15. CHAPTER 15
MOON
I shouldn’t have been here. Thorn’s underground hall reeked of sweat, blood, and spilled beer.
Low concrete ceiling. Exposed pipes running the length of the room.
Nothing like Aster Court. The contrast was almost insulting.
Older faces mixed in with the students. Harder.
Men who didn’t belong to any court on campus.
The crowd crushed in, shoulders slamming mine.
Heat crawled under my hoodie like a second skin.
Someone screamed Cillian’s name until spit flew.
I kept my hood low. Face down. Hands shoved deep in my pockets.
Intelligence gathering, I’d like to call it.
Fall break had emptied half the academy.
Sawyer in London, Vivienne in Paris posting Le Meurice and Celine shots as if the drama never touched her.
Aster Court was finally quiet, quiet enough for every bad decision to echo.
No one left to stop me. I should have gone home to Manhattan.
Cillian stayed. So I stayed. Simple, damning math.
Three weeks. East reading gallery after hours.
Locker room steam still clinging to my skin.
Shadowed alcoves behind the cathedral. Bell tower stairs.
Sealed archives. Candlelit crypt beneath Saint Oran’s.
Three weeks of Cillian on his knees, fingers buried deep while I spilled down his throat and lied that I was still in control.
I wasn’t.
The need only sharpened. He never asked for anything. Just took me apart, selfless in a way that felt vicious. I hadn’t sucked him off once. Denial was becoming fucking pathetic.
I was afraid I’d like the version of me that let him break me open. Rotten want clawed under my skin. I wanted him to pin me down, take what I couldn’t offer, hold me open and fuck me until my brain finally shut the fuck up.
Twice he had me bent over, cock pressed right against my hole, body vibrating with the effort not to slam home. Teeth in my throat. Hands bruising my hips. Growling my name like he stood one breath from breaking. Both times I froze. Whispered no. Both times he stopped.
I felt like a fucking asshole.
His restraint was fraying. I saw it, eyes going black, fingers digging in like he fought his own blood not to take what was already his.
I wanted him to ignore the part of me that was still afraid.
He’s comfortable in his skin in a way I’ve never been.
He’d probably let me fuck him if I asked. He’d probably enjoy it.
But I wanted him inside me. Dominating me. Holding me down and fucking me like he owned me, especially when I hesitated. Especially when I fought. Telling him meant handing over every piece of power I’d spent my life protecting.
It’s driving me mad.
I played with the ring. I still hadn’t taken it off. I should have taken it off after the winter garden. I hadn’t.
Vivienne had noticed it earlier in the common room. “New ring?” she’d asked, stirring her tea. “It doesn’t look like anything I recognize you’d wear.”
I had lied without blinking. “Family heirloom. Mother sent it.” Her eyebrow lifted half a millimeter. She didn’t believe me, but she let it drop. She’d also stopped asking about Zara. Too obvious now. Even my lies felt like concessions.
Cillian stepped into the ring, shirtless, hands taped, mouthguard between his teeth, blood already drying at the corner of his mouth.
The crowd lost it. He took the first hit on purpose.
Head snapping sideways. Wet crack of flesh on bone.
Blood spraying across his mouth. Cillian smiled.
Red teeth. Split lip. Eyes bright with all the wrong things.
My stomach tightened. I’d been sneaking in for weeks just to watch him destroy men his size with that vicious grin and bloodied knuckles. Pure, ugly obsession.
His gaze cut through the crowd, anyway. Hood up, back corner, half-hidden behind two built-like-doors Thorn boys.
He still found me. Smile shifted smaller.
Meaner. Unmistakably mine. My cock stirred despite every effort to kill it.
Hated him for seeing me so easily. Hated my body more for answering.
Cillian turned back and stopped playing.
Hook to the ribs. Knee when the bastard folded.
Elbow that silenced the crowd for one stunned second before they roared again.
Sweat cut slick lines down his chest. Blood smeared his mouth.
Taped knuckles dark red. Brutal. Happy. Beautiful in the exact way that twisted something ugly low in my stomach.
