Chapter 21
CILLIAN
A MONTH LATER
I’m getting married to the woman I love today. Pity it won’t be peaceful. Before we head out, though, I take an hour to just be with her in the safety of our home.
The light in the bedroom is soft and filtered through the heavy curtains.
Saoirse sits on the edge of the unmade bed with a cup of tea cradled between her palms, and she looks so peaceful that it almost feels like a sin to touch her.
The steam curls around her face and softens the sharp line of her jaw while she watches the door.
I stand there for a moment just taking her in because I know the peace won't last past the driveway.
My boots make no sound on the thick rug as I close the distance.
I take the cup from her hands and set it on the nightstand without breaking eye contact because I want her to see every dark thought currently crossing my mind.
The bed groans under my weight when I sit behind her and pull her back against my chest. My hands find the warm curve of her stomach immediately and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"You're too quiet this morning," I mutter against the shell of her ear and I feel the shiver that races down her spine.
My palms slide lower to catch the hem of her nightshirt and I bunch the fabric in my fists until I can feel her bare skin.
She is burning hot and smells like vanilla and the sea, and it makes my head swim with a sudden, violent need.
“I’m just thinking about what’s ahead,” she says with a smile as she leans in. “But I could get used to this.”
With a dark chuckle, I trail my mouth down the side of her neck and my teeth graze the sensitive cord of her throat just enough to make her moan.
I slide my hand between her thighs and find her already slick and ready for me despite the early hour.
My fingers move with a slow and deliberate pressure because I want to feel every pulse of her muscles as she starts to climb.
"Tell me what you want," I rasp while I thumb the swollen center of her cunt.
I want to hear the ruin in her voice so I know she is as far gone as I am.
I lean forward to bite at her shoulder and the taste of her skin is better than any drink I've ever had.
She reaches back to tangle her fingers in my hair and pulls me closer until there is no air left between us.
The idea of our baby sits between us like a silent promise, and I keep my touch mindful of the strain on her body.
I am going to worship her in the dark before I have to defend her in the light.
My thumb circles the hard peak of her clitoris and her breath turns into a series of quick sighs that fill the quiet room.
"I've got you," I whisper as I feel her start to unravel under my hand. "Just give it all to me."
Her fingers dig into my forearms and she pulls at me with a desperate strength. "Then stop talking, Cillian," she gasps out. Her voice is a whisper and the heat coming off her skin is a fever I never want to break. "Do it. I’m right here."
I slide two fingers deep inside her and her walls clench around me.
She throws her head back against my shoulder.
"Oh, God," she sobs, and her hips buck instinctively against my hand.
I keep the pressure constant because I know exactly how close she is to the ledge.
I want her to fall and I want to be the reason she loses her mind.
"You like that, don't you?" I growl against the sensitive cord of her neck. I use my thumb to grind against the swollen peak of her and she lets out a sharp, high-pitched cry that vibrates through my entire chest. "You're so fucking wet for me, Saoirse. You're dripping all over my hand."
"Because of you," she chokes out and she turns her head to find my mouth. "It's always been you. Faster. Please."
I don't need to be told twice. I shift her on the mattress and lay her back until she is open and exposed under the morning light.
Her hair is a copper mess against the pillows and her eyes are dark with a hunger that mirrors my own.
I take a second to look at the beautiful curve of her stomach and the sight makes my throat go tight.
I press a hard, possessive kiss to the center of her belly and I feel the baby move against my lips.
"Stay with me," I mutter to her as I move back down between her knees.
I part her with my thumbs and the sight of her flushed and aching is enough to make my vision go white.
I lean in and take her into my mouth with a flat, heavy stroke of my tongue that makes her back arch off the bed.
She's sobbing my name now and her hands are tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, urging me to take more.
"Cillian, I can't—I'm going to—" She breaks off into a series of uneven breaths.
"Do it," I command against her skin and I suck the hardened center of her into my mouth before flicking my tongue on and around it. "Come for me, Saoirse. Let me feel how much you want this."
The snap is sudden. Her muscles coil into a tight knot and then she is screaming my name as the first wave of her climax hits.
She shakes under my touch and her walls pulse around the fingers I still have buried inside her.
I stay right there and drink in the ruin of her until she is a boneless heap of static and heat.
"I've got you," I whisper as I sit back on my heels. I shed my clothes with a focused haste that has nothing to do with grace and everything to do with the fire in my blood. I climb onto the bed and move over her, bracing my weight on my forearms to keep her safe.
"Look at me," I rasp and I guide the heavy, aching thickness of my cock to her entrance.
She opens her eyes and the devotion there is the most dangerous thing I've ever seen. "I'm looking," she breathes, and she reaches down to guide me home.
I sink into her with a slow, liquid impalement that steals the breath from both of us. The stretch is agonizingly perfect and I feel every inch of her claiming me. I take her to the hilt and stay still for a heartbeat.
