Chapter 23
Margot
"So Miriam was perched on a patio chair, giving this full-throated, dramatic reading of the demon possession scene right as the new mail carrier rounds the side gate.
" I stop to catch my breath, laughing. "The poor man bolted.
Diane found the deliveries abandoned at the foot of the drive later that evening. He never delivered there again."
Cillian laughs, head tipped back against the couch cushions, his arm winding around my waist to pull me closer against his side.
He got back tonight, and dinner turned into a movie, which turned into me catching him up on all the local gossip—including the legend of Fright Club, which is apparently the peak of Solstice Ridge entertainment to him.
"I've no doubt that poor postman is scarred for life," he says, his Irish lilt thick with amusement. "Poor lad's probably requested a new route entirely."
I snort. "Yeah, well, I shared his trauma at that meeting. I nearly sprinted down the drive right behind him when Miriam started wailing."
"Oh, Ace, you poor soul." He laughs, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his eye. "I need an invitation, though. I'm a sucker for a good horror novel. I'll even bring the lemon squares."
"Sabrina says the same thing; she lives for the jump scares.
" I shake my head. "I'm too much of a scaredy-cat, so I'm going to start my own rival club.
Romance. Or any genre where the big twist is people finding happiness.
My brain makes enough horror out of the daily mundane, so I really don't need the extra help in that department. "
He smiles. "Then I'll be the first member of your club, too."
"Is that so?" I shift my weight, straddling his lap and resting my palms against those heavy shoulders. "Right then. What’s the inaugural pick? I’m partial to something light and escapist, but maybe we should lead with a classic.
Persuasion. We'll start there. Jane Austen is always a safe bet for the soul. "
"Grand book. Half agony, half hope, all that."
I pull back slightly to stare at him. "You've read it?"
He nods. "Fiadh and I used to swap paperbacks. That was one of her favorites."
"Oh, wow." I lean in, brushing my nose against his. "She has impeccable taste."
"Hey, I'm the one who just gave it a glowing review."
"Fiadh and I really should compare bookshelves," I continue, ignoring his indignation. "She strikes me as a woman with a very sophisticated?—"
He tickles my side and I shriek, collapsing sideways into the sofa cushions. He grins down at me, merciless, and by the time I've fought my way free of his grip we're both breathless and I've lost my train of thought entirely. Which was clearly his objective.
"So, what's the agenda for the Seattle trip?" I ask, smoothing my hair back into some kind of order. "I still need to sort out a hotel for myself and figure out the transport logistics, but I can't wait."
Perhaps the most shocking development in our entire relationship is that I'm actually starting to enjoy hockey. Heaven help me. I missed the first two Seattle games, but I'm sneaking up for the next one, just for the night, back on a morning flight before anyone notices I'm gone.
“I told you I’d take care of all of that, Ace. You don’t need to worry about it.”
"Oh, please, you have more than enough going on," I say, waving him off. "You're in the middle of the playoffs. I can book a hotel."
He grins. "It's no bother and I don't mind a bit. Besides, it's already done. I forwarded you the confirmations earlier."
"What?" I grab my phone off the coffee table and scroll. "I didn't see... oh. There it is. I completely missed it."
I pull the screen closer, hoping he can't see me brace. I usually hate other people handling my travel, or anything else for me, really, because some part of me is always convinced I'd have done it better myself. The curse of a type A personality.
But there's nothing here to fix. A luxury hotel with views over Elliott Bay, a suite booked under my name.
Early check-in, because he knows I'll want to shower and relax before the game.
A spa package for the morning after, timed so I can still easily make my flight.
A note about private car service, since we're still being careful about being seen together, with the driver's name and number already included.
And the whole thing is laid out in one tidy email, broken into labeled sections, dates bolded.
"It's exactly how I like it," I say quietly. "You took care of everything."
"Aye, well. I know how much you value a good plan," he says, his voice softening. "And I wanted it to be exactly how you like it."
He reaches out to brush a stray hair from my face, his touch so tender it makes my heart ache. And the words rise up my throat before I can stop them. "Cillian, I think I'm falling in love with you."
