Then she was gone, and Cillian and Bran were alone in the living room while Aisling slept in her room under Jupiter’s watchful eye. Cillian reached for Bran’s hand. “Let’s clean up.”
The shower wasn’t big enough for two people, so they took turns scrubbing off the remnants of the wyrding in the glow of candles Bran found in the hall closet. More candles burned in the bedroom where Bran waited for him after Cillian finished cleaning up, casting a soft glow over Bran’s bare skin and damp hair, making him look almost ethereal.
“I’ve never hated you,” Bran said into the quiet. “Even when I left, I could never hate you.”
“I know,” Cillian said, clutching at the towel wrapped around his waist.
Bran slid off the bed and padded over to Cillian. He raised a hand, resting his fingertips over Cillian’s heart. The way Bran looked up at Cillian through his lashes made heat shoot through every nerve in his body. “I love you.”
Bran kissed his way down Cillian’s body, licking after water droplets, whispering those same words into his skin. The heat of his mouth was like a brand that Cillian wanted all over him, a burn like iron he’d gladly suffer. When Bran settled onto his knees, dragging the towel free and tossing it aside, Cillian could only think that he’d grown up with no religion in his home, but when Bran took his cock into his mouth, it felt like a prayer to some deity he couldn’t name.
Bran sucked him down with more skill than Cillian had in that area, deep-throating him with an ease that made him moan. He dragged his hands through Bran’s dark hair, grabbing a fistful and swearing when Bran swallowed around his cock. The constriction made his hips thrust forward, intentionally pushing his cock deeperinto Bran’s mouth, down his throat, Bran’s nose pressed against his stomach.
“Fuck,” Cillian swore, hastily pulling back, Bran’s whine making his cock throb. “You’re all I ever wanted.”
Bran pushed at his thighs, against his hand, and Cillian slid his cock out of that tempting mouth, watching as Bran kissed the tip. “You don’t need a collar to keep me. You always had me.”
Cillian couldn’t help the way his grip tightened in Bran’s hair, the way his eyes went to Bran’s bare throat. He swallowed, want carving its way into his body, the desire to claim rooted deep. The only thing he could do was push his cock back into Bran’s mouth, watch those plush lips wrap around it greedily. Cillian touched Bran’s jaw, fingers trailing up his hollowed-out cheek as he slowly thrust in and out, cock sliding over Bran’s tongue, going a little deeper each time. Bran’s fingers curled around the back of Cillian’s thighs, biting into his skin, urging him on, and Cillian could only take what was his gladly.
He thrust in all the way, cock sliding down Bran’s throat, choking him, watching as Bran’s eyes fluttered shut, something like bliss settling in his face as he kept his mouth open for Cillian to fuck. Drool slicked his chin, his reddened lips, breath coming ragged as Cillian fucked his mouth, cock hard and aching in that wet, willing heat. Bran’s hips hitched in small circles, his own cock hard and dripping precum, abandoned in the face of Cillian’s pleasure. And wasn’t that a revelation, to know that Bran wanted to give Cillian this—his mouth, his body, his heart—and always would.
Cillian groaned, loosening his hold on Bran’s hair, palming the back of his head to hold him steady. He chased his pleasure in Bran’s mouth, cock hard and aching, a tension at the base of his spine winding tighter and tighter until it snapped. Cillian came with a bitten-off shout, grinding his cock deep in Bran’s mouth, spilling so far down his throat Cillian knew he wouldn’t be able to taste it. He held Bran there for a moment, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he caught his breath, Bran still mouthing at his cock.
When he finally pulled out, Bran’s ragged breathing was something Cillian would apologize for if Bran didn’t look so debauched on his knees, lips swollen and looking up at Cillian like he wanted to benowhere else. Groaning, Cillian pulled Bran to his feet and spun them around, shoving him up against the wall by the door. He hooked an arm under one of Bran’s knees, hiking his leg up, then got a hand between them to grasp Bran’s cock.
“Look at me,” Cillian rasped, staring down at the witch who loved him, fingers sliding through precum over Bran’s cock. It wasn’t enough to ease the friction, but the way Bran arched into his touch told him the other man didn’t mind.
Bran tipped his head back, panting loudly as he clawed at Cillian’s shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
“What do you see?” Cillian kept stroking him, keeping him pinned to the wall as he gave Bran what he wanted, what he needed. “When you look at me, what do you see?”
Bran tongued at his swollen bottom lip, never looking away. “I only see you.”
Cillian shuddered at the truth in those words, a groan tearing free of his mouth. It was easy to kiss Bran, to claim him, to hold him and make him come, relishing the way Bran had to bite down on his shoulder to muffle his cry as he spilled over Cillian’s hand. He shivered through his orgasm, arching into Cillian’s touch like he couldn’t help himself. Cillian carefully lowered his leg, waiting for Bran to get his feet back under him, before he curved his hand over the side of Bran’s face and kissed him, slow and deep and wanting.
In that moment, Bran was the beginning and the end and everything in between for Cillian—nothing more, nothing less.
Just everything.
“I love you,” Cillian whispered fiercely against Bran’s lips. “No matter what, I will always love you.”
Bran kissed him back, holding on. “I know. I love you, too.”
Witch and Fae.
They should have been enemies, not mates—not everything they’d grown into being—but whatever happened from here on out, Cillian knew wherever he stood, he would always have Bran by his side.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Bran!” Aisling shouted from outside. “Something came for you!”
Bran looked up from sweeping as Aisling barreled into the Shoppe, clutching a stack of mail in one hand and shopping bags in the other. He didn’t bother telling her to quiet down. Hearing her voice was the best thing these days, better than a quiet grief. “Hopefully, not more bills.”
“No. Looks official, though.”
The town’s tiny post office had held their mother’s mail, both for the home they hadn’t set foot into since returning from the Otherworld a week ago and for the Shoppe. Bran hadn’t yet revoked the hold, and Aisling had offered to pick it up on the way back from her shopping trip. Any other summer and she would have ridden her bike there, but after everything they’d experienced and survived, Bran wasn’t allowing her to go alone anywhere. If Bran wasn’t with her, then Cillian was when he was off duty, or Niamh was when Cillian could convince the Fae lady to pry herself away from him.
Bran didn’t trust Niamh, and the feeling was mutual, but she’d do whatever Cillian wanted, and Bran trusted him. So, Aisling had a minder every hour of every day since they had returned. He’d figure outwhat to do when she started school up again, but until then, she was always in someone’s sight.