"Fuck," I groan into the crook of her neck. "You're so tight. You feel like you were made exactly for this."
"I was," she whispers and she wraps her legs around my waist to pull me deeper. "Take me, Cillian. Prove we're still alive."
The demand in her voice is all I need. I start to move, my hips snapping with a speed that I’ve been trying to suppress for the sake of her condition.
Every thrust is deep and punishing, a heavy thud of bone against flesh that makes the tea cup rattle on the nightstand.
She’s sobbing my name into the crook of my neck, her fingers digging into my shoulders with enough force to leave bruises, but it isn't enough. It’s never enough.
I feel the heat building in my gut, that white-hot pressure that tells me I’m seconds away from losing my mind and pouring myself into her. I can't finish here. I want her to feel the weight of me in a different way before the world comes knocking.
I pull out of her with a wet, sudden slide that makes her let out a whimper of protest. "Cillian, no. Don't stop."
"I'm not stopping," I rasp, my breath uneven. I reach down and scoop her into my arms, mindful of the heavy, warm swell of her stomach against my chest. She’s slick and flushed, her skin sliding against mine as I carry her toward the ensuite. "I want you under the water."
I kick the door open and turn the handle until the spray is steaming and thick.
I don't wait for the glass to fog. I step into the stall with her still cradled against me and the water hits us like a physical blow, washing away the salt and the scent of the bed.
I set her down with her back against the cool tile, but I don't let her go.
I keep my hands on her waist, anchoring her while the steam rises around us.
"Turn around," I command, my voice a rough growl that echoes off the glass.
She obeys, her breath hitching as she leans forward to rest her forearms against the wall.
It’s the safest position for the baby, giving her belly the space it needs while I take what I want.
I stand behind her and the sight of her wet skin, the water sluicing down the curve of her spine and over her heavy hips, makes my vision blur.
"You're so fucking beautiful like this," I mutter, my hands sliding over her ribs to cup her breasts. The water is hot but she is hotter. I lean down to bite at the sensitive skin where her neck meets her shoulder and she lets out a moan that I can feel in my own bones.
"Cillian, please," she gasps, her palms sliding against the wet tile as she tries to find purchase. "I need you back inside. Now."
I don't make her ask again. I guide my cock to her entrance, the friction of the water making the sensation sharper, more intense. I slide into her with one long, uncompromising drive that pins her to the wall. She lets out a long, high-pitched cry that is lost in the roar of the shower.
"Talk to me, Saoirse," I growl, my hands gripping her hips to set the pace. I’m hitting her deep, my length claiming every inch of her wet heat while the water pours over us. "Tell me how it feels."
"It's too much," she sobs, her head dropping forward as I pick up the speed. "You're... you're stretching me open. It's so big. God, Cillian."
"That's it," I rasp, my jaw set so hard it aches. I’m not even close to finished with her. "Take all of it. Every fucking bit."
I reach around her, my hand sliding down to find that sensitive peak, and I thumb it while I continue to drive into her from behind.
"Cillian," she screams, and the sound echoes off the wet tiles. "I’m going to—I can’t breathe—"
"I've got you," I growl, my teeth grazing the back of her neck. "Come for me again, Saoirse. Let me feel it."
She shatters. Her walls grip me so tight, I lose my breath.
I feel the violent tremors of her climax ripple through her entire body and it’s the final push I need.
I stop holding back. I drive into her one last time, buried so deep I feel the thud of her heart, and I let out a guttural groan as I pour myself into her.
The heat of my release is a searing brand that marks her in the steam and I hold her there until my legs are shaking and the world starts to come back into focus.
The water continues to pour over us while we stand there in the quiet aftermath.
I stay buried inside her for a long minute, my forehead resting against the back of her head, just listening to the frantic hitch of her breath.
Eventually, I pull out of her with a wet slide and turn the water down until it's just a lukewarm drizzle.
I take the soap and work up a lather in my hands.
I’m methodical as I wash the sweat and the salt from her skin, my touch careful as I move over her stomach and down her thighs.
She’s leaning against the wall with her eyes closed and a small, wrecked smile on her face.
When I’m done, she takes the cloth from me.
"My turn," she whispers. Her voice is a shredded remnant of itself, but her hands are steady as she cleans the evidence of our morning from my body. It’s a quiet, domestic ritual that feels more intimate than the sex itself.
We step out of the shower and the room is thick with fog.
I grab a towel and wrap it around her before I start drying her hair with a gentleness that would surprise the men who work for me.
We move through the bedroom in silence, the weight of the coming day starting to settle back onto my shoulders.
I pull on my suit and adjust my cuffs while she sits at the vanity to fix the copper mess of her hair.
"You ready?" I ask, catching her reflection in the mirror and needing to suck a breath in at how beautiful she is.
She stands up and smooths the fabric of her dress over her bump. She looks like a queen and a survivor and the love of my life all at once. "I'm ready," she says, her voice firm now. "Let's go end this."