Chapter 008 Cillian
Watching Lyra with Elara over dinner cracked something open inside me. I talk to my niece every day, but it’s different. Lyra listens like every word out of Elara’s mouth is gold, and she answers with this bright, unguarded excitement that makes the kid glow. I sat there taking mental notes, because I want that ease with Elara. I want to be the adult she runs to, not just the one who signs the permission slips.
My brother and I grew up in a house that felt more like a war zone than a home. We learned early that wanting things—safety, affection, a future—was a good way to get hurt. I built the company so no one I cared about would ever sleep in a car again. I kept everyone at arm’s length because it was safer. Then the call came: my brother dead, a niece I didn’t know existed suddenly mine. At first I was furious—at him for dying, for leaving her alone after her mother bled out bringing her into the world. But the anger thinned, and what was left was grief for a brother I barely knew and gratitude for the gift he left behind.
Tonight I saw a version of the future I actually want. Elara laughing. Lyra beside us. A family I choose, not one I survive. Which means Lyra isn’t going anywhere. Ever.
The dining room is quiet now, silverware settled, plates cooling. Lyra sits across from me, cheeks still pink from Elara’s rapid-fire questions. I push my chair back.
“Come kneel in front of me.”
Her eyes go wide, but she stands without hesitation and lowers herself between my legs. She looks up, lashes fluttering, waiting.
“You’re going to apologize with your mouth.”
Confusion flickers across her face. “I already said I was sorry.”
“Not with words, sweet girl.” I cup her cheek, thumb brushing the flush I put there. My other hand moves to my belt. “Open for me.”
She blushes harder at the endearment, lips parting on a soft inhale. I free myself, already aching, the head slick. Her gaze drops, then lifts back to mine, nervous.
“I’ve never done this before,” she whispers.
“I’ll teach you.” My fingers slide into her hair, gripping just enough to guide. “Lips soft. Let me move you.”
She nods, mouth opening wider. I feed myself between her lips slowly, savoring the wet heat. A low groan drags out of me when she closes around the crown.
“Good girl,” I murmur, easing deeper. “Just like that.”
She whimpers when I reach the back of her throat. I hold her there, feeling her swallow around me. The pulse in my cock kicks hard.
“Perfect.” I draw her up, let her breathe, then guide her down again. A bead of precum smears across her lips when I pull her off to kiss the tip. The sight nearly undoes me. I push her back down, deeper this time.
She finds a rhythm on her own, tentative but eager, eyes locked on mine. My spine tightens.
“Are you sorry now?”
A muffled sound—half moan, half yes—vibrates around me. I’m swelling, close.
“Do you want to swallow?”
She nods without pulling off. Christ.
“That’s my very good girl.”
I mean to finish in her mouth, let her drink me down, but curiosity wins. She mentioned showering earlier. I need to see.
I tug her hair gently, pulling her off. She tries to chase me, confused.
“Stand up.”
Her legs shake as she rises. I reach for her waistband, shove the soft black pants down. She steps out of them, cotton panties clinging. I hook a finger in the crotch and yank it aside.
Bare. Smooth. Dripping.
I lick my lips. “Straddle me.”
She climbs onto my lap, thighs trembling. My cock rests hot against her slick folds.
“Hold still.”
“I’m trying,” she breathes.
I drag the head through her wetness, circling her clit until she gasps. Then lower, nudging her asshole just to feel her jolt.
“Cillian!”
“Still.” She freezes instantly, eyes huge. I slide back to her clit, rubbing slow, relentless circles. Her head falls forward, breath hitching.
“You belong to me, Lyra,” I tell her, voice rough. “Let me take what I want.”
Her orgasm hits sudden and hard—she cries out, body locking. I angle my hips and push just the head inside her virgin entrance as she clenches. Tight. Perfect. I come instantly, pulsing deep, squeezing the base to give her every drop. Nothing leaks out; she’s holding me too perfectly.
I claim her mouth while we both shudder, swallowing her soft noises. When she quiets, I’m still half-hard inside her, reluctant to leave.
“Mr. Eve?” Chef Carl’s voice, polite, from the hallway. “Shall I clear the plates?”
Lyra jerks, nearly toppling off me. She scrambles down, yanking her pants up with shaking hands.
“He won’t come in until I say,” I assure her, tucking myself away.
“I—um—need to check on Elara.” She won’t look at me, cheeks flaming.
“You proved your apology beautifully.”
“Goodnight, sir,” she mutters, already heading for the door.
I stand, hands in my pockets to keep from grabbing her. I like the flush on her neck, the little frantic edge. It means I’m under her skin the same way she’s under mine.
“Don’t worry, Lyra,” I call softly. “I’ll be up soon to tuck you in.”
She flees.