My eyes follow suit and carve this moment into my brain so I can fantasize about it in the afterlife. If I even get one.
“Let go, Cillian.” She slants her head and nuzzles my neck.
“Baby, if I let go”—I am panting now—“you get impaled.”
Her hot, little breaths pepper my skin. “I know,baby.”
My fingers spasm with the need to follow her command, but my heart keeps kicking up the memory of her wet eyes.
Antonia, Lars, Maddie, and Hugo.
I repeat the names of our dead to remember that the woman on my lap isn’t some porcelain doll I might break, but a person with blood on her hands who will, without a doubt, break me.
Chapter 33
Electra
Cillian’s callused palms knead my ass as he hovers me over his lap. “Do you trust me?”
“I trust that your intent isn’t to knock me up and run off with Jen.”
He grimaces like he thoroughly dislikes my answer. Sure enough, he growls, “That’s not what I’m asking. And stop bringing her up. She means nothing to me.”
I purse my lips, wondering why I do, in fact, keep tossing Jeneva in the mix. “I’m welcoming you back inside my body, so take a wild guess.” To prove my point, I stroke up and down his stiff dick, then use his sensitive tip to tease my clit.
The vein at the base of his throat strikes a brutal rhythm, and his gray-blue eyes are wild and dark amid the tangle of brown hair that cuts across his brow. “Do. You. Trust. Me?”
“You and your need to hear me say things,” I huff.
“Yes, I’m a needy, insecure asshole.”
I lean over and bite his lower lip before tugging it into my mouth and soothing it with indolent passes of my tongue. Cillian readjusts his hold on my backside in order to lift one of his hands and thread it through my hair.
Instead of easing me away, he presses our faces close, deepening what I started until we’re both breathless and have to pull back to ensure our lungs’ survival.
“Say it,” he rasps. “And don’t tell me what I want to hear. Be honest.”
“I trust you, Cillian Lowry.”
His eyes toggle over mine like he’s looking for confirmation in my stare. I give it to him by lining our bodies up. His hand moves to my cheek and cups it with such gentleness, I find myself resting my face against it and losing myself in his silver stare.
The air in the car is so dense, soalivethat the windows have started fogging. This moment feels surreal, like a fever dream, like I’ve plunged inside a romance book to act out a spicy scene.
“Don’tyoutrust me, Cillian?” I murmur.
When my words land, he blinks. And then he hooks my underwear and drags it aside. “Condom.”
“I’ll take a pill tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” His pupils are huge.
“Yes.”
His chest swells with breath and heartbeat, the motion setting his necklace quivering. “I’ve never had sex bare before.”
I can’t decide if he confesses this to make me feel special or to put us on some kind of equal footing. Whatever his reason, it soothes something deep and vulnerable in me.
I draw in a breath when his puffy crown finally pokes in and stretches me. I wonder if the process would’ve been easier if I’d started with a less well-endowed partner. Something I’ll never know.
