40. EPILOGUE 1 #2
Cillian stepped back, looking satisfied, almost reverent. “Mmm. Don’t say his name. If you want coffee, I’ll get you coffee. You know who you belong to. You belong to me.”
I tried to spit something back, “mmph,” but it came out muffled against the silk.
Cillian moved between my spread legs, eyes dragging over me. “Fuck, you look fine as hell like this, baby.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Now tell me. Nod or shake your head.”
I yanked hard on the belt around my wrists. It didn’t give. I kicked out once. Cillian caught my thighs in a bruising grip, spreading me wider.
“Will you have that David get your coffee again?”
I glared, trying to spit something around the gag. It was useless.
Cillian’s thumb stroked my inner thigh. “Why are you like this? Just shake your head. You won’t.”
I deadpanned, but finally shook my head.
“Good boy. Second question. Will you come with me to Ireland?”
I nodded.
“Good boy.” His hand slid higher, thumb pressing into the crease of my thigh. “Third. You want me to fuck you?”
I bit down on the tie, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
But fuck, I knew exactly what he was capable of.
The men he’d killed. The lines he’d crossed.
All of it for me. I wasn’t supposed to know, but I’d made Mikhail talk.
Cillian thought he was protecting me from the monster he believed he was.
Little did he know I'd already met the monster he thought I'd fear… and still crawled into his bed every night.
Heat coiled low in my gut. My cock twitched hard against my stomach.
Cillian stroked his hand up and down my inner thigh. “I can help you release some of that tension in your shoulders, baby. Make you feel good.”
He paused. His hand moved to my chin, thumb stroking gently along my jaw. “You with me?”
I rolled my eyes dramatically and mumbled a garbled “yes” around the gag.
Cillian’s forehead dropped to mine for a second, breath warm. “Good.” His voice was rough. “Shake your head if you want me to stop. Aye?”
I nodded, heart hammering.
Cillian leaned down and licked a slow stripe over my hole. I made a garbled sound around the gag, head falling back against the pillow. Fuck. He had never done that before. His tongue pushed inside me—wet, filthy.
My eyes rolled back. A broken, muffled moan tore out of me. Embarrassment slammed through me so hard my face burned. No one had ever—
I strained against the belt around my wrists, twisting hard. It didn’t give. My thighs shook. My cock leaked against my stomach.
I wanted to hide. I wanted more. Only when I was shaking did he pull back.
Cillian reached for the lube on the nightstand, poured it over my hole, and pushed two thick fingers inside, spreading it deep. My back arched hard off the bed.
Cillian peppered slow, open-mouthed kisses up my stomach, across my chest, while his fingers kept working me open.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against my skin, knowing exactly how much I hated that word.
I tried to kick him again. Cillian caught my thighs and shoved them out wide, pinning me open with bruising strength. A helpless whine escaped around the gag.
He kept kissing me, reverent presses along my ribs, my collarbone, the underside of my jaw. “So fucking beautiful.” Kiss. “Strong.” Kiss. “Brilliant.” Kiss. “Mine.”
He pulled his fingers out. Then he was pushing inside me, but he went agonizingly slow, just like he always did, letting me feel every inch, forcing me to take him.
“Beautiful. Perfect. The only thing I’ve ever wanted this badly.”
I was still tied and gagged, completely at his mercy. My cock leaked against my stomach with every slow thrust. Pleasure and need twisted so tight I couldn’t breathe.
Cillian’s pace stayed devastatingly slow, hips rolling deep. One hand braced beside my head. The other clamped around my throat, then slid down and wrapped around my cock, stroking once, rough.
“You’re mine, Moon. Every fucking piece of you. No more giving pieces away. No more leaving. Just you and me. I need you to remember that.” His hand kept stroking, matching every deep thrust.
I tried to speak around the gag. Tried to tell him how good it felt. How close I was. Only muffled, desperate sounds came out. My hips jerked helplessly.
Cillian squeezed harder, thumb dragging over the head. “Fuck. Just keep squeezing me, baby. Just like that. Take every fucking inch.”
I was shaking. So close it hurt. My cock throbbed in his fist.
“Come for me,” he growled. “Come on my cock. Show me who you belong to.”
The tension snapped. I came hard, shaking apart around him, spilling over his fist and my stomach. Cillian followed right after, burying himself deep with a wrecked groan, hips stuttering as he filled me.
Cillian stayed buried deep inside me, chest pressed to mine, breathing hard. He reached up and pulled the tie from my mouth.
I sucked in a breath. “I’ve told you a million times. Don’t call me beautiful. You want me walking around telling people you’re beautiful?”
“Aww, Moonshine.” Cillian’s grin was soft, almost boyish. “You think I’m beautiful?” He stroked his thumb along my jaw, careful now.
He loosened the belt from the bedpost, freeing my wrists. The second my hands were free, I swung at him. He caught my wrist easily, then pulled me into his chest.
I grabbed the back of his hair with my other hand and yanked him down into a hard kiss. We broke apart just long enough for me to breathe.
“You’re beautiful, Cillian.”
He kissed me again, slower this time. I pulled back just enough to speak against his mouth. “But you belong on some Irish island far away from civilization.”
“Awh, thanks.” He huffed a laugh against my lips, then pulled back. The amusement faded. His expression turned serious.
I focused on him, concern cutting through the haze. “What’s going on, Cillian?”
He leaned in, forehead against mine. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
I laughed and hit his shoulder. “You're such a dick.”
Cillian pulled out slowly.
Before I could even catch my breath he rolled us, pulling me on top of his chest and yanking the sheets over both of us in one smooth motion. His arms locked around my back, one hand splayed between my shoulder blades, the other tangled in my hair.
“I’ve been thinking about a new tattoo.”
“That’s fine,” I said, tracing a finger over his heart. “As long as it’s not my face or something stupid.”
“What’s wrong with your face on me? I love you on me.”
I pressed my palm over his heart. “What are you thinking?”
“I want your name over my heart. In Hangul. I’ve got Gaelic scripture, Catholic verses… but nothing of yours like this. I’m getting it done while we’re in Ireland.”
My fingers pressed harder against his chest. “I love that idea.”
“Maybe you’d like one too. My name on you. Or my fingerprint. Or just ‘Property of Cillian Ashbourne.’ You know.”
I hid my face in his neck. “I’m not writing ‘I am owned by Cillian Ashbourne’ on my body. I’m pretty sure everyone already knows that anyway. I don’t need it in ink.”
“Yeah… Property of Cillian Ashbourne. Now the real question… where can we put it?” His hands roamed, fingers dancing across my ribs, then my sides. I twitched hard.
“Stop—” Laughter bubbled out of me before I could stop it. I was stupidly ticklish and he knew every damn spot.
He flipped us, inspecting my body with mock seriousness, fingers skimming over my hip, then lower. “Right here on your ass feels perfect.”
I laughed harder and tried to scramble off the bed. Cillian caught me around the waist before I made it two feet, tackled me back onto the mattress, and pinned me down with his weight.
He smacked my ass. “Yeah. Right there on your ass.”
I was still laughing, breathless. “As if you’d ever let anyone touch my ass, let alone see it.”
“Good point.” His teeth grazed my neck. “I’ll have to get the job done myself.”
“No way.” I twisted under him, still laughing. “I’m never letting you tattoo anything on me.”