Chapter 8 Cillian
CILLIAN
She's in my arms. She's here, she's real, and she's not getting on that train.
I hold her against me as we walk through the station, past the curious stares of commuters who just watched a man drop to his knees and declare his love on a public platform.
I don't care what they saw. I don't care what they think.
The only thing that matters is the woman pressed against my side, her fingers interlaced with mine, her heartbeat so close I can almost feel it.
"My bag," she says suddenly, halting mid-step and turning back toward the platforms. "I left it on the bench—I just dropped everything when you..."
"I'll buy you whatever you need," I say, already pulling her forward again. "New clothes, new toiletries, anything."
"Cillian." Her voice carries an edge of panic now. "My grandmother's photo album is in there. The one she kept from before the war—it's the only copy."
That stops me. I know what her grandmother meant to her, what those memories represent. I squeeze her hand and guide her back toward the platform, where her bag is still sitting on the bench, miraculously untouched. She grabs it and clutches it to her chest, and I see the relief flood her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry for running. I thought I was doing the right thing."
"I know." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "But you have to understand something, Waverly. There's no version of my life that works without you in it. Not anymore. So the next time you decide to sacrifice yourself for my benefit, maybe talk to me first?"
She laughs, and the sound loosens something tight in my chest. "Deal."
We take a cab back to her apartment, sitting close together in the back seat, my arm around her shoulders.
The city slides past the windows, but I'm not watching it.
I'm watching her. The curve of her cheek.
The way she worries her bottom lip when she's thinking.
The pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
"What happens now?" she asks quietly, her voice still trembling with the aftershocks of everything we've just been through.
"Now we go home. We rest. We figure out the next steps together." I tuck her closer against my side as the cab driver navigates through evening traffic.
"And the church? The laicization process?"
"Still in progress. It'll take months, maybe longer, but I've already submitted everything—all the paperwork, all the formal requests.
There's no going back, even if I wanted to.
" I tip her chin up with my fingers so she's looking directly at me, so she can see the certainty in my eyes.
"Which I don't. Just to be absolutely clear. "
"Just to be absolutely clear," she echoes, and there's a hint of a tremulous smile playing at the corners of her lips.
The cab drops us at her building, and we climb the three flights of stairs together, my hand at the small of her back.
Her apartment feels different when we walk in—the air seems charged with everything that's happened, everything that's been said, everything that's changed between us.
She sets her bag down carefully on the floor and stands in the middle of the living room, looking a little lost, a little uncertain.
"I should unpack," she says, glancing at the bag. "Put things back where they belong."
"That can wait." I cross the room in three strides and pull her into my arms, feeling her warmth seep into my chest. "Right now, I need you to know something."
She looks up at me, her hazel eyes wide and waiting, her hands coming to rest against my chest.
"When I thought I'd lost you, when your landlord told me you'd cleared out and I realized you were actually leaving.
.." I swallow hard. "I've never been more terrified in my life.
Not when my brother died. Not when I decided to enter the seminary.
Not ever. The idea of a world without you in it was unbearable. "
Her eyes fill with tears that catch the light from the window, threatening to spill over onto her flushed cheeks. "I thought I was protecting you from making a choice you'd regret."
"I don't need protection from my own decisions. I need you. Just you, exactly as you are. Every single day, for as long as you'll have me."
"That might be a very long time," she whispers, her voice trembling with hope and vulnerability.
"Good." I kiss her forehead tenderly, then her damp cheeks, then the corner of her mouth where it curves upward. "I'm counting on it. I want forever with you."
I guide her toward the bedroom, and she comes willingly, her hands already reaching for the hem of my sweater. We undress each other slowly, savoring each moment, each reveal. This is different from the desperate encounters of the past week. This is deliberate. This is a promise.
When we're both naked, I lay her down on the bed and just look at her. At the soft curves of her body, the honey-brown curls spread across the pillow, the flush creeping up her chest as my gaze travels over her.
"You're staring," she says, her voice breathy and uncertain, though the flush spreading across her skin deepens under my gaze.
"I'm memorizing every detail," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion.
"I want to remember exactly how you look right now, in this precise moment—the light touching your skin, the way your hair falls, the rise and fall of your chest. The moment I knew for certain, beyond any shadow of doubt, that you were mine and I was yours. "
"I've been yours since that night in the confessional," she admits, her fingers twisting in the sheets beneath her. "From the very beginning, when I heard your voice in the darkness. I was just too scared to believe it could be real, that something this good could actually be mine to keep."
"It's real." I lower myself over her, bracing my weight on my forearms so I don't crush her. "This is real. We are real. And I'm going to spend every day proving it to you."
I kiss her then, deep and thorough, pouring everything I feel into the press of my lips against hers. She arches up against me, her hands sliding into my hair, and I feel her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.
There's no urgency this time. We have hours, days, a lifetime. I take my time exploring her body, kissing my way down her throat, across her collarbone, to the soft swell of her breasts. I take one nipple into my mouth and feel her gasp, her hips rolling against mine.
"Please," she breathes. "I need you."
"Not yet." I move lower, kissing her stomach, her hip bones, the soft skin of her inner thighs. "I want to taste you first. I want to make you come on my tongue before I'm inside you."
She makes a sound that might be a protest or a plea, but when my mouth finds her center, all coherent thought seems to leave her.
I lick into her slowly, savoring her taste, feeling her thighs tremble against my shoulders.
She's already wet, already desperate, and I want to draw this out as long as possible.
"Cillian." My name is a moan on her lips. "God, please, I can't..."
"You can." I circle her clit with my tongue, then suck gently. "You will. For me."
I work her higher and higher, reading the signs of her body, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her cry out. When she finally shatters, it's with a scream that echoes off the walls, her hands fisted in the sheets, her whole body arching off the bed.
I don't give her time to recover. I move up her body and sink into her in one smooth thrust, swallowing her moan with my mouth. She's so tight, so hot, so perfect around me that I have to stop and breathe, fighting for control.
"I love you," I say against her lips. "I love you so much it scares me."
"I love you too." She cups my face in her hands, and I see tears glistening in her eyes. "I love you, Cillian. I'll spend the rest of my life loving you."
I start to move, slow and deep, watching her face for every reaction. This isn't just sex. This is communion in the truest sense of the word. Two people becoming one, giving themselves completely to each other without reservation or fear.
"Harder," she gasps, her nails digging into my back. "Please. I want to feel you everywhere."
I give her what she asks for. My thrusts become faster, deeper, more urgent. I hook her leg over my shoulder, changing the angle, and she cries out as I hit something deep inside her.
"Right there," she pants. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
I couldn't stop if I wanted to. My whole world has narrowed to this moment, to the heat of her body and the sound of her voice and the way she looks at me like I'm the only thing that matters. I reach between us and find her clit, rubbing in tight circles, and I feel her start to tighten around me.
"Come with me," I growl. "I want to feel you come when I'm inside you."
She shatters with a cry, and I follow her a heartbeat later, burying myself deep and groaning her name like a prayer. We hold each other through the aftershocks, trembling and breathless and completely undone.
Afterward, I pull her against my chest and hold her as our breathing slows. The afternoon light has turned golden, streaming through her windows, making everything look warm and soft and perfect.
"Stay with me," she whispers against my chest, her breath warm on my skin. "Tonight. Tomorrow night. Every night after that."
"I'll never leave," I promise, tightening my arms around her. "Not unless you send me away."
"I'll never want you to." Her fingers trace lazy patterns across my ribs, mapping the contours of my body like she's memorizing every detail.