33. CHAPTER 33 #2
I wanted to ask him where Declan was. What happened at the Glass House. I couldn’t make myself say the words. I kissed him anyway. Fisted his hair and pulled him closer. Broke the kiss only when I needed air.
He pressed his forehead to mine.
His thumb brushed my cheek. “What are you plotting now, Moonshine?”
“Come with me.” I pulled him after me by the hand and walked toward Aster Court. Most people were already at the banquet, or at least not in the Courts. So I snuck Cillian back to my room.
I turned to look at him on the stairs. Fuck. I couldn’t have him soon enough.
“Shh, we have to be quiet. But perhaps…”
“Perhaps…” Cillian raised an eyebrow.
I continued dragging him up the stairs, then turned. “I was thinking… I want to fuck you.”
Cillian stopped walking.
“Christ, Moon.”
“Is that a no?” I stopped, concern leaking through.
Maybe he doesn’t want that. That would be okay, I just—
“Moonshine,” his Irish accent thickened, “I’m yours. Any fucking time you want.”
“Only if you’re comfortable with it.”
His expression shifted. He pulled me down two steps and I collided into him. He kissed me, despite the eyes still watching.
“Baby, you can fuck me any goddamn time you want.”
“Cillian.”
“Pull my hair. Spank me. Tell me what to do. Talk filthy to me in that lavish accent until I can’t think straight—”
I laughed and pulled away from him.
“You’re deranged.”
He came right back, grin unrepentant. “You knew that before you collared me.”
We reached my room. Cillian opened the door and stepped aside. I caught his tie and dragged him in after me.
The door clicked shut.
I faced him. Pulse steady. No frantic race like that first night, no terror at what wanting him meant. This time I had chosen it. In front of everyone.
Cillian watched me, eyes dark, that dangerous amusement still playing at his mouth. But he stayed exactly where he was, giving me the lead.
I stepped closer and unbuttoned his shirt. It hit the floor with a soft thud. “You’re going to let me fuck you tonight,” I said.
“Aye. Any fucking way you want, prince.”
I slid my fingers into his hair and tugged once. He let his head fall back without resistance, throat exposed, the picture of dangerous surrender. My stomach tightened at the sight of this unhinged Irish menace choosing to yield to me.
I kissed his neck. I stripped him. Shirt. Belt. Everything. Muscles shifting under my hands. Irish ink. I hooked a finger under his jaw. “On the bed. On your back.” He went willingly. Sprawled against the sheets, that unhinged satisfaction still burning in his eyes.
I undressed slower, letting him watch every piece come off. Then I climbed over him.
I knelt between his legs, slicked my fingers, and pressed in. One knuckle. Two. Fuck. Cillian looked obscene like this—spread, chest heaving, eyes locked on mine. My beautiful, violent wreck.
Memories flashed. Cathedral aisle, the gallery kiss, the rose garden, Saint Lucia.
He yielded instantly, muscles rippling around my fingers.
Willing. Too willing. That unhinged dominance still burned in his eyes, untouched.
It looked right on him. Dangerously right.
Jaw flexing. Irish ink shifting with every breath.
Cillian groaned, pushing back onto my hand. “Harder. Spank me. Pull my hair. Baby. I’m yours tonight. You won’t hurt me.”
Heat flooded my face, my cock, my chest. I hated how the words unraveled me. And how strangely calming his absolute confidence felt. My fingers trembled before I steadied them.
Cillian grabbed the bottle of lube, slicking me generously, rough hand stroking twice. “That’s enough, baby. Fuck me now. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Cillian, I…” My throat went dry. “Are you sure?” He hooked a hand behind my neck and pulled me down into a hard kiss.
“Yeah, baby.”
I pushed in slow, eyes fixed on his face, watching every flicker as I sank deeper. The stretch. The heat. His body fought, then welcomed.
My breath fractured. “Does it feel good?”
“Fuck—yes—so good, prince—”
Cillian let out a wrecked moan. He grabbed my hips, strong fingers digging in, and yanked me flush. Buried to the hilt.
Fuck. A broken sound tore from my throat. From his. My hands splayed across his stomach, feeling every flex, every ragged breath. Overwhelming. Too much.
He forced me all the way in. “Stop—Cillian—I could hurt you—” I choked out, slapping at his chest.
