Page 139 of Godless Saints

I resisted at first. Then I leaned down, chest to chest, and gave them to him anyway. “Mine.”

Cillian’s slick finger pressed against my hole and pushed in. Fuck. My rhythm shattered. I came hard, buried deep, body jerking inside him. My cheeks warmed under the weight of his stare. The humiliation hit harder than the orgasm. He hadn’t even come. “Cillian… I’m sorry—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

His hand locked behind my neck and yanked me forward. The kiss was rough, and I could feel every inch of him still hard between us. “Don’t you dare apologize, prince. Feels fucking perfect.”

I collapsed on top of him, chest heaving, shame twisting tight in my gut. Mine.

“Was it… good at least?”

Cillian’s laugh rumbled warm against my skin, his finger still pushing in and out of me. “So fucking good, baby.”

The word punched straight through my ribs. I hated how desperately my body clenched around it. I had topped him. Taken him. And now I was the one falling apart because he called me baby.

“I still think I prefer the other way around,” I muttered.

Cillian’s mouth curved against my throat. He kissed higher, lips brushing my forehead. “Then flip me whenever you want, prince. I’m yours.”

I pushed up on one elbow, reluctant, and slowly pulled out of him. The wet slide and the sight of my come leaking from him sent another sharp twist through my gut.

Lamplight caught the bruises—dark fingerprints on his neck, a deeper mark along his collarbone, another over his ribs. From Declan.

I stared at them. Really looked.

His eyes found mine and held. Just the two of us. Every way I had failed him, and the terrifying fact that he had never once failed me.

“Have I ever hurt you?” The words came out thin. “Cillian. Like really hurt you. Your feelings.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

The answer hurt more than a yes would have. Mikhail’s voice scraped through my skull. Don’t hurt him. He’ll let you.

I had known it. I had used it. Every time I cut him dead in the halls, every corridor I left him standing in, every night I let him chase me like a dog while I proved I didn’t need him.

And tonight, the first time I finally took him, finally topped him, I still couldn’t even do that right. Came too fast. Left him hard and unfinished.

Cillian’s fingers left my hair. He caught my jaw, thumb stroking once. “Hey. You’re overthinking again. Get out of your head.”

“I haven’t treated you as well as you treated me,” I blurted. “I pushed you away. I was homophobic about us. I didn’t want anyone to see me with you because I kept calculating what it would cost me.”

“None of that matters.”

“It does.” I couldn’t look at him. “I hurt you.”

Cillian’s hand found my face again, thumb stroking once. “No, Moonshine. You didn’t.”

I tucked myself closer, throat burning. “If you hadn’t been so insistent I’d never have come out. I’d never have really embraced being gay.”

He laughed.

“I’m serious.” I smacked his shoulder. “How are you so comfortable just… being you?”

His smile faded into something softer, almost fond. “I’m just myself, Moonshine. Never needed to put on an act like you do.”

“I’m not putting on an act.”

“Yeah, you are,” he said, grin creeping back. “But I like watching you try, princeling.”

I rolled my eyes, but the sting settled deep. My fingers found the ink on his chest again. I traced them because I needed something to hold onto that wasn’t the mess inside my own head.