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)
—yes.
He was fragments, he was melting, he was stardust, he was gone. He writhed out of control, complete surrender, giving over to his body, to Brendan’s. Hot, wet, slick, bursting inside him, throbbing, pouring into him, so full, so full, so dripping and dirty…
And Cillian gave his pleasure into Brendan’s kiss in a scream, as his cock surged against his palm and he tore into fragile pieces of a man, each and every one saturated with the wet and perfect slick of pleasure.
l
FUCK, THAT HAD BEEN SATISFYING.
Brendan sprawled on his back against the sheets, catching his breath. Cillian stretched out next to him on his stomach, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight filtering through the window until he was all wet sugar glaze touched with points of pink at his elbows, along the soft-glow curve of leanly crafted muscle in his biceps, in the shadows where his waist dipped in toward his hip.
And against the curves of his ass, rounded muscle a blushing pink from the impact of their bodies crashing together.
Cillian threw himself into sex with the same reckless, passionate abandon with which he threw himself into acting—losing himself in what he was doing so utterly, no restraint, no shyness, no reserve. Nothing held back, pure sensual pleasure written on his expressive face until anyone looking at him would think he was experiencing the most erotic thing he’d ever known in his life, taken over by it and completely consumed.
Christ, he could make a man want to fuck him for hours just to see that look again and again.
Cillian had buried his face in his arms, his sweat-dampened hair falling in glossy brown ripples against his forearm and Brendan’s pillow, but now he lifted his head just enough to peek at Brendan over the curve of his shoulder.
“…hi,” he said shyly.
“Hi.” Brendan reached out and brushed a few strands of Cillian’s hair off his brow so he could better see that single hazy, satiation-darkened eye. “You okay after that?”
“Mmhm.” Cillian scrunched down deeper into his arms, but that one visible eye gave away his smile, creasing at the corners and glittering. “Are you?”
“I survived it.”
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry.” Chuckling, Brendan slid over onto his side and draped an arm around Cillian’s waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder—then licking away the damp sheen of salt. “I haven’t enjoyed myself like that in some time.”
“…better answer. Prick.” Rolling himself over, Cillian burrowed into Brendan, tucking himself against Brendan’s chest with a contented sound. “So…”
“So…?”
“…you’re really going to make me say it out loud, aren’t you?”
“Mmhm.”
“I don’t know how you can turn me on this much and make me hate you so much in the exact same breath.” Cillian blew out a rough exhalation, making his hair fluff up from his brow, then fall back down again—but his scowl faded into uncertainty as he peeked up at Brendan, watching him through the mussed tangle of his hair, his mouth still so kiss-swollen and scarlet and temptingly soft. “Do you think…it’ll be okay if…?”
He trailed off with an embarrassed sound, squeezing his eyes shut. With an amused sigh, Brendan relented, pressing his lips into Cillian’s hair.
“I think we can work our way up to something,” he said, then let his fingers slide down, trailing through the damp slick over Cillian’s skin to follow the groove of his spine, relish the way Cillian sucked in a breath, arched against him, brought his lithely athletic body against Brendan’s until their hips glided together. “…but we might have to rehearse this a few more times first. Six. Seven. Twenty times. I still need a little practice on the dirty talk.”
“I—Brendan!” Cillian lightly thumped his shoulder with a breathless laugh. “Like hell you do. I nearly came when you called me a slut. So much for slowing down with age.”
“Never needed the blue pills, hope I never will.” Brendan thought all he might need was a look from Cillian, one little hint of invitation—fuck, he’d been so tight inside, twisting his hips in all the right ways, spreading himself open to take Brendan deeper… He shuddered, pushed the thoughts away. “But if you’re too tired…”
“…I might actually be. Let me just be sore and purr for a bit, and then maybe I’ll be up for round two.” Cillian curled up a little more, rubbing his cheek to Brendan’s chest. “So. Pillow talk.”
Brendan raised a brow. “Pillow talk?”
“Part of the fake boyfriend job,” Cillian said innocently. “What if a reporter asks me a question about you on the red carpet and I can’t answer? So I need to know those little things that boyfriends talk about after having sex. Otherwise I can’t make it believable.”
“You are so full of shit.” Brendan laughed helplessly, pulling Cillian in closer and mock-biting his shoulder with a growl. “Fine. Ask me something.”
“See? You’re a good boyfriend. You spoil me.”