I know it might be too soon, that I'm risking the peaceful bubble we've built.
But I feel it so deeply I can't keep it inside another second.
And sitting here next to him, in the space of a breath, all the fear and tension just...
evaporates. He looks at me, his blue eyes dark and certain, and he smiles.
"I know I’ve already fallen in love with you," he says simply.
I beam at him, my whole soul going lighter. "Really? Because honestly, falling might be underselling it, I just didn't want to scare you and... ah!"
He hauls me back across his lap and I tumble into him laughing, straddling him as his arms band around my waist, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my neck.
"Mmmm." My head tips sideways to give him more room, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
He takes the invitation, kissing down my throat, grazing his teeth over the spot that makes me shiver, and his hands start to roam, sliding up my back, down over my hips, pulling me tighter against him until I can feel his cock hardening beneath me.
His touch lights me up everywhere his palms go, the friction of his skin against mine setting my blood on fire. The kiss turns hungry, desperate, and I grind my hips against him, wanting him with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
I've never felt this consuming hunger for anyone, and lately it's as if I'm insatiable, driven by a desperate need I can't contain. All I can focus on is him, the way he makes me feel so completely unraveled. I pull back just enough to breathe and look at him, feeling drunk on the proximity.
I lean in and kiss him again, then he kisses me back, slow and thorough, one hand in my hair while the other grips my hip hard, and I melt into him completely.
I rock against him instinctively, just needing to be closer somehow, and the friction sends a spark through me that makes me gasp against his mouth. He groans, low and rough, and his fingers tighten on my hips.
And that's when I make my decision.
I climb off his lap and stand in front of him, and before I can lose my nerve, I reach back and pull the zipper of my dress down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet apartment. The fabric slips off my shoulders and pools at my feet.
Underneath, I'm wearing a new set of red lace lingerie.
"Wow." He says it quietly, his eyes traveling over me like he's trying to memorize the sight. "Margot."
"I've been thinking about what I want." My heart is pounding, but my voice comes out steady. "And I want to actually say it.”
He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Alright, Ace. Tell me what you want."
"You. In charge. Completely." I hold his gaze, my face burning and my chin up anyway.
"Not in life. But occasionally, during sex, I like someone else to tell me what to do.
Sometimes after days of managing everything and everyone, I want something a bit more...
intense. I never ask for it, because I've always hated the feeling of being out of control with anyone else. "
He's watching me so intensely I feel like I might actually combust under the weight of his stare, and it takes every scrap of nerve I have not to laugh it off and take it back.
I don't usually voice what I want during sex, especially not this.
It's too vulnerable, too much like handing someone an instruction manual to me.
But it's been a fantasy of mine forever, being able to fully let go.
"But with you," I continue, "you make me feel so safe, and so loved, like I don't have to worry about taking care of everything the way I do with everyone else. And I want you to take charge during sex tonight. That's what I want, Cillian. I want you to be dominant."
I hold my breath for a moment, and he rises off the couch to his full height. Suddenly I'm very aware of how much bigger he is than me. How much stronger. How easily he could do anything he wanted to me.
With Cillian, the thought doesn't scare me. It thrills me.
He closes the distance instantly, capturing my mouth in a kiss so deep and starving it makes my head spin, his arms wrapping around me while I melt against his hard frame.
Then he’s walking me backward, maneuvering us toward the bedroom, steering me through the shadows, neither of us willing to break the contact for anything as mundane as navigation.
We stumble through the doorway in a tangle of limbs. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I tumble onto the soft duvet, hauling him down with me, and for a moment there is only the thick heat of him and the pulse of desire humming through my blood like a live wire.
Then he pulls back, just a fraction. "One second, Ace."
"Cillian—"
"Just one second." He presses a lingering kiss to the line of my jaw and pushes off the bed, crossing the room to the control panel.
His bedroom is a wall of glass, the entire glittering sprawl of the San Francisco skyline laid out beyond it, and when he touches the button the automatic blinds begin their slow, heavy descent, the city lights vanishing panel by panel.