Chapter 13 Maya #2
Cillian’s smile is knowing, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “No, you don’t. You’re angry with him. You’re afraid of him. But you don’t hate him.” His hand finally cups my breast, his thumb circling my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. “And you definitely don’t hate this.”
I should push him away. Should remind him that he’s feverish, not thinking clearly, that we shouldn’t be doing this. But the protest dies on my lips as his touch sends pleasure spiraling through me, hot and insistent.
“Tell me to stop,” Cillian whispers, his lips brushing my ear. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop right now.”
I open my mouth, the refusal ready on my tongue. But what comes out instead is a soft moan as his fingers pinch my nipple gently, sending a jolt of sensation straight to my core.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, satisfaction evident in his tone.
His hand slides down my body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his fingers dip beneath the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants, I don’t stop him. When they slip lower, finding the wetness already gathering between my thighs, I don’t pull away.
“You’re so ready,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “So wet for me already.”
His fingers circle my entrance, teasing but not entering, gathering moisture before sliding up to my clit. The first touch makes me gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily against his hand.
“I can smell how much you want this,” Cillian continues, his breath hot against my neck. “How much you want us.”
One finger slides inside me, then a second, stretching me in a way that makes my inner walls clench around the intrusion. His thumb continues to circle my clit, the dual stimulation drawing a whimper from my throat.
“I can’t fuck you properly right now,” he admits, a note of genuine regret in his voice. “Not with this wound. Not the way you deserve.” His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “But Logan could.”
The mention of Logan’s name should douse the fire building within me. Should remind me of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Instead, it only intensifies the heat, the image of Logan joining us sending a fresh wave of arousal through my body.
“Logan would take you so well,” Cillian whispers, his fingers working me with maddening precision. “Hard and deep, the way part of you craves. The way your body is made for.”
I shake my head in denial, but my body betrays me, clenching around his fingers at the thought.
“You don’t have to be ashamed of wanting that,” Cillian says, his voice soothing even as his fingers maintain their relentless pace. “It’s natural. It’s biology. And when that dark part of you wants to be put in her place, Logan will always be ready to fulfill that need.”
A moan escapes me, louder than before, as the pleasure builds to an almost unbearable intensity. I’m close, so close, hovering on the edge of release.
“But I’ll be there too,” Cillian promises, his lips brushing my temple. “Making sure he doesn’t take it too far. Making sure you’re safe. Making sure it’s good for all of us.”
His thumb presses harder against my clit, rubbing in tight circles that make my thighs tremble.
“Remember when you tied Logan up?” he asks, his voice a seductive purr in my ear.
“Next time, you won’t have to trick him into the ropes.
I can be there. Ares and Poe too, if you want.
We can hold him down and let you have your way with him. ”
The image is so vivid, so unexpectedly arousing—Logan restrained, at my mercy, with Cillian and the others ensuring he stays that way—that it pushes me over the edge.
The orgasm crashes through me with unexpected force, my body jerking so violently that Cillian has to grab me to keep me from falling off the bed.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his fingers still moving inside me, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure. “Let go. Let yourself feel it.”
I press my forehead against his, gasping as the waves of sensation gradually subside. For a moment, we stay like that, breathing the same air, connected in a way that feels both intimate and dangerous.
Then Cillian withdraws his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips before pulling back to meet my gaze.
“We can talk more about all this in the morning,” he says, his voice soft but steady.
“When you’ve had time to think. When I’m not quite so.
..” He gestures vaguely at himself, at the fever still burning beneath his skin. “We’ll discuss it more.”
I nod, not trusting my voice just yet. My body feels boneless, sated in a way I haven’t experienced in too long. But my mind is racing, trying to process what just happened, what it means for all of us.
“Go to sleep, Maya,” Cillian says, his eyes already starting to drift closed. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”
As I slip into slumber, I can’t help wondering if Cillian is right. If there’s a way for this strange, broken pack to find balance. If there’s a place for me within it that doesn’t feel like surrender.
And most disturbing of all—if I might actually want that.
Iwake before dawn, my body still curved against Cillian’s. His fever still rages, making him like a furnace against my skin. And even though he remains deeply asleep, every breath he takes rattles in his lungs.
What the fuck are we doing?
Cillian isn’t getting better, not anywhere near as quickly as he should. I’d like to think that there isn’t anything that can be done, but I have a sinking suspicion that I know exactly what will help him.
The same thing that helps all injured Omegas.
Their Alpha.
I carefully extract myself from his arms, trying not to wake him. He needs rest to recover, and I... I need space to think. To sort through the tangle of emotions and desires that last night has stirred up.
I slip out of the bed and pause at the door, looking back at Cillian’s sleeping form. Even in the dim pre-dawn light, I can see the improvement in his color, the peaceful set of his features. Whatever caused the fever seems to have passed, leaving him looking more like himself than he has in days.
The knowledge that he’s on the mend should be enough. I should return to my room, to the isolation that’s become my refuge in this strange limbo we’re all trapped in. But as I step into the hallway, my feet carry me in a different direction entirely.
Unsurprisingly, Ares is asleep in his chair outside the door but doesn’t stir as I pass him.
I know Logan and Poe spend most of their nights roaming the deserted farmland surrounding the safe house, standing guard.
Poe typically goes to bed as soon as they return at dawn, but Logan usually stays up a little longer, drinking alone in the front room before seeking his own bed.
Sure enough, as I enter the main living area, I find him sitting in a worn armchair facing the windows.
The curtains are drawn tight against the approaching dawn, but he stares at them as if he can see through the heavy fabric.
A glass of amber liquid dangles from his fingers, half-empty and forgotten.
