Page 61 of Godless Saints

Cillian pulled off, one finger still fucking me slowly. “Eyes on me, Moonshine. No one’s coming. Keep your eyes right here.” He sank his mouth back down around my cock and pushed a second finger inside me.

“Mmf—” Pain flared sharp and bright. I bit harder into the hoodie, gripping his hair like I could punish him for it. Full. Too full. Pleasure slammed in right after, vicious. I hated how much I liked his fingers in me, how much he clearly fucking loved wrecking me like this.

Those two fingers curled, dragging that spot until my thighs shook. Spit slicked his chin. He sucked harder.

I couldn’t hold it.

“Fuck—” The word came out garbled and desperate against the fabric. My hole clenched greedily around his fingers as the pressure coiled impossibly tighter.

Pleasure slammed through me. I came hard down his throat, a strangled sound tearing out. Thighs shaking, fingers gripping his hair. Cillian took every drop, swallowing around me, milking me through the aftershocks with his tongue and those two fingers still buried deep.

For one blinding second nothing else existed. No Writ. No Patronage Seat. No reputation that would burn if anyone saw me like this, legs spread, begging with every shake of my thighs.

Then he pulled off. Lips shiny. Eyes wrecked with something too soft. I wanted to drown in that look. I wanted to punch him until it disappeared. My fist tightened in his hair instead. One more second, and I would have let him. One more second, and the Writ would have stopped mattering.

I yanked him up and crushed my mouth to his. Tasting myself on his tongue made my insides cramp violently. I swallowed the taste anyway, hating the low, helpless sound I made into his mouth. Our mouths moved messy and desperate, tongues sliding, teeth clashing. His hands gripped my waist under the hoodie. I shoved a thigh between his legs, he was still so hard. I pushed forward; Cillian turned us. He lifted me and pressed my back against the glass. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. His cock was already free, hot and heavy as he dragged the blunt head along my hole, teasing, pressing just enough to make heat spike through me.

“Fuck…” My hips answered immediately, cock twitching against my stomach, hole clenching around nothing. For one fucked-up moment I wanted it. Wanted him to push inside and wreck me right here.

Then reality crashed back in.

“I don’t know if I want it like this,” I whispered, shoving at his shoulders. My legs stayed locked around him. “Not here. Not against the glass where anyone could see me getting railed like some desperate slut.”

Cillian’s dark chuckle vibrated against my throat. He thrust his hips, rubbing the thick, leaking head of his cock against my entrance again. “Cute.” His voice dropped lower. “Or should I bend you over, spread this tight hole open slow until you’re clenching and begging for every thick inch?”

I turned my head anyway, as if that could hide what my body was already begging for. “Don’t twist my words, you asshole.”

Cillian grinned, eyes glittering with desire. He kept me pinned, every muscle coiled like he could take what he wanted in a heartbeat.

But he didn’t.

“Fine, fine,” he murmured, lips dragging against my ear, breath still hot. “No railing you against the glass tonight. Next time I’ll do the full Aster thing, silk sheets, rose petals, me buried so fucking deep you’ll be clenching around nothing in the middle of your precious lectures.”

“You couldn’t manage romance if your empire depended on it.”

He sank his teeth into my shoulder, harder than necessary. A sharp shiver ripped through me, cock twitching uselessly against my thigh even though I’d just come. “Good thing my life’s never depended on romance.”

Footsteps. Sharp. Echoing. Closer.

A flashlight beam sliced through the dark. Panic slammed into me. I went rigid against him. Cillian felt it instantly. His grip shifted. He lowered me to the ground in one smooth motion, shielding me with his body.

“Easy, Moonshine,” he murmured as he tucked himself away.

I fumbled my own clothes back into place with shaking fingers.

He grabbed the front of my hoodie and pulled me in for one deep, possessive kiss, tongue sliding against mine like he was still savoring the almost. When he pulled back, his forehead touched mine.

“See you soon, love.”

He let me go.

I stumbled back, legs shaky, and fumbled to fix my sweats before slipping out through the side path. Behind me, Cillian’s low voice intercepted the guards. A quick lie. A laugh. Footsteps shifted away.

God help me. I was gone.

Halfway across the courtyard my steps slowed. A figure stepped out from the shadows near the abandoned west wing. Rope coiled over one shoulder. Leonid Korolev—tall, the jagged scar cutting through his eyebrow catching the moonlight, expression unreadable.

Fuck.