited and eager trembling in the pit of his stomach that maybe…maybe…but he had to think of Brendan first. “In case it turns out to be too much.”
With one more light kiss, Brendan paused, those deep eyes searching into Cillian’s. “Alstroemeria,” he murmured with an almost shy smile. “My mother used to grow them. She’s a comforting memory. So if I feel unsafe…that’s a good word to use.”
Warmth swelled in his chest, warmth for this man that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the crashing emotions Brendan made him feel, the sweet resonance of every little bit of Brendan he vouchsafed to Cillian.
“Blackberry pies,” Cillian offered softly. Trading memory for memory. “When I was little, summer tradition was always blackberry pies and picnics on the beach. It makes me think of sunny days. Happy times, running on the sand with my older brothers.”
Brendan chuckled huskily, nuzzling his temple against Cillian’s. “Barefoot in zero degree weather, knowing you.”
“Summers here actually get into the single digits.” Cillian mock-gasped, and Brendan answered with a slow smile, his eyes glittering as he drew Cillian’s captured wrist up to kiss the underside, making his pulse thump.
“You are never cold, are you?”
“Never around you,” Cillian breathed.
“Mm…such a brazen monster.” Brendan leaned into him, drawing his captured wrist out and away, the pressure of his body pushing Cillian back. Heated lips traced over his. “Don’t be afraid to stop me,” Brendan whispered.
…this.
Every time Brendan asked him, every time Brendan did even the dirtiest things to him with such care, it just pushed Cillian in deeper to this thing making Brendan so impossible to resist. Desire curled needy coils around Cillian, binding and squeezing him tight—and that desire left him pliant at first, as Brendan’s mouth pressed to his. A kiss so molten-sweet it left Cillian boneless, as Brendan slowly used his weight to push Cillian down to the bed; as Cillian sprawled beneath him and parted his lips for that seeking tongue, for those slow, exploratory touches and taunting little licks, warmth seeping through him until he lost time, lost thought, lost everything but the feeling of sinking into Brendan’s kiss.
Until—until slowly, Cillian realized Brendan hadn’t let go of his wrist. Strong fingers held him clasped, pressed against the bed, and with every deeper probe of Brendan’s tongue his fingers tightened, tightened, a fraction at a time until discomfort pulled at Cillian, then pain, and he opened his eyes, muffling out a protest, trying to turn his face away—
But Brendan wouldn’t let him.
Suddenly that soft mouth crashed down hard on his, capturing and holding, teeth hard and biting, tongue thrusting bruisingly deep, rough pressure making Cillian’s mouth ache and throb; he jerked, but Brendan’s fingers dug hard into his wrist, slamming it to the bed, and with a searing jolt of twisting shock that mixed panic with thrilling, trembling pleasure, Cillian shoved his free hand against Brendan’s shoulder, twisting his body and trying to get away, shaking his head against that tight lock of lips, his sounds of protest swallowed by that dominating mouth and he—he—
His heart pounded so violently.
His thighs trembled with fear.
His gut knotted in a rough bolt of pain.
And his cock throbbed hard, surging against his pajama pants with a breathless rush of pure wicked lust entwined in every shivering-sweet flicker of apprehension, terror. Cillian thrashed harder, digging his fingers into Brendan’s chest to push, but that only made Brendan crush down harder on him: oppressive heat all around, weight suddenly smothering, this completely overwhelming press of pure raw masculinity forcing Cillian down and giving him no choice but to feel every inch of that sculpted, magnificent body; that tight-honed power used to strip away Cillian’s will and give him no choice but to submit. He kicked his legs out, crying out against Brendan’s mouth, but Brendan caught and prisoned his tongue in sharp teeth, nipping before grasping a tight handful of Cillian’s hair. Stinging, sharp, jerking his head back swiftly enough that their lips tore apart briefly, letting Cillian’s cry echo to the rafters.