He doesn’t turn as I approach, though I know he’s aware of my presence.
“Drinking before bed will mess with your sleep,” I inform him pertly.
Logan doesn’t look at me, his gaze still fixed on the curtained windows. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I plan to actually get any sleep.”
The response catches me off guard. I move closer, studying his profile in the dim light. Shadows carve deep hollows beneath his cheekbones, and the skin around his eyes looks bruised with exhaustion.
“You’ve already been up all night,” I observe, stating the obvious because I don’t know what else to say.
“Ares is busy sleeping through his vigil outside whatever room you’re in,” Logan replies, a hint of bitterness coloring his tone. “Poe went to bed. Cillian is still lounging in a sick bed. Someone has to keep watch on the door.”
I inexplicably want to to bring up the discussion I had with Cillian, but the words die in my throat. Logan is too imposing like this, his golden eyes reflecting the dim lamplight, his body coiled with tension like a dragon that could breathe fire at any moment.
“Cillian isn’t doing well,” I say instead, the concern in my voice genuine despite my attempt at a casual tone.
Logan raises an eyebrow, his expression expectant but otherwise unreadable.
Irritation flares in me at his lack of response. “You should consider visiting him.”
“You seem to have that covered.”
I resist the urge to slap him. “I’m not his Alpha.”
“Well, I’m apparently not allowed to be any room that has you in it.” Logan replies, his voice dry. “We don’t need any more medical emergencies, which is what will happen if I try to get past Ares.”
“We can work something out,” I snap.
Logan’s gaze finally shifts to me, those golden eyes studying my face with an intensity that makes my skin prickle with awareness. “Can we?”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Cillian thinks we can.”
Interest flickers in Logan’s eyes, the first real emotion I’ve seen from him tonight. He sets his glass aside, giving me his full attention. “Does he now? And what exactly did Cillian propose?”
“He thinks he could be a buffer,” I say carefully, choosing my words with precision. “Between us. To create balance.”
Logan’s expression shifts, something like understanding dawning in his eyes. “Ah,” he says, the single syllable somehow conveying volumes. “And you’re amenable to this arrangement?”
The clinical phrasing makes me bristle. “He needs you, so I’m considering it.”
His gaze passes up and down my body, slightly mocking. “How flattering.”
“I’m not saying I forgive you,” I say, needing to make this clear. “I’m not saying I trust you.”
“I don’t recall asking for either one,” Logan replies, watching me closely as he rises slowly to his feet. “You’ve made it clear you aren’t doing this for me.”
I hold my ground as he approaches, fighting the instinct to retreat. He stops just out of arm’s reach, respecting the invisible boundary between us in a way that feels significant.
“How would this work exactly?” he asks, his gaze steady on mine. “This buffer arrangement with Cillian.”
The directness of the question makes my mouth go dry. Images from last night flash through my mind—Cillian’s hands on me, his voice in my ear describing how the three of us could be together. The way my body responded to the idea of both of them, of the balance they might create.
“I don’t know exactly,” I lie, my voice barely above a whisper. “We didn’t get that far in the discussion.”
Logan’s eyes darken, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I see. Then I suppose I’ll just have to follow your lead.”
A flutter of anticipation through me, quickly suppressed. “One step at a time.”
“One step at a time,” he agrees, his gaze still intent on my face. “Starting with you allowing me to check on Cillian without Ares tackling me to the ground.”
This close, his scent is overwhelming. I force myself to take a step back. “I’ll talk to Ares.”
“And I’ll talk to Cillian,” Logan says, gaze lingering on me like he’s considering closing the distance I just created. “I’d love to hear his perspective on this...arrangement.”
The thought of the two of them discussing me, discussing what happened between Cillian and me last night, sends heat rushing to my face.
“Good night, then,” I say, stumbling slightly over the words. “Or good morning, I mean. I assume you’re headed to bed.”
Logan doesn’t try to stop me as I turn to leave, but his voice follows me to the doorway. “I hope you’re not just trying to find a distraction from the decision you need to make.”
I turn back to him, that familiar anger he always manages to trigger rising in me. “Cillian isn’t a distraction.”
“Then that means you know what you want to do?”
The question stops me cold. In all the emotional turmoil of the night, I’d almost let myself forget the larger decision hanging over us. Stay and fight, or run and hide. Challenge the king or flee Melilla entirely.
I glare at him, “Why would you put this decision on my shoulders in the first place?”
Logan seems surprised that I haven’t figured it out for myself.
“Poe wants to fight. Ares wants us to protect ourselves. Cillian will follow where I lead.” He pauses, his golden eyes holding mine.
“In my opinion, we’re likely doomed no matter what we decide, so I’m leaving it up to you to cast the deciding vote. ”
I point out what seems obvious. “You haven’t said what you want.”
“I want to live in a world that doesn’t exist.
“But you would stay and fight, if we asked.”
He looks at me as if surprised I even have to ask. “Of course.”
For the first time, I realize something about Logan that I hadn’t seen before.
When Ares told me Logan had the makings of a true king, I’d scoffed at the idea.
But now I can see it—the way he just decided, without drama or fanfare, that he will helm a cause he believes is lost if that’s what his pack asks of him.
Without regret, without restraint, without apparent fear.
It would be enough to make me admire him if he were anyone else.
“Cillian told me you wanted me before we ever met,” I say, the words coming out before I can stop them. “I want to know why.”
Logan’s smile is humorless. “If we survive this, one day I’ll tell you.”
“I’ll have your answer soon,” I say, the decision forming even as I speak the words. “About what we’re going to do next.”
Logan nods once before turning away, bringing the nearly empty glass to his lips.