Cillian laughed, completely unbothered, hips rolling up to take me even deeper. “Claim me, Moon. Take what’s yours. You won’t hurt me.”
I pulled back slow, then drove in again, deep, each thrust measured to wring every reaction from his face. Cillian growled, hips snapping up to meet me harder, forcing the pace.
“Again. Hair too. Don’t fucking hold back on me, prince, I can take it. I can take everything you’ve got.”
I fisted his dark strands and yanked his head back just enough to arch his spine.
The angle changed everything. He clenched around me, perfectly.
The sound came out raw and humiliating. My hips snapped forward, faster now, control fraying at the edges.
He’s letting me. He wants this. Wants me like this.
Shame and triumph twisted so tightly I couldn’t tell which was which.
I fucked him harder, chasing the friction, the power, the terrifying intimacy of being inside the one person who had torn every defense I owned to shreds.
Sweat slicked our skin. The room filled with the obscene slap of flesh, his ragged breathing, my fractured curses in Korean and English.
“You feel so fucking good,” I rasped, the words ripping out. “I’m not sure I can last—”
Cillian’s head pressed back into the mattress, eyes half-lidded and gleaming with deep satisfaction as they stayed locked on mine. He drank in every broken sound like oxygen, a wrecked, proud grin splitting his face. “Whose am I tonight, prince?”
I resisted at first. Then I leaned down, chest to chest, and gave them to him anyway. “Mine.”
Cillian’s slick finger pressed against my hole and pushed in. Fuck. My rhythm shattered. I came hard, buried deep, body jerking inside him. My cheeks warmed under the weight of his stare. The humiliation hit harder than the orgasm. He hadn’t even come. “Cillian… I’m sorry—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”
His hand locked behind my neck and yanked me forward. The kiss was rough, and I could feel every inch of him still hard between us. “Don’t you dare apologize, prince. Feels fucking perfect.”
I collapsed on top of him, chest heaving, shame twisting tight in my gut. Mine.
“Was it… good at least?”
Cillian’s laugh rumbled warm against my skin, his finger still pushing in and out of me. “So fucking good, baby.”
The word punched straight through my ribs. I hated how desperately my body clenched around it. I had topped him. Taken him. And now I was the one falling apart because he called me baby.
“I still think I prefer the other way around,” I muttered.
Cillian’s mouth curved against my throat. He kissed higher, lips brushing my forehead. “Then flip me whenever you want, prince. I’m yours.”
I pushed up on one elbow, reluctant, and slowly pulled out of him. The wet slide and the sight of my come leaking from him sent another sharp twist through my gut.
Lamplight caught the bruises—dark fingerprints on his neck, a deeper mark along his collarbone, another over his ribs. From Declan.
I stared at them. Really looked.
His eyes found mine and held. Just the two of us. Every way I had failed him, and the terrifying fact that he had never once failed me.
“Have I ever hurt you?” The words came out thin. “Cillian. Like really hurt you. Your feelings.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “No.”
The answer hurt more than a yes would have. Mikhail’s voice scraped through my skull. Don’t hurt him. He’ll let you.
I had known it. I had used it. Every time I cut him dead in the halls, every corridor I left him standing in, every night I let him chase me like a dog while I proved I didn’t need him.
And tonight, the first time I finally took him, finally topped him, I still couldn’t even do that right. Came too fast. Left him hard and unfinished.
Cillian’s fingers left my hair. He caught my jaw, thumb stroking once. “Hey. You’re overthinking again. Get out of your head.”
“I haven’t treated you as well as you treated me,” I blurted. “I pushed you away. I was homophobic about us. I didn’t want anyone to see me with you because I kept calculating what it would cost me.”
“None of that matters.”
“It does.” I couldn’t look at him. “I hurt you.”
Cillian’s hand found my face again, thumb stroking once. “No, Moonshine. You didn’t.”
I tucked myself closer, throat burning. “If you hadn’t been so insistent I’d never have come out. I’d never have really embraced being gay.”
He laughed.
“I’m serious.” I smacked his shoulder. “How are you so comfortable just… being you?”
His smile faded into something softer, almost fond. “I’m just myself, Moonshine. Never needed to put on an act like you do.”
“I’m not putting on an act.”