Chapter 11 #2
“I thought you left,” he says, voice rough like he hasn’t spoken in hours. His eyes scan me—my flushed face, trembling hands, the frost melting on my boots.
I shake my head. Just once. He exhales through his nose, something like relief softening his features, but he doesn’t reach for me.
So I walk to him. He watches me, unmoving, unreadable, until my hands find the hem of my jumper and pull it over my head.
He catches my wrist before I can undo the button on my jeans.
“Siobhán,” he murmurs, his voice a warning and a prayer.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes. His fingers slide under the fabric of my jeans, slow and reverent as he undresses me like I’m something fragile.
His mouth finds the soft curve of my hip, the hollow beneath my ribs, the place just below my collarbone where my pulse betrays how wrecked I already am.
His hands tremble as they trail over my skin, like he's scared I’ll vanish.
I don’t speak. I don’t ask. I just let him touch me.
When he lays me down, it’s with the kind of care I’m not sure I deserve. His lips brush over mine once—twice—before he deepens the kiss, tasting the salt he doesn’t comment on. I’m crying and kissing him at the same time. He doesn’t flinch.
“I should hate you,” I whisper, slow and aching.
“I know,” he breathes against my throat.
I feel the intensity shift, his lips breaking from mine as he moves down my body.
His mouth traces a trail of heat along my throat, across my collarbone, down to my breast where his tongue circles, teases.
My fingers tangle in his hair as he continues lower, lips pressing against my stomach, the jut of my hip bone, the inside of my thigh.
When his mouth finally finds me, I gasp, arching off the bed. His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as his tongue explores, tasting, relearning what makes me tremble. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but he looks up at me through his lashes, silently telling me not to hold back.
So I don't.
I let every sound escape as he works me over with his mouth, his tongue circling and flicking in a rhythm that makes my thighs shake.
My hands clutch the sheets, then his shoulders, needing something to anchor me as the pressure builds.
He slides one finger inside me, then another, curling them just right as his tongue continues its relentless pace.
When I finally break, the release crashes through me in waves. My back bows off the bed, his name a broken prayer on my lips. But he doesn't stop.
"One more," he whispers against my oversensitive skin, his breath hot and damp. "I know you can give me one more, darling."
I shake my head, my body still quivering from the aftershocks. "I can't—"
"You can," he says, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. His fingers slide deeper, finding that spot inside that makes my vision blur. "Let go for me, Siobhán."
His voice is hypnotic, commanding yet gentle as he works me back up. I'm still so sensitive that every touch is almost too much, bordering on painful before tipping back into pleasure. He watches my face the entire time, gauging my reactions, adjusting his rhythm.
"That's it," he murmurs when my breathing quickens again. "Just like that."
When the second orgasm hits, it's different—deeper, more intense. I cry out his name, my body clenching around his fingers as he talks me through it, telling me how beautiful I look, how perfect I feel.
Afterward, he crawls back up my body, pressing his weight into me in a way that feels like protection. I need more of him, all of him, right now.
He reads the desperation in my eyes, something shifting in his expression.
The tenderness from before transforms into something darker, more primal.
His breathing changes as he slides between my legs, positioning himself above me.
In one swift movement, he grabs both my wrists, pinning them above my head with one strong hand.
His grip is firm, unyielding. I gasp at the sudden change, my heart pounding against my ribs.
"Is this what you need?" he growls, his accent thickening with desire. His free hand roughly pushes my thigh wider, then the other, his knees forcing my legs apart until I'm completely exposed to him.
I nod frantically, unable to form words. This is exactly what I need—to be overwhelmed, to have control taken away, to feel nothing but him.
"Say it," he demands, his face inches from mine, eyes glittering dangerously in the dim light.
"Yes," I finally manage. "Please, Cillian."
He doesn't move. Instead, his lips curl into a wicked smile as he brushes the head of his cock against me, just enough pressure to make me arch, but not enough to satisfy.
"You think it'll be that easy?" he whispers, tracing the seam of my lips with his thumb. His touch is gentler now, the roughness melting into something more tender. "After all this time?"
I whimper, trying to shift my hips to take him inside, but his hand presses firmly on my stomach, holding me still. "Please," I breathe, my voice breaking. "I need you."
