Chapter 15 #2
He didn’t let him finish. His tongue flicked out, tracing the thick vein along the underside, and Cian’s words dissolved into a groan, his fingers tangling in his hair. He took his time exploring and tasting, his lips wrapped around the crown before pulling back to swirl his tongue over the slit.
Cian’s grip tightened, his hips rolling forward, seeking more. “More,” he growled in a voice rough with need.
Reaper obliged and took him deep, his throat opening around the thick length, his hands gripping Cian’s hips to hold him steady.
The water pounded around them, the sound of it mixing with the wet, obscene noises of his own mouth working over his cock.
He hollowed his cheeks, pulling back before plunging down again, his free hand reaching up to roll his heavy balls.
“Oh Gods,” Cian’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling. “Just like that—don’t stop—”
He had no intentions of stopping. The taste of Cian, the weight of him on his tongue, the way his muscles locked up with every swallow was intoxicating. He could feel Cian’s control fraying as his thighs shook, and his grip in his hair bordering on painful.
“Going to spill,” Cian warned, his voice a guttural snarl.
He hummed in response, the vibration making Cian’s cock jerk, and that was it. Cian came with a shout, his release hitting the back of his throat, his body shuddering as he spilled into his mouth.
Reaper swallowed around him, his own cock aching and heavy between his legs, but he didn’t stop, didn’t pull away until Cian’s grip loosened and his breath evened out.
Only then did he lean back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze locked on Cian’s flushed face, his blown pupils, and the way his chest heaved with every breath.
Cian reached down, hauling him to his feet, and kissed him hard, his tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting himself there. His hands dropped between them, wrapping around Reaper’s cock, stroking him with long, firm pulls.
Reaper groaned into the kiss, his hips snapping forward, his body singing with the need for release. Cian’s grip was perfect, his thumb swiping over the head, spreading the slickness there, his strokes growing faster and tighter.
It didn’t take long for his orgasm to hit him like a freight train, his cock pulsing in Cian’s grip as he came.
His release splattered against Cian’s chest, mixing with the water streaming over them.
Cian didn’t stop, milking him through it, his mouth never leaving his, swallowing his groans, his curses, and the way his body jerked with the force of it.
When it was over, Reaper sagged against him, his forehead against Cian’s shoulder, his breath coming in ragged bursts. Cian’s arms wrapped around him, holding him up, his hands slow and soothing as they traced patterns over his back. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Cian’s chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Not tonight.”
He huffed a laugh, lifting his head to press a kiss to the side of Cian’s neck. The water still poured over them, the steam filling the small space, but neither of them moved to turn it off. Not yet.
The water eventually cooled, the steam thinning as the heat faded. He reached past Cian and shut off the spray, the sudden silence heavy between them. He grabbed two towels from the rack, tossing one to Cian before rubbing the other over his own hair.
Cian dried off with efficient movements, his muscles flexing with every pass of the towel. “You’re staring,” He murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips.
He didn’t bother denying it. “Can’t help it.”
Cian dropped the towel, stepping close enough that their bodies brushed, the heat between them nothing to do with the shower. His fingers traced the mating mark on his arm. “Good.”
Reaper exhaled, the weight of everything pressing in.
The bond, the past, the future—all of it tangled together in this moment.
He turned, leading Cian into the bedroom.
The space was small, but it was his, and even better, it had a bed that offered the promise of something more than stolen moments in a sacred grove or a rushed shower.
He pulled back the blankets. “In you get.”
Cian climbed in first, his body moving with the easy grace of a predator settling into his den. He followed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He rolled onto his side, facing Cian, their legs tangling together like they’d done this a thousand times before.
Cian’s hand found his waist, pulling him closer until their chests brushed, the contact electric even through the exhaustion humming in his bones. “You’re quiet,” he whispered. “Thinking too hard?”
Reaper huffed a laugh, but it came out strained. “Yeah. That’s me. Overthinker extraordinaire.”
Cian’s thumb traced idle patterns on his hip. “Talk to me.”
The words hung between them, simple but heavy.
His throat tightened. He’d spent years locking this shit down, burying it so deep he could pretend it didn’t exist. But Cian’s gaze was steady, his presence a solid weight in the dark.
If there was ever a time to rip off the bandage, it was now, when they were alone, when the world outside this room didn’t exist.
“There’s something you should know.” Damn, his voice was rough. “About my past.”
Cian’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers stilled. “I’m listening.”
Reaper swallowed and decided it was better to just spit it out and get it over with. “His name was Derek. He was…” He forced the words out. “My lover for a time.”
