Chapter 28
Cillian managed to make me forget the ache of his words after another four orgasms that evening.
He ravaged my body over his counter, against his shower wall, and once more in bed.
With a playful smirk quirking his lips, he left my voice hoarse and my legs permanently shaky.
I felt thoroughly used and blissed out like never before.
Muscles I didn’t even know I had complained with every shift on his mattress, and a delicious burn between my legs reminded me exactly whose large dick had kept me up all night.
Light shone around the edges of the blackout curtains in his bedroom. I slowly blinked awake, my body still a pile of mush locked against the warmth of his. One of his large hands hugged my hip. His thumb brushed lines up and down my side.
I stifled a gasp and swiveled my head around.
He was still here. Right next to me.
My heart soared, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered up and down in my belly. My cheeks bunched under a closed-lip smile so wide the stretch ached.
He was still here. He stayed by my side. Just like he said he would.
Until next time, a voice whispered in a dark corner of my mind. Until he needs more convincing, again.
I exhaled softly. Nothing good came from thinking like that. I had to believe there wouldn’t be a next time and that he thought I was worth staying for. Well, that Alice Marine was worth it.
He might not have felt any attachment to Alizé De Villier, but there obviously was something there with Alice Marine. That was enough for now. Below the name, I was the same person. If he could feel for me as Alice, he could feel for me as his wife.
I reared back. What was I saying? Those weren’t the thoughts of someone who wanted a divorce. Did I want the divorce anymore? It had always been about finding someone to love and to be loved by. If he really fell in love with me and I with him, wasn’t that achieving my endgame?
My fingers twitched nervously along the bedsheets splayed over my chest. I needed to fix my makeup, brush my teeth, and deal with the tangles in my hair before he noticed I looked anything less than perfect and reconsidered whatever this new development between us was.
I slowly untangled the sheets around me, then gently tried moving his hand off my hip.
He resisted and burrowed his fingers into my skin to hold me in place. I winced under the bruising grip.
“Cillian…”
I twisted fully around to face him and gasped, surprised to find him awake. Except his open eyes stared vacantly through me, not at me.
“Cillian?”
His lips were parted, and divots burrowed deep, painful creases between his brows. He looked lost. A lone tear crawled down the side of his nose.
“Chéri?” I cupped his jawline and spread the wetness of that tear over his cheekbone. He made no response. “Are you awake?”
Slowly, in case he was stuck in a lucid dream, I bent over and pressed a soft kiss to his chin.
His eyes drifted down to me, but that unmoored look still glossed them over.
I kissed the corner of his lips. Clarity flickered over his gaze.
I pecked the other corner. Now, the blue of his irises darkened.
“There you are.” My lips grazed his, a soft brush at first, painfully slow and deliberate, just a little tease to bring him back.
There was nothing foggy about his stare anymore. It burned with a hunger that sent electric shivers crackling over my skin.
“Welcome bac—” He swallowed the rest of the word with his mouth.
There was an urgency to the kiss. He dragged me close and squeezed me tight as if worried I’d escape.
His lips and tongue frantically demanded access, every swipe messy and desperate.
His hands stroked my back, my face, my front.
Everywhere. Not a single spot went untouched.
Every breath, he stole. Every whimper, he hoarded.
Without warning, his fingers found my clit, and I gasped at the unexpected surge of heat, an advantage he seized.
His tongue took control of my mouth. His hands shifted my bare center over his hard shaft, rocking me up and down over it in a tingling rush of goosebumps. The fuse had been lit and now hissed and burned to whatever end may come.
He flipped us, and my back hit the mattress as he loomed over me.
When he impaled me in one harsh thrust into my sore pussy, I yelped into his mouth.
He drove into me with desperation. It was a dizzying and frantic pounding I could only brace for, tearing sounds from my throat I’d never heard before.
He hit so deep, plundering through my caution and restraint until my body was alight, ready to burst. Our skin slapped and stuck.
Every ram of his hips bottomed him out inside me.
It smarted yet made me soar with pleasure, and I never wanted it to end.
With one little flick to my clit, my body blew over the peak and fell in a tumbling mess.
His orgasm followed close behind, and he rolled off me with a rasped grunt.
