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)
…why did it hurt at all?
Why was he making a big deal out of this?
Brendan groaned, though, and pressed his hands over his face, pinching the insides of his index fingers to either side of his nose and closing his eyes. “…I promise you this is just me being a moody temperamental artiste.” With an irritable sound, Brendan dropped his hands heavily to his lap, draping them against the lazy spread of his thighs. “It’s Landon,” he confessed. “I feel like I’m missing something with him, and I’m just…working things out in my head. It’s distracting. It’s hard to focus on another role when I’m working through his motivations.”
Another role…?
Oh.
“So then don’t play another role, when you’re with me,” Cillian ventured. “Just be you.” Tentatively he edged across the sofa, closer to Brendan. “That was how you wanted it the first time, wasn’t it? No roleplay. Just us. Brendan and Cillian.”
Brendan turned his head, looking down at Cillian. That glassy murk cleared from his eyes as a dark gaze swept over him. “I just wanted time to get more familiar with each other. More comfortable, before we try something that could hurt both of us if we fuck up the whole kink aspect of it.”
Be brave, Cillian told himself.
Be like Richard Kerrington, facing down someone terrifying and formidable to be with the person he desired.
…but what if the person he desired was terrifying and formidable?
He breathed in roughly, gathered his nerves as if he could close his fist around them and hold them in place—then pushed himself up to slide across Brendan’s lap, stretching his thighs wide to span him. Cillian wasn’t a short man, wasn’t particularly small himself despite a bit of a coatrack frame, but the breadth of Brendan’s body pulled Cillian’s thighs apart until his jeans pressed up hot and tight against his cock, and every straining draw against his inner thigh muscles tugged at a building feeling of emptiness that trembled with a shy and uncertain desire, as he smoothed his hands against Brendan’s chest and fingered the edge of his shirt’s hemmed collar.
“I can think of a few ways we can get more familiar,” he whispered.
Then twisted his hips, grinding them down against Brendan’s, his breaths hitching hot and mixing in a rush with the sound of denim grating against denim; the sound of friction rousing his desire, and…
Ohfuck.
A hard, demanding ridge pressed up against him, straining against Brendan’s jeans, giving Cillian what he’d craved deep down under his skin since the moment Brendan had first kissed him.
A response.
Brendan actually responding to him, the pressure of his cock impossible to deny, some small crack in that lazy composure that made Brendan seem so hard to reach.
Cillian felt like he was reaching him now.
And he caught his tongue between his teeth, holding in a breathless moan as he did it again, rolling and dragging his hips against Brendan’s, making his thighs ache and his cock throb with wanting as each stroke made fabric tease and pull against him, too tight, too close, and growing ever tighter still with every rush of contact.
The entire time Brendan watched him with his head cocked to one side, his eyes heavy-lidded and steady, pushing into Cillian so deep—but there was something darker there, something in the flare of Brendan’s nostrils, in the parting of his lips, in the subtle shift in the rise and fall of his chest.
In the deliberate shifting of his body, rising up to flex in a powerful, sinful undulation that thrust up between Cillian’s thighs in hot mimicry, spreading him open further, jolting him with a sudden raw burst of pleasure. The feeling radiated out from that painful pantomime of what he craved, flowing up his chest to draw his skin tight and make his nipples ache and tingle, shivering over his skin to make every point from head to toe feel so terribly sensitive, desperate for touch.
“Cillian Tell,” Brendan rumbled in a drawling, sensuous groan, thick accent pouring chocolate and smoke over the words. He settled his hands on Cillian’s hips—then slid them upward, tactile pleasure a rough and wonderful thing dragging over Cillian’s skin as Brendan stroked his shirt slowly higher, watching him with a slow, downright cocky smile on his lips. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
Biting down on his lower lip, Cillian arched his back into that touch, using his body to beg more as he rocked roughly down against Brendan. “Waiting didn’t work,” he whispered. “I thought I’d try a more direct approach.”
“I told you.” Brendan swayed into him—hard chest against Cillian, wild heat, warm mouth capturing Cillian’s in a slow kiss that plied him open until he was limp and moaning, melting against Brendan. “People won’t know what you want if you don’t tell them,” Brendan breathed against his mouth, nipping his lower lip—then curled those thick, hard hands inward, cupping Cillian’s ass and jerking him in hard.