Cian’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flickered with something dark and primal. “The one on the talking box.”
Talking box?
Phone?
Shit.
He went still. “How do you know about that?”
“I heard him.” Cian’s voice was flat and deadly. “At the Dolmen. When you spoke to him.”
“You were there?”
Cian nodded, his fingers flexing against his skin. “It was the closest I could be to you without crossing through the door,” he explained. “I wanted to tear his throat out.”
Reaper’s breath hitched. The idea that Cian had wanted to be close to him, even though a portal, was kinda sweet.
“He’s a cop—the law. Or he was. San Diego PD, not that you know where that is.
” Cian wouldn’t know where the next place was either, but he figured it didn’t matter.
“He’s the reason I transferred to Dam Neck. ”
The bed creaked as he shifted, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. The mating mark on his arm pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Cian’s fingers traced idle circles on his stomach. “He hurt you.” It was a statement rather than a question.
He exhaled through his nose, the old shame curling in his gut. “Yeah.”
“Badly.”
A bitter laugh clawed its way out. “Bad enough.”
Cian’s hand stilled. He sat up and turned to face him. His expression was unreadable. “Show me.”
His stomach dropped. “What?”
“Show me where he hurt you.” Cian’s voice was weird, even for him. “Every mark. Every scar.”
He wanted to refuse, to bury it all back down where it belonged.
But the look in Cian’s eyes brooked no argument.
Something he didn’t understand thrummed in the bond between them like a plucked string.
Swallowing hard, he sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. His fingers trembled as he touched the faint white line above his collarbone. “Here, the first time.”
Cian’s jaw tightened. “Go on.”
His hand dropped to his ribs, tracing the thicker scar there.
“Broken ribs. Twice.” His voice was steady and clinical, like he was reporting intel.
Anything to keep the tremors at bay. “Left arm.” He touched the faint circle of lighter skin near his wrist as he tried to figure out how to explain what a cigarette was. “Smoking stick.”
A growl rumbled in Cian’s chest and his pulse jumped, but he didn’t stop. He turned, showing Cian the cluster of marks along his shoulder blades. “Belt buckle.”
Cian’s fingers followed the path of his, his touch feather-light, like he was memorizing the shape of every injury. When Reaper faced him again, Cian’s hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “And here?”
Reaper didn’t have to ask what he meant. His fingers went to the spot where his jaw hinged, where the bone had once been fractured. “Yeah.”
Cian sucked in a breath. Then before he could react, the warrior surged forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss.
Reaper gasped, his hands flying to Cian’s shoulders, but he didn’t push away.
The kiss was filled with possessiveness, and he met it with his own desperation, his nails digging into Cian’s skin.
When they broke apart, Cian’s forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling. “He will die for this.”
Reaper’s heart stuttered. “Cian—”
“No.” Cian’s grip on his face tightened, just shy of painful. “You are mine. Mine and Failinis’s. No one—no one—hurts what’s ours and lives.”
The ferocity in his voice sent a shiver down his spine.
He should argue. Or maybe even tell him to stand down, that Derek wasn’t worth it, that he’d handled it.
But the words died in his throat, because the truth was, he hadn’t handled it.
Not really. Deep inside the part of him that had spent years swallowing his rage, his fear, his shame—that part wanted to let Cian set a match to the kindling of Derek’s world and burn the whole damn thing down for him.
Cian’s thumbs stroked his cheekbones, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re strong, a stór. Stronger than you know. But you don’t have to be strong alone anymore.”
His vision blurred. He blinked hard, but the sting in his eyes didn’t fade. “I—I don’t know how to be anything other than who I am.”
“You don’t have to.” Cian pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his temple, his lips lingering against his skin. “Just let me in. Let Failinis and me see you. Just as you are.”
That I can do.
His breath hitched. He nodded, the movement jerky, but Cian seemed to understand.
The warrior’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, and he let himself be held, his face pressed against Cian’s chest. The steady thump of his heart counted out the seconds until his own pulse slowed, until the trembling in his limbs eased.
They stayed like that for a long time. His fingers traced the ink on Cian’s skin, the swirls and knots of his tattoos, the mating mark that mirrored his own.
Cian’s hand slid down his back, his touch firm. “You’re mine,” he murmured again, like a vow. “I’m yours. No more hiding. No more running.”
Reaper swallowed. “No more running.”
Cian’s lips found his again, slower this time, and oh so much deeper. The kiss was a promise, a seal on words that couldn’t be unsaid. When they parted, Cian’s eyes were dark, his voice rough with need. “Let me show you.”