Page 137 of Godless Saints

I sat facing him. He placed a hand on my thigh.

“Baby, I went to New York the second I heard he was threatening you. I grew up gay. Always was. Never dated girls. Never cared. Heard it all. Faggot, queer, the rest of it. Already got called Ashbourne trash and Irish mobster, so one more name didn’t move the needle much. People still tried to make it hurt. People who didn’t even know me. I stopped giving a fuck what they thought. Then I saw you in Saint Lucia. Fuck. You were the most—”

“Don’t say beautiful. Don’t be a cliché.” I punched his shoulder lightly.

Cillian only moved closer. “Was going to say repressed.”

I punched his shoulder again, harder this time. “Shut up. I’m not repressed.”

“You hid yourself your whole life, Moon. In Saint Lucia, you were ashamed of wanting me. I went to your father because I knew what he was asking you to do. He wasn’t asking you to choose the company.”

I looked away. How can someone like him be so fucking sensible? He pulled me back by the jaw to look at him.

“He said I could have you. Marry you. But I had to prove I could protect you. From people in my life.”

My stomach hollowed out. He was about to speak when I cut him off.

“No.” I shook my head. “Cillian… I don’t know if I want to know.”

“That’s okay, baby. I’ll carry it.”

I wanted to ask him where Declan was. What happened at the Glass House. I couldn’t make myself say the words. I kissed him anyway. Fisted his hair and pulled him closer. Broke the kiss only when I needed air.

He pressed his forehead to mine.

His thumb brushed my cheek. “What are you plotting now, Moonshine?”

“Come with me.” I pulled him after me by the hand and walked toward Aster Court. Most people were already at the banquet, or at least not in the Courts. So I snuck Cillian back to my room.

I turned to look at him on the stairs. Fuck. I couldn’t have him soon enough.

“Shh, we have to be quiet. But perhaps…”

“Perhaps…” Cillian raised an eyebrow.

I continued dragging him up the stairs, then turned. “I was thinking… I want to fuck you.”

Cillian stopped walking.

“Christ, Moon.”

“Is that a no?” I stopped, concern leaking through.

Maybe he doesn’t want that. That would be okay, I just—

“Moonshine,” his Irish accent thickened, “I’m yours. Any fucking time you want.”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

His expression shifted. He pulled me down two steps and I collided into him. He kissed me, despite the eyes still watching.

“Baby, you can fuck me any goddamn time you want.”

“Cillian.”

“Pull my hair. Spank me. Tell me what to do. Talk filthy to me in that lavish accent until I can’t think straight—”

I laughed and pulled away from him.