Calanthe’s dream reverberates through my mind, leaving me to wonder about something else—will Cillian be my first and last like Tarian is to her, or will Gaea not bless him with runes?
Though even if she does bless him, why would she connect our runes when she hasn’t done it for anyone other than Calanthe and Tarian?
“Are you okay?” His whisper cuts across the air, shearing me out of my head.
I nod.
His throat dips as I pursue my careful descent. Cillian’s fingers are soft against my dampening skin, barely there. They don’t push or prod, only pulse with his fevered heartbeats that echo the drumming behind my ribs.
Five tiny breaths later, I think I’ve reached his root, but a glance down reveals I’ve a ways to go.
He lets go of my cheek, bringing his hand to where our bodies are joined. His thumb finds my clit and begins to sweep and circle. Heat—marvelous, far-reaching heat—builds and spreads, unraveling my tightness.
Without breaking eye contact, I ease all the way down. His dick is so long it skims a place in the vicinity of my navel. It’s a lot.He’sa lot, yet I don’t add distance. I like being filled by him.
Cillian lets out a rough noise as bliss drops his lashes and freezes his thumb. “Fffuuck.”
The husky sound slides between my ribs and soaks into my heart. I hadn’t realized how much I needed the reassurance that I could make a man feel good, despite my inexperience.
The pressure of Cillian’s thumb returns. “You are pure, fucking magic, Electra Serran.”
I curve my head low for a kiss as Cillian crushes the wondrous bud I struck just this morning.
I hadn’t set out to think of him while I masturbated, but he’s who I pictured between my legs. My climax had come fast and hard. It had ripped through my core like a freight train, leaving me stunned and panting.
The hand on my ass begins to work me gently, to rock me. I feel so full of him…of us…of this that my pulse slows, only to coil and surge. Although it’s impossible, my heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s propelling blood past the edges of me.
Without prompting from him, I begin to gyrate my hips. Each time I roll them forward, it presses his thumb into my clit. Each time I draw them back, it gives him room to operate more carefully and paint delicious, precise circles on my warm, wet?—
My lungs expand and contract, spilling a dizzy wash of heat through me as my orgasm detonates. It levelseverythinginside me. My breath. My stomach. My core.
My head falls back on a sound that might be a whimper, might be a scream. The hum in my ears is so loud it drowns out the difference.
As my walls contract and throttle him, Cillian curses. And then he’s cupping my ass with both hands, denting my flesh to pin me closer. I didn’t even think it was possible to get closer. He chases my mouth and snares it in a hungry kiss that’s more teeth than tongue.
His hips jerk—once, twice. And then warmth jets up my channel, and he roars into my mouth. I’m not even kidding. The sound is primal and raw, like he’s torn between pain and ecstasy. His tongue lashes at mine as his dick twitches again, and again, gushing residual warmth until he’s both depleted and sated.
His hands relax, and his arms come around my waist. I lean just far enough back so that I can see him. His stare scorches my face, sending a flush into my cheeks and neck.
Though he’s quiet, I can sense a thousand words crowding his mind. Just like so many are crowding mine.
The walls I’ve put up around me are tall and thick, but not any taller or thicker than his.
Perhaps that’s why I’m so attracted to him. Because of the world inside him that I’ve glimpsed, which he keeps concealed from everyone else.
Perhaps it’s the same thing that makes me attractive to him.
One of his hands slips from the knot of his embrace and ascends my taut stomach, stopping once it reaches my breasts. He gives them so much attention that my nipples needle the stretchy suede, desperate to reach his callused palm.
“Your body was carved to ruin me, Electra.” The reverence in his pitch keeps me from rolling my eyes.
I didn’t think men outside of books ever used such lines.
He sweeps his hand back down my stomach. “Just look at you.”
I don’t, too busy looking at him.
I shift my hands off his broad shoulders and lace them around his nape to play with the wayward strands. Will runes one day brighten the skin I touch? If not during our first trip to Atlantis, then during our second?
