Page 35 of Godless Saints

My shirt was twisted. Hair in my face. Pulse jackhammering. I yanked the hem straight with shaking fingers, painfully aware of how obvious I still was half-hard, flushed, breathing like I’d run a mile. The evidence of how little control I had left sat right there between my legs for him to see.

I wasn’t even out. And I had just kissed Cillian Ashbourne back. On the fucking gallery floor. One more minute and Professor Korolev would have found us like this. Shame crashed so violently my stomach tried to crawl up my throat.

“You’re insane,” I said. The words came out weaker than I wanted. Not nearly furious enough. Fuck.

Cillian’s smirk faded as he watched me. His eyes lingered on my shaking hands, then on the way I couldn’t quite look at him. Something in his face shifted, quieter, almost careful.

“No. It’s not funny.”

He stayed on the floor a moment longer, studying me like he was trying to find the version of me from Saint Lucia. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for me, but he didn’t.

“Moon.”

“No.” I stepped back.

“You didn’t hear what I was going to say.”

“I don’t need to.”

He rose slowly and closed the distance. I stepped back again. He followed. His fingers brushed my collar, straightening it, then reached up to tuck a strand of hair off my forehead with that infuriating gentleness.

I slapped his hand away, anger flaring.

“Stop following me,” I hissed, voice cracking. “Just stop. We could have been caught by Professor Korolev. Do you understand what that would mean for me?”

Cillian didn’t retreat. He stepped closer instead, one large hand sliding behind my neck, fingers firm as he pulled me in. He pressed our foreheads together, holding me there, breathing the same air.

“I’m not going anywhere, Moonshine,” he said quietly. “Not from you.”

My heart gave one painful kick. I grabbed his wrist with both hands and yanked hard, trying to break free. He held on. I twisted violently, shoving at his chest with my shoulder, feet scraping uselessly against the rug. My elbow caught his side. I wrenched my head back, but his hand stayed locked behind my neck. With one final, desperate surge I tore away, stumbling backward several steps, chest heaving.

Cillian watched me, eyes dark and determined.

“I know what this could cost you,” he said. “Doesn’t change a fucking thing.”

I found the nearest exit with my eyes before he could see how close I was to cracking again.

I fixed my collar, smoothed the front of my shirt, and waited until my breathing sounded normal. My bag was still on the table. I grabbed it quickly, shoving the ruined projections inside without looking. My eyes caught on the penguin keychain still in Cillian’s hand. I glanced at it once, then looked away. I didn’t bother asking for it back.

Then I left the gallery without another word.

Every step away from him felt heavier than the last.

Pulse still too high. Hands still shaking once I was clear of the stacks.

I kissed him back. Again. On the gallery floor. With Professor Korolev ten feet away.

Anyone could have rounded the corner. Anyone could have seen the way I pulled him down instead of pushing him off.

My hands still smelled like him. My mouth still tasted like him. I should have scrubbed both clean the second I was alone.

I didn’t.

CHAPTER 9

CILLIAN

The east reading gallery door clicked shut behind Moon. I stepped after him, then stopped. Blood hammering. Cock half-hard and aching against my zipper.