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)
Cillian whimpered, gripping fiercely at Brendan’s arms as Brendan dug bruising fingers into his ass, splayed and spread wide, dragging Cillian down into the hard grind of his cock and forcing him to hold still while Brendan taunted him, thrust against him, rolled and pressed in deep, slow, completely controlled rhythm that had Cillian curling forward, hiding his face against Brendan’s shoulder, struggling to breathe as rough fingertips spread his ass open inside his jeans, leaving him shuddering with the vulnerable feeling spearing up inside him every time another thrust brought Brendan’s body slamming into his.
A sinful groan purred against his ear. “…have you been waiting for me to get out of the inside of my head and just fuck you?”
Swallowing shakily, Cillian nodded, struggling to catch his breath as he pressed his lips to Brendan’s throat, thrilled to the hard, fast beat of his pulse under Cillian’s mouth. “God, yes.”
“Then you should have said so,” Brendan murmured. “Text Maxwell and tell him you’re not coming home tonight.”
“I—oh!”
Cillian’s response cut off when the sofa and any semblance of solid ground fell out from beneath him. Brendan’s arms slid around him, under him—and he suddenly found himself lifted up against Brendan’s chest as if he weighed nothing, every movement conveying the tense and coil of flexing and relaxing muscles caging him in place as Brendan turned to carry him toward the bed. Flushed hot, Cillian stared up at him.
“…oh,” he whispered, as realization sank in and that needy thrill inside him turned into a bone-deep quiver that threatened to melt him inside out.
“I don’t hear texting,” Brendan teased, strides never faltering. “Once I’ve got you in bed, I’m taking your phone away.”
“Um…!”
Cillian fumbled inside his jacket, squirming to reach until he found the inner pocket with his phone and fished it out. He missed the unlock code twice with his fumbling fingers, and managed to pull up the text window and type a hasty Staying at Brendan’s tonight, don’t wait, home after filming tomorrow before the phone abruptly went flying out of his hand as he dropped with a little flip of his stomach, then landed on the bed, bouncing on his back. The phone arced away, disappearing into rumpled bedsheets—until Brendan bent and plucked it free.
“Mine until I’m done with you,” he said, and dropped the phone in the nightstand drawer.
Cillian bit the inside of his cheek, looking up at Brendan—the outline of the lights behind him giving him a surreal dark glow, this hungry energy radiating from him despite his quiet stillness.
“Do you mean the phone, or me?” Cillian ventured, and Brendan smiled—a slow, heady thing full of promise; full of command.
“What makes you think I’ll let you go when I’m done with you?” Brendan growled…then sank down to the bed on one knee, nudging between Cillian’s thighs to open him as, hands braced to the mattress to either side of Cillian, he bent and once more kissed him.
What makes you think I’ll let you go?
For a moment that kiss hurt—a pain that had nothing to do with the healing split in his lower lip and everything to do with the fact that…that…
Brendan didn’t mean it.
He was just teasing Cillian, just…just giving in to him, and Cillian, he…he…
He was going to be selfish and take everything Brendan offered, for the short time he had it. For as long as this infatuation lasted, or until Brendan got tired of bothering with him.
So Cillian forced that ache away, that wanting he shouldn’t be feeling at all, and let himself sink into the purely physical pleasure of this: Brendan’s mouth hot and hard against his own, slanting to take him in a slow claim, lingering until Cillian could scream with how Brendan took his time driving him from his senses: teasing at his mouth in long, deep strokes, every one opening him deeper, leaving him more vulnerable, more exposed, until by the time Brenan’s tongue stole into him he was panting, whimpering, aching for that almost delicately penetrating thrust of rough flesh plunging into him in a piercing stroke of pure pleasure. Cillian let his needy sounds out with absolute abandon, shamelessly clutching at the front of Brendan’s shirt, pulling at him, wanting to feel that heavy body crushing him down into the bed.
But Brendan resisted—pulling back just a little, parting their wet-fused lips. When Cillian opened his eyes, Brendan looked down at him with desire-darkened eyes, so smoky Cillian wondered how he could have ever though Brendan indifferent to him.
Brendan threaded his fingers into Cillian’s hair, stroking it back from his temple. “Do you feel safe right now, Cillian?” he whispered, and Cillian’s heart gave a sweet thump, that hunger shivering deeper when right now Brendan was being…so…
Brendan.
“I feel safe,” Cillian whispered back, and reached up to touch Brendan’s pressure-reddened lips. “It’s okay. I’m okay like this. With you.”