Page 67 of Godless Saints

Oh no.

I was jealous.

That Clare girl in the ring could go fuck herself. Cillian was mine. I shoved him down harder than necessary. He landed with a dark laugh, letting me climb over him, straddling his hips.

The mattress dipped. Rain ticked against the window. I kissed him again, deeper, grinding down so I could feel exactly how hard he was. His hands traced my back, my thighs, the curve of my ass. Thumbs stroking every inch as if I were already his to claim. My spine arched. Heat pooled low in my gut. My cock twitched against his stomach, already leaking.

I grabbed his throat. “You want me like that?” I said against his mouth. “Then make me want it first, Ashbourne.”

Cillian’s eyes darkened. He smiled against my mouth. “Trust me, baby. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for this cock and nothing else.”

I tightened my grip. His pulse hammered under my palm. He groaned, the sound vibrating hot against my skin. His hand left my lower back, fingers sliding up to grip my neck. Tight. Just enough to make my breath hitch. Then he pulled his fingers away and pressed them to my lips.

“Open.”

I parted them. He pushed two fingers inside, rough, sliding them over my tongue until they were slick. Every coherent thought scattered.

He pulled them free with a wet sound and reached between us again. My thighs clenched. The first finger pushed in, and my body welcomed it like the betrayer it was. He wasn’t guessing. He knew exactly what he was doing, and that left me with nowhere to hide.

Cillian let out a low, filthy groan. “That’s it, prince. Let me open you up.” He eased a second finger in, deeper, scissoring. “You’re so fucking tight. So perfect for me.”

My breath fractured. The slide was obscene. My hips rolled forward in shallow, involuntary movements, fucking myself onto his fingers like I couldn’t stop.

“Does it feel good?” Cillian rasped, eyes locked on my face. “Tell me how my fingers feel stretching that tight little hole open. Use your words, baby. I want to hear you admit how much you love getting fucked by me.”

“Mmm—fuck,” I gasped.

He smiled against my lips. “That’s it, prince. Look at you… already fucking yourself on my fingers.”

I tensed. “I’m not—”

Cillian cut me off with a deep kiss, fingers curling hard. “Shh… You’re fighting the wrong battle, prince. I’m not the one you’re trying to convince.”

I should have told him to stop. Instead my hips jerked forward again.

“Sit on my face.”

I hesitated. Pride. Control. The last fraying thread of denial. Breath sawing in my chest. One heartbeat. Two. Then I moved, shifting up his body.

He pulled me lower. His mouth never stopped. Neither did that finger. My body gave in far too fast.

I grabbed the iron bedpost with one hand, the other fisted tight in his damp hair, forcing the rhythm I wanted. My hips rocked between the wet heat of his mouth and the stretch of his finger. Fuck. This feels too good. No way I’m lasting. My thighs shook. My control splintered with every obscene, wet sound he made around my cock.

My breath came faster. I tightened my fist in his hair until he moaned around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine.

“Fuck—Cillian—” The name tore out.

I came with a choked snarl, spilling down his throat while my hole clenched around his finger like it never wanted to let go. He swallowed every drop, moaning like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Even after I was spent and oversensitive, Cillian kept working me open, scissoring gently, then roughly. I was still gasping, cock twitching against his stomach, when he pulled his fingers out.

My lungs were still recovering; Cillian hooked his hands under my thighs and flipped me onto my back. He settled between my spread legs, cock dragging against my entrance.

“My prince,” he whispered in rough, accented Korean.

I looked up at him. He looked completely lost in it.

He leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “I like the view of this. You spreading your legs for me, letting me fuck you. It’ll be so good, baby. You’ll love my dick inside you.”