The referee called it.
Thorn roared.
A girl in maroon climbed into the ring and pressed herself against his bloody chest. Thumb wiping blood from his mouth. Kiss on the cheek. Whisper in his ear.
My hand curled around his ring until the metal bit into my palm. She had no fucking right. No one had any right to touch him. He was mine.
Jealousy tore through me.
Cillian laughed. Hand settling on her waist like it meant nothing. My chest caved. Heat flooded my neck and burned up my ears. I shoved through the crowd before the flush could betray me. Shoulders slammed. Beer spilled down my sleeve. Sweat, blood, and victory stench clung as I forced my way out.
The night air hit like ice. Cold. Sharp. Cleansing. I made it ten steps across the gravel before hands grabbed me from behind.
Cillian slammed me against the nearest tree. Rough bark scraped my cheek. The impact punched the air from my lungs. His body pinned me there. Burning hot. Slick with sweat and blood. His chest crushed against my back, heart hammering against my spine.
His mouth brushed my ear. Ragged. “I know you’ve been coming to my fights,” he rasped. “I let you watch. Because I like knowing those pretty eyes are on me.”
His thigh shoved between mine. His cock thick and insistent against my ass. Pulse jumped into my throat.
“Get the fuck off me,” I hissed.
Cillian laughed low against my neck. “We both know you don’t want me off you.”
I shoved back with my shoulder.
Mistake.
Cillian pressed harder, crushing me between rough bark and his burning body. His mouth hovered at my ear. I could still smell the sweat, copper, and raw need baked into his skin.
My cock twitched hard against my sweats, betraying me instantly. His hips dragged once against my ass. I bit down on a sound.
He heard it anyway.
“There’s my little stalker,” he rasped against my ear, voice rough with satisfaction.
“Shut up. I’m not little.”
His hand slid over my hip, then lower, fingers hooking under the waistband of my sweats.
I caught his wrist. Hard.
He stopped.
Then his grip tightened on my hip, possessive and bruising. “Then tell me. Why’d you run off like that, my prince?” he rasped. “You never storm out in the middle of my fights.”
My jaw locked.
I should have pushed him away. The trees were black around us. Thorn’s hall still roared behind the stone walls. Gravel crunched somewhere, too far to matter, too close to ignore. Instead, I hissed, “Who was she?”
Cillian went still, body suddenly heavy against my back.
“Who?”
I turned my head as much as the tree allowed. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
“Jealous, prince?”
I drove my elbow back. He caught it before it reached his ribs. “Answer.”
“Clare.”
My stomach tightened. She had a fucking name. “She always paws at you like that after a fight?”
Cillian’s mouth brushed my ear. “Only when she wants everyone watching.”
“And you let her touch you.” His hand tightened on my wrist.
“Moonshine.”
“No.” I snarled. “You smell like her fucking perfume. Get your hands off me.”
Cillian’s forehead dropped against the back of my hood.
His laugh came out rough. Almost wrecked.
“Fuck.”
My pulse hit hard.
“Stop.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You are.”
“No.” His breath brushed my ear. “But you can parade around with Zara King for fucking optics, and I’m supposed to just take it?”
He rolled his hips once, pressing harder against me.
“I don’t have anyone for optics, prince. I don’t want anyone else. Just you. Always fucking you.”
Heat slammed low.
Brutal.
Humiliating.
I spun and shoved Cillian against the tree. Bark scraped his shoulder. Surprise flashed across his face at my strength.
My fist twisted in his damp shirt. I yanked him down. Mouths crashed. I bit his lower lip until blood hit my tongue.
“Touch me,” I hissed against his mouth, voice cracking.
Cillian groaned. His hand shoved under my waistband, rough fingers wrapping around my cock in that perfect calloused grip.
“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead pressed to mine. “What the hell got into you? If I knew jealousy worked this well, I’d have found a girlfriend sooner.”
I rocked into his fist, thighs trembling. Cold air. Rough bark. His burning palm. Too much. Not enough.
