6. Cillian #5
I turn away from her, wanting to go to bed. “I know,” I tell her dismissively.
She sighs frustratedly. “Cillian—”
“I know,” I repeat. I cross to her and she doesn’t step back. Instead, she steps forward, meeting me halfway.
Her hands come up to my face and she kisses me.
The kiss starts tender but quickly deepens as the connection between us ignites.
There’s something different tonight and now’s not the time for me to examine it too closely.
Our kiss grows more heated, more urgent.
My hands roam over her body, feeling the curves I’ve been aching to touch.
I really don’t want to talk anymore about Connor’s treatment of me.
Instead, I want to do this.
I slide down the material of Valentina’s dress, my lips trailing along the curve of her shoulder before moving to the swell of her breast. “Fuck,” I murmur against her skin, feeling her shiver. “You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this.”
She moans softly, threading her fingers through my hair, arching her back to press herself against me. “Then stop thinking,” she whispers, her voice breathless. “And take me.”
That’s all the encouragement I need.
Without breaking our kiss, I lift her up and carry her to our bedroom, our movements hurried and desperate.
I lay her on the bed, my body covering hers.
The sheets are cool against my skin, but the heat between us is scorching.
I push her dress up around her hips, revealing the lace of her panties.
I smirk, running my hand over the fabric, feeling the dampness that’s already soaked through. “Already wet for me, aren’t you?”
Valentina bites her lip, fighting back a moan as she looks at me, her eyes dark with desire. “Why don’t you find out?”
I hook my fingers under the waistband of her panties and pull them down, tossing them aside.
Her breath hitches as I slide my hand between her thighs, finding her hot and ready. “So wet,” I tell her, my voice low and rough. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
“Stop talking,” she whispers, her hips bucking against my hand. “I need you inside me.”
I don’t make her wait.
I free myself from my pants, my cock hard and aching.
I guide myself to her entrance, teasing her for a moment before sliding inside.
The tightness, the heat—it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Valentina’s head falls back against the mattress, a moan slipping from her lips as I fill her completely. “Oh, fuck, Cillian,” she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. “You feel so good.”
“You like that?” I growl, thrusting into her with a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes her whimper. “You like how I fuck you?”
“Yes,” she cries out, her hands gripping my back as I drive deeper. “I—holy fuck, Cillian.”
Her words spur me on, my pace quickening as I take her harder, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room.
Our bodies are slick with sweat, the scent of sex thick in the air, and all I can think about is how incredible she feels, how desperately I want to make her scream my name.
“Say it again,” I command, my voice rough with need. “Tell me how much you want this.”
“I—ugh,” she moans, her voice breaking with each thrust. “Fuck, Cillian. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping until you come all over my cock,” I promise, my hands gripping her hips as I drive into her with relentless force. “I want to feel you come, Valentina. I want to feel you squeeze me tight.”
Her moans grow louder, her body trembling as she nears the edge.
I reach between us, finding her clit and rubbing it in time with my thrusts, pushing her closer to that breaking point.
“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, her body arching off the mattress. “Holy shit, Cillian. I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” I urge her, my voice raw with need. “Come for me. Come on my cock.”
Her climax hits her like a tidal wave, her walls clenching around me as she screams my name.
The sight of her, the sound of her pleasure, is too much for me to handle.
With a final, deep thrust, I spill inside her, groaning as the pleasure crashes over me.
We collapse together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming in ragged gasps.
I pull out of her and roll off, collapsing on the mattress.
We’re both silent except for the noises of our breathing coming back in order.
I can feel her turn toward me and I tilt my head to the side to see her big brown eyes watching me.
“Emma told me Brigid makes the best soda bread in New York and won’t give anyone the recipe,” she says.
That’s what she’s thinking of right now? I clearly didn’t fuck her hard enough. “Brigid is a stubborn old bat,” I tell Valentina, running my fingers through her silken hair. “She’s threatened to die without telling anyone the recipe.”
Something moves through Valentina’s expression. “She misses her,” she says softly, long fingers plucking at the sheets. “Brigid. I could tell.”
I nod. I saw it too. “She and Emma were close.”
“And Teresa.”
“And Connor,” I say, because it is true. Connor acts like he doesn’t miss his own child, which makes it obvious he does. “Connor misses her, but it’s his own fault.” I exhale heavily through my nose. “But he’ll never say that. It’s eating him up and he doesn’t know what to do with it.”
Valentina looks at me. “Do you miss her?”
I scoff and rub my forehead. “She’s not dead.”
Valentina scowls. “That’s not what I asked.”
I look at the ceiling. “Yeah,” I say, feeling emotion well in my throat. “I miss what was. Before Leo. Before any of it. When Emma was just—here, and it was simple.”
Valentina is quiet for a moment. “She’s happy,” she says quietly, if not a little defensively. “In case you needed to hear that. She’s really happy with my brother. The circumstances were a disaster and she is happy.”
I look at her.
She looks back at me, those dark eyes completely unguarded.
I think about everything she said tonight—at the dinner, in the hallway, here—and I think about how she says the honest thing to me when it’s just us.
I think about the rules.
No emotions, no expectations, no entanglement.
I proposed them because I needed something to hold onto and they were what was available.
But tonight in the hallway, with her telling me to look at things clearly, angry on my behalf in the way you only get when something actually matters to you—tonight was the night I stopped being able to pretend I don’t know what this is.
Her hand is close to mine on the pillow. She’s still looking at me.
“Valentina,” I say.
She leans in. “What?” she asks, nearly breathlessly.
I don’t say anything.
I don’t have the words yet.
I just look at her and she looks back and something passes between us that neither of us names and both of us know.
She turns back to the ceiling.
“Go to sleep, Brennan,” she says finally, and there’s something in her voice that’s softer than what she usually lets me hear.
I lie back and I look at the ceiling.
It’s not what I said it was and it hasn’t been for a while.
I close my eyes.
I don’t sleep for a long time.