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)
Every inch of him quivered, so tight, so ready—but still he fought, still he thrashed against Brendan to feel bruising fingers digging into his wrists, to feel that hard body moving to cage and pin him and take him over, to open himself to that tongue plunging deep and that mouth bruising his lips until they nearly bled. He was so, so ready but he didn’t want this to stop, couldn’t stand for it to end, even as he begged with broken cries against Brendan’s lips.
“No—no, please, please…”
Brendan stopped.
That kiss slowed, withdrew; the grinding rock and thrust of their hips stopped—but as Cillian opened hazed eyes and looked up at the taut, hardened body hovering over him, he realized…
This was far from over.
His arms burned, as Brendan forced them over his head, transferred both wrists to one large, long hand held him captured so easily. The other hand fell to Cillian’s stomach—then slipped under his shirt, pushing it up as he went in a long, slow, possessive caress that screamed ownership; that promised that Cillian’s will, his body, belonged to Brendan whether he wanted it or not; that left a brand of heat scorched into his skin, leaving him flinching, tensing, shuddering.
“Liar,” Brendan said softly, that deep, swaggering bass voice drawing the word out into luscious filth. “Show me something a little more honest.”
Right before his fingers pinched down hard on Cillian’s nipple, and Cillian arched up with a tortured scream, digging his heels into the sheets, inadvertently spreading his legs wider until his thighs ached as the rough burn pulled on every inch of his body, his cock spurting up in dripping jolts, his nipples hardening instantly—and turning to points of liquid fire as Brendan played them over and over, abrading them to fever soreness and tenderness, twisting and pulling and playing Cillian until he writhed and thrashed back and forth, begging not with words but with his broken voice for this to end.
Yet Brendan was just beginning.
He left Cillian’s nipples throbbing even as he slipped his hand from under Cillian’s shirt—and thrust two fingers into his mouth. Rough, no warning, no gentleness, just filling Cillian’s mouth with thick knuckles and salt skin, nearly making him gag on the rough, increasingly wet thrusts that left slickness running down his cheeks from the corners of his mouth; that left Brendan’s fingers glistening, Cillian’s eyes stinging, his tongue moving helplessly as he looked up into cold eyes that cut him down to his core, seared him so intimately, captured him so thoroughly.
Hurt me, he begged silently, wrapping his mouth around those fingers and sucking.
And Brendan obliged.
Abruptly those thrusting fingers pulled away, and Cillian’s pajama pants ripped from his body, dragging down his legs in scrapings of fabric before tearing away. Brendan’s wet-slicked hand gripped hard at his ass, digging in with pounding points of pressure, already spreading him open, lifting him up into another rough thrust of muscular hips, of that thick-straining cock Cillian craved so much.
“Now,” Brendan nearly sighed, lazy menace hot and husky in every word, “let’s see if your slutty little body will be honest here, too.”
Barely a second to brace.
Before Brendan curled his fingers inward, and thrust two deep into Cillian’s body with relentlessly cruel force.
Cillian screamed, his entire spine curving as tight as a quivering violin bow as heat speared inside him, stretched him raw, forced him open and reshaped his body to conform to Brendan’s touch, this plaything made to wrap around thick flesh and squirm with such shameful abandon as pleasure rocked through him, forced him to surrender. Cillian panted out rough protests, but they were no longer words; only jagged sounds ripped out of him every time those fingers drove deep, and he tried to strain away but the fullness of them, the knowing way they probed inside him, left him weak, struggling to breathe, his thrashings feeble, broken, turned weak and stripped of all his strength by heady and vicious desire.
His chest hitched as Brendan leaned down, the touch of his lips a mockery of tenderness when on every thrust he pushed his fingers into Cillian harder, deeper, working them in circles until Cillian stretched, burned inside, throbbed and clenched with an echoing emptiness.
“You see why I call you a liar?” Brendan breathed against his mouth, every lightest touch igniting sensuous, wicked pleasure in Cillian’s bruise-sensitized lips, echoing with every throb of his cock. “You say no…but your dirty body is trying to hold on to me. You want more, don’t you?”
More.
That heavy cock dragging against him, its very thickness a threat, every stroke bringing their hips together and leaving the fabric between them increasingly wet, soaked, and God Cillian didn’t know if that was all him or all Brendan or both but it only made it better, slick hot pre soaking them and making the fabric wrap against his cock in a sucking-hot grasp.