Page 34 of Godless Saints

Fuck.

I grabbed his shirt and yanked. The intention had been simple. Create distance. Instead I dragged him straight into my space. Our noses brushed. Our mouths hovered a breath apart. He smelled of cedar, clean skin, and worn leather. It filled my lungs. My breath hitched.

No. No. No.

Cillian’s eyes darkened. “Tell me I’m a better kisser than Zara King.”

Saint Lucia all over again. The same heavy pull. The same sick, terrifying want I couldn’t kill.

I shoved at his shoulder. Weaker than I meant. He pressed me harder into the rug. Every point of contact burned.

“Cillian,” I breathed.

If I kissed him, there would be no version of this where I got to keep lying to myself. He would stop being the boy who chased me. He would become the boy I’d reached for. My entire body leaned toward him, anyway.

His hand came up. Two fingers brushed my temple, pushing hair back with that fucking gentleness I hated. My lungs forgot how to breathe. He leaned in. He was actually going to kiss me. And I wasn’t stopping him.

Soft at first. Testing. Just a brush of lips that made my stomach drop. He pulled back a fraction, eyes searching mine.

My hands stayed fisted in his shirt. I didn’t let go. Instead I pulled him down harder.

The kiss turned desperate. Messy. His mouth opened against mine and I met him there, tongues sliding, teeth grazing. My fingers twisted tighter in the fabric, yanking him closer while my other hand slid up his back, grabbing at warm skin and muscle. He groaned into my mouth and rolled his hips, grinding against me. I grabbed his ass, pulling him harder between my legs.

Then a door opened somewhere beyond the stacks. The soft metallic click sliced through everything. A humiliating yelp tore from my throat. I choked it back too late.

Cillian didn’t stop. His mouth dragged from mine to my jaw, then down to my neck, hot and open, sucking hard enough to sting as the footsteps approached.

I shoved at his chest. “Get off,” I mouthed desperately.

He didn’t. Instead he settled heavier between my thighs, pinning me down. One big hand slid between us and palmed my cock through my trousers, stroking once, firm and eager.

My breath shattered. “Cillian—”

One more sound and Professor Korolev would catch us acting like complete idiots.

“Shh.” His lips brushed my ear. “Quiet, prince. You’re going to get us caught.”

He stroked me again, thumb pressing against the head, while his mouth returned to my neck, sucking and biting like he couldn’t help himself. The footsteps grew louder. Closer. Leather soles on stone.

Cillian dragged us farther under the reading table before Korolev reached the aisle. From beneath it I peered through the narrow gaps in the books. A tall figure stopped a few rows away. The jagged scar across his face was unmistakable. Professor Korolev.

Something cold sank low in my belly.

Cillian’s hand kept moving, rubbing me harder through the fabric while his teeth grazed my throat. My cock throbbed against his palm. I was terrified. Furious. And so fucking hard it hurt.

Korolev lingered. A book scraped off a shelf. Pages turned.

I stopped breathing entirely. My hand clamped around Cillian’s wrist, trying to yank him away, but he just pressed harder, thumb circling the head again like he was daring me to make a sound.

Three seconds passed. Then Korolev turned. The door clicked open. Footsteps retreated.

The second they faded I shoved Cillian with everything I had, anger exploding through me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hissed, shoving him again as I scrambled to my feet on shaking legs. “We could have been caught. He was right there, and you still had your hand on my cock like some reckless idiot—”

“Could have.”

“That’s your response?”

“You said it well enough for both of us.”