“Forget those girls.” The word broke. “Fuck, let’s go somewhere else. I… Can you—”
Why the fuck was this so hard to say? Three weeks of his mouth on my cock. Three weeks of stopping just short of the one thing I still refused to give him. I still wore his ring. I still came back.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Cillian made a low, guttural sound, half groan, half curse, his whole body shuddering against mine. “Say that again,” he growled against my ear, “and I’ll show you exactly why that Zara bullshit was never fucking competition.”
Cillian spun me, slammed my chest against rough bark. His fingers slid lower, slick with spit, pressing against my hole. The stretch burned. My breath hitched. Thighs shook harder as one thick finger pushed inside me.
“Fuck,” I hissed, fingers digging into the bark.
My own cock throbbed painfully against the tree, leaking steadily, making a mess of my sweats.
I hated how good it felt. Hated more that I had asked for it.
He added a second finger, pushing back inside me with wet, filthy sounds.
The stretch burned sharper from this angle.
My thighs shook. My hole clenched around his fingers.
“So fucking tight,” Cillian groaned behind me. “Fuck, Moon. You’re fighting me and taking me at the same time.”
He scissored his fingers deeper, curling hard against that spot that made white flash behind my eyes. I bit my lip until it bled, hips pushing back onto his hand. My body clenched around his fingers involuntarily. Cillian felt it. His hips jerked once against me, cock leaking against my ass.
“Slow,” I snapped. “Feels too fucking good. I’m gonna come like this.”
Cillian slowed instantly, but he didn’t stop. His fingers moved deeper, slower, curling deliberately against that spot inside me. The pleasure sharpened, rolling through me in heavy, overwhelming waves.
I was losing myself. Head dropped forward against the bark as another broken sound slipped out. I was supposed to be in control. Supposed to be better than this desperate, trembling mess.
His hips rolled again, grinding his thick cock between my cheeks. Teeth scraped my neck, then bit down hard enough to make me gasp.
“Fuck, Moonshine,” he rasped against my neck, voice wrecked and desperate. “You’re mine. I need to fuck you. I need this so fucking badly.”
I tensed, thighs shaking harder. The thought of him inside me, really inside me, sent a sharp spike of want and fear through my chest. God, I wanted it.
But the idea of being that open, that exposed, that taken by him made something inside me recoil.
If I gave him that kind of power once... would I ever want it back?
Cillian felt it immediately. He pressed a slow, hot kiss to the side of my neck, lips lingering, almost gentle, then pulled his two fingers out of me slowly, leaving me clenching around nothing.
“I’ll take good care of you, baby,” he murmured against my skin. “I’ve got you.” His free hand reached for his phone, thumb flying across the screen. The other stayed on my ass, squeezing hard, spreading me open while his thick cock dragged between my cheeks.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Texting Misha,” he rasped. “Clearing the back stairs to my room. I’m sneaking you into Thorn.”
My gut knotted hard. “To Thorn?” The words came out sharper than I meant. “Are you insane?”
“Yes.” His cock dragged against me again, teasing my entrance. “But I’m not letting you walk away now, love. Not after you finally begged me to fuck you because some girl put her hands on me.”
I tried to shove him off. Weakly. My body betrayed me, pushing back against his cock instead.
Cillian groaned. “Fuck, Moon… keep doing that and I won’t be able to stop myself.” He finished the text, shoved the phone away, then stepped back just enough to let me turn.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I fixed my clothes. I yanked my sweats up, the fabric torturing my aching, leaking cock. Cillian’s shirt hung open, blood and rain streaking his chest like war paint. He didn’t bother buttoning it. We moved fast, breathing ragged.
He reached out his hand. I pressed closer, saying nothing. Then I took it. His fingers locked around mine, warm and unrelenting, thumb brushing once over my knuckles like a silent claim.
I was walking into Thorn Court with Cillian’s blood still on my mouth and his fingerprints under my clothes. I should have turned back. I tightened my hand around his instead.