Page 168 of Godless Saints

“I haven’t had you in weeks. Months. Who the fuck knows anymore.”

“We see each other almost every night,” I bit out, “except when you go to Ireland.”

“No.” His thumb pressed under my jaw, eyes dark. “Even when you’re here, your head is somewhere else. House of Moon, the Seat, your father. So tonight I want all of it. No more sharing you.”

“Let me go.” I shoved at his chest.

“No.” He pinned me harder, then suddenly hauled me up and over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing.

“What the fuck—” I punched his lower back, trying to wiggle free.

He threw me down onto the bed. I bounced once. “Do you want to fuck? Why are you being so aggressive all of a sudden?”

Cillian loosened his tie, then started unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never leaving me. Muscle and ink shifted with every movement. “I need to remind you who you belong to. I saw you talking to that guy in the lobby again.”

“David? He’s the coffee guy. He asks for my order and picks up my dry cleaning.”

Cillian was shirtless now. He yanked my feet toward the end of the bed, stripped my belt, and dragged my pants down in one rough motion.

“You’re unhinged and possessive again, Cillian.”

He looped my own belt around my wrists and tied them to the bedpost. I twisted, fighting.

“Don’t tie me up.” He ignored me and used his tie to gag my mouth, knotting it tight.

Cillian stepped back, looking satisfied, almost reverent. “Mmm. Don’t say his name. If you want coffee, I’ll get you coffee. You know who you belong to. You belong to me.”

I tried to spit something back, “mmph,” but it came out muffled against the silk.

Cillian moved between my spread legs, eyes dragging over me. “Fuck, you look fine as hell like this, baby.” His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Now tell me. Nod or shake your head.”

I yanked hard on the belt around my wrists. It didn’t give. I kicked out once. Cillian caught my thighs in a bruising grip, spreading me wider.

“Will you have that David get your coffee again?”

I glared, trying to spit something around the gag. It was useless.

Cillian’s thumb stroked my inner thigh. “Why are you like this? Just shake your head. You won’t.”

I deadpanned, but finally shook my head.

“Good boy. Second question. Will you come with me to Ireland?”

I nodded.

“Good boy.” His hand slid higher, thumb pressing into the crease of my thigh. “Third. You want me to fuck you?”

I bit down on the tie, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But fuck, I knew exactly what he was capable of. The men he’d killed. The lines he’d crossed. All of it for me. I wasn’t supposed to know, but I’d made Mikhail talk. Cillian thought he was protecting me from the monster he believed he was.

Little did he know I'd already met the monster he thought I'd fear… and still crawled into his bed every night.

Heat coiled low in my gut. My cock twitched hard against my stomach.

Cillian stroked his hand up and down my inner thigh. “I can help you release some of that tension in your shoulders, baby. Make you feel good.”

He paused. His hand moved to my chin, thumb stroking gently along my jaw. “You with me?”

I rolled my eyes dramatically and mumbled a garbled “yes” around the gag.