Reverently, his fingers pushed his dripping cum back inside my abused core. I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to, and a gleam of primal satisfaction curled his face. I shouldered him weakly, and his responding wicked chuckle made me abandon my futile attempts to get him off me.
“You’re evil,” I huffed out, my limbs nothing but jelly.
He scrunched my face between his hands and smacked a kiss to my forcefully puckered lips.
“Now that’s how I want to wake up every morning.”
At my grimace, he tossed his head back and laughed, a true laugh that erased every dark line on his face. The sheet followed him when he slid off me.
I pitched over the side of the bed to slap the perfect globes of his ass as he strutted to the bathroom, because there was no way that was happening every morning if he was going to quip at my expense. Not if my poor pussy got half destroyed every night. Recuperation time was a real thing.
Water whooshed in the bathroom. I collapsed back on the bed in a huff of plushy comforter and down pillows, then propped my head up against my hand to admire the view.
Cillian’s body was a glowing study of the male specimen.
All strong lines. Lean muscles carved under smooth skin.
A canvas of tattoos, quotes, and designs, each one to be studied and catalogued.
Topped with a perfect, firm ass begging for teeth marks and my tongue licking at the dimples on each side.
Then there was his cock, still half hard like he hadn’t quite convinced himself there wasn’t going to be another round.
When he swaggered toward me, wet cloth in hand, I licked my lips.
“Keep that up, and I’ll forget you’re sore.”
He reached between my legs, and I reflexively flinched and hissed at the unfortunate prickling. One of his brows arched as if saying, “See.”
When he brushed the cloth over my sensitive bits, I sighed into its warmth and the intimacy of letting him clean me up, especially under the captive hold of his gaze.
I caressed his cheek. “How are you feeling?”
He pulled the cloth away and settled up against me. “Perfect. Best night’s sleep in ages.”
“Are you certain? You didn’t look fine before.”
His nostrils twitched.
“’Course I did. I’d been watching you sleep for the last hour.” He pecked my mouth. “Second best part of my morning.”
“Cillian.” Unease coated my voice. That hadn’t been the look of someone enjoying anything at all. “You were crying.”
“I don’t cry, woman. I never do.” His jaw ticked under my fingers.
“It’s completely normal to need to let go sometimes.”
“I said I fucking wasn’t,” he snapped and knocked my arm aside.
Static hummed between us, tense and foreboding, ready to crackle at the first wrong word. We stood at a precipice of our own making, our one-night truce teetering toward its end.
My phone buzzed against the nightstand closest to us both, and the ringtone burst out with Rihanna singing the chorus for “Love The Way You Lie” by Eminem. I groaned internally. I must have butt-dialed the volume level last night.
We dove for the phone at the same time, only for me to get squashed under a mass of tight muscles and a heady potion of natural, salty musk. One whiff, and the tension swept out of me.
“Who is La Reine?”
I stiffened again, and not because he butchered the nickname.
La reine, French for “the queen,” was exactly the attitude my mother ruled my life with, no matter how old I got.
I ripped the phone out of his grip, picked my top off the floor, and scurried off the bed and into the bathroom.
Once the door closed, I crumpled onto the toilet seat, head between my legs, and answered the call, pantiless.
“Alo, Maman.” Hi, Mom, I drudged out.
“Darling, what are you wearing to the Richemont’s soiree? I just put a fantastic gown on hold for you at our favorite boutique. Just enough décolletage to draw the attention before your silver tongue charms their pocketbooks.”
“Ma—”
“You must come try it on immediately. I’ll have Adrien send over the helicopter to pick you up. And Tessa. Bring her with you.”
“Maman, I—”
“I have a dress for her to try on as well, but we’ll have to see. She’s been putting on some weight lately. Honestly, I don’t know what she’s eating at that school of hers, but I told Adrien he needs to be careful. She’s already at a disadvantage. It wouldn’t do for her to also—”
“Stop, enough,” I lashed out. I sucked air through my teeth and rubbed at my forehead to shove some calm down my veins before a headache bloomed. “Where do you think I am?”
“Darling.” She forced a chuckle. “Where else would you be but home?”
Typical.
“I told you I was in the States the last time you called. I’m not doing any soirees, galas, or benefit dinners for now. I told you that.”
“That was ages ago. How have you still not settled things with that husband of yours? Honestly, Alizé, try harder, or you’ll never get what you want.”