I rake my nails through his hair. “Eat me, Cillian. Make me come on your tongue.”
He shudders — actually shudders — and dives back in. This time it’s fast. Deep. Precise. Like he’s trying to ruin the memory of every other man I’ve ever known.
I arch with a choked moan, fingers fisting in his hair. “God, Cill—”
“Say my name,” he growls between licks. “Say it like you said it when you chose me.”
“Cillian—” My voice breaks as heat coils tight inside me. “I’m— I’m so close—”
His grip tightens. His tongue moves faster. And Ifall.Hard. Sharp. Crying out his name as the world splinters into firelight and pleasure. He moans against me as I come, holding me through it like he’s trying to memorize each shiver. When I go limp onto the rug, panting, he rises over me, mouth swollen, eyes blazing.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “My duchess. My siren.” He presses his forehead to mine. “My forever.”
I wrap my legs around him and pull him in until our bodies align, heat to heat. “Then take me,” I whisper. “Claim me.”
He growls — low, possessive, reverent — and pushes inside me in one slow, perfect thrust. I gasp his name. He shudders.
“Jesus Christ, Siobhán—” he rasps, voice breaking as he buries himself in me. “You’re heaven. You’re hell. You’re everythin’ Ieverbled for.”
He moves — slow at first, like he’s savoring every inch, every sound I make — then faster, deeper, losing himself in the rhythm of us.
I cling to him, nails dragging down his back. “Harder,” I breathe. “I want to feel you tomorrow.”
He laughs breathlessly, kissing me like he’ll die if he stops. “A ghrá,” he whispers against my lips, thrusts deepening. “I’ll make sure you feel me for a lifetime.”
“Good,” I moan, tightening around him. “Then give it to me. All of it.”
He curses in Irish — filthy, sacred, beautiful — and slams into me harder, pace breaking into something desperate, emotional, starved. “Tell me you’re mine,” he growls.
“I’m yours.”
“Tell me you’ll stay.”
“I’ll stay.”
“Tell me you love me.”
I frame his face with both hands, pulling him down until our noses brush. “I love you, Cillian O’Dwyer.”
He comes undone with a sound that’s part groan, part prayer, part broken boy finally healed. His body trembles through the climax, face pressed to my neck, breath shattered. My own orgasm hits as he shudders, my body vibrating with pleasure.
I hold him. I kiss him. I whisper his name like a vow. When he finally collapses beside me, pulling me into his chest, the fire crackles quietly. For a long moment, there’s only breathing. Touch. Warmth.
Then he says it. Quiet. Terrified. Hopeful. “I have a choice for you, dove. Stay and rule beside me… or walk away forever.”
My breath stops. His arm tightens around me.
“Choose,” he whispers.
And I realize,I don’t know my answer.The fire crackles softly beside us, the only sound in the whole quiet house. Our breaths still tangled. Our bodies still humming. His arms warm and trembling around me.
But my heart… My heart is chaos. Cillian’s fingers trace slow shapes along my spine, grounding me even as my thoughts spiral in a hundred different directions.
“Siobhán,” he murmurs, voice low and raw, “tell me.”
I stare at the ceiling for a long moment. The shadows dance. The room feels both too big and too small.
“I…” My voice cracks. “I don’t know, Cillian.”