His eyes soften at the edges, something vulnerable flickering behind them. "Say it again," he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against mine. "I love hearing you beg for me."
"Please, Cillian," I whisper against his mouth. "Please, I need you inside me. Please."
A sound escapes him, something between a groan and a sigh, and then he's pushing into me—slow, deliberate, watching my face as I take him inch by inch. The stretch burns in the best way, my body yielding to him .
We both sigh as he fills me completely, a sound so intimate it sends a shiver down my spine. My body stretches to accommodate him, the sensation overwhelming in its perfection.
"Is breá liom do chorp1," he whispers against my ear, his Irish flowing like honey. "The way you take me, mo stór."
His hips begin a slow, measured rhythm, each thrust deliberate and deep. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him closer, deeper.
"Cillian," I plead, need spilling from my lips. "Deeper. Le do thoil mo ghrá.2"
His eyes flash with heat at my words. "Listen to you," he murmurs, his pace still maddeningly slow. "Begging me in Irish. You know what that does to me."
He shifts slightly, changing the angle so that he hits that spot inside me with every thrust. I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.
His pace suddenly quickens, his grip on my wrists tightening as his control begins to slip.
Each thrust comes harder now, more desperate, the gentle lover from moments ago transforming into something wilder.
"Tá tú go hálainn3," he growls against my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "So beautiful when you take me like this."
I cry out when his teeth find my neck, not quite breaking skin but leaving marks I'll feel tomorrow. He moves to my ear, capturing the lobe between his teeth, tugging just enough to send shivers racing down my spine.
"Cill—God—" My words dissolve into incoherent sounds as he releases my wrists to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple before his mouth replaces his fingers. He sucks hard, the sensation shooting straight between my legs, making me clench around him.
"That's it," he praises, voice rough with exertion. "Just like that. Squeeze me tighter, darling."
His hips snap forward with renewed vigor, the sound of skin against skin filling the small room.
My fingers tangle in his hair as he moves to my other breast, lavishing it.
His hand slides up my body, fingers trailing along my collarbone before wrapping gently around my throat.
My pulse quickens against his palm as his eyes find mine, searching for permission.
"Is this what you need?" he asks, his voice thick with desire.
I nod, unable to speak as his grip tightens—not enough to cut off my breath, just enough to make my head swim with pleasure. His other hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit with practiced precision.
"4Caillte," he whispers as his fingers circle faster. "Lost for me."
The dual sensations overwhelm me—the pressure at my throat increasing as his fingers work magic between my legs.
The room spins as oxygen becomes precious, every nerve ending in my body suddenly, painfully alive.
His cock fills me completely, hitting deeper with each thrust as the pressure builds to something almost unbearable.
"Give it to me," he commands, his voice raw. "5Tar dom, a stór."
My vision blurs at the edges as the pressure in my body coalesces into something magnificent and terrible.
When it finally breaks, it's unlike anything I've ever felt—except with him.
Only ever with him. My body contracts around him, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me.
I can't tell where I end and he begins, my throat raw from crying out his name.
"That's it," he praises, his voice strained as he fights his own release. "Just like that, dove. Perfect. You're so perfect for me."
His rhythm falters, becoming more erratic as he chases his own pleasure. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Is tú mo shaol,6" I whisper against his ear, and something in him breaks.
His body tenses, muscles rigid as he drives into me one last time.
I feel him pulse inside me as he comes, his face buried in my neck.
His teeth find that sensitive spot between my collarbone and neck, biting down just hard enough to mark me.
The sweet sting sends aftershocks through my already oversensitive body.
Tears I didn’t realize I was holding back spill down my cheeks. Not from pain, but from something deeper—the betrayal, the unyielding little red ribbon that ties our souls together, to the simple fact that I will always love Cillian O’Dwyer until the day I die.
I bury my face into his bare chest, breathing in the scent of sex and cedar and storm. His arms tighten around me like he knows. Like he forgives me already. I want to believe that. But I haven't even opened the ledger yet. And the moment I do… he’ll never look at me like this again.
1. I love your body.
2. Please, my love.
3. You are beautiful
4. Lost
5. Come to me, my dear
6. You are my life