Page 69 of Godless Saints

“I’m not shaking,” I snapped. “And I’m not asking for anything. Just do it.”

He lined up again, thick, lube-slick head pressed firm against my hole. Then he pushed forward. Slow. Barely the tip. The stretch burned deeper and sharper than two fingers ever had, a thick, relentless pressure that made my breath hitch.

Fuck.

My hips rolled up anyway, taking him deeper. I grabbed his thighs on instinct, fingers digging in hard as another wave of burning fullness hit me. He stayed perfectly still, breathing hard over me. His eyes flicked over my face, reading every flinch. One hand stroked my thigh, kneading the tight muscle, spreading me wider. The other pressed flat on my stomach.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I bit out, even as my body tried to push him away while pulling him deeper. “Just move.”

He didn’t. His big hand slid over my stomach, thumb pressing slow, deliberate circles right above where I could feel him splitting me, coaxing my muscles to surrender. “Fuck, look at you,” he breathed, eyes dark. “All flushed and fighting me. So goddamn beautiful when you’re like this.”

I smacked a hand against his chest, hard enough to sting my palm. “Don’t call me that when I’m, fuck, when it’s humiliating.”

Cillian didn’t flinch. His hips flexed just enough to nudge deeper, forcing a broken sound out of my throat. “Humiliating?” A dark chuckle rumbled through him. “No, baby. You’re letting me in. That’s not humiliation. That’s mine.”

I locked my jaw, staring at the shadowed ceiling of the Thorn suite, teeth grinding so hard my skull ached. The second I softened, even a fraction, he sank the rest of the way in with a filthy groan. My hole clenched around the thick invasion, fighting and pulling at the same time. Sweat slid down my spine. My cock leaked helplessly against my stomach, traitor that it was.

“If you keep squeezing my cock like that, prince, I’m gonna fill you up before I even get to ruin you properly,” he rasped.

He saw everything. The discomfort I tried to bury. The panic. The fucked up want underneath it. I hated how easily he read me.

“That’s it… good boy.” His tone changed. “You’re taking me so fucking well. First time and already greedy for it.”

Mortifying.

I dug my nails into his shoulders, then shoved at his chest, half-hearted, trembling. “Stop being careful,” I muttered, voice wrecked. “…It feels too good. Just move already.”

Cillian grinned. Cocky bastard. He rolled his hips in one deep, punishing thrust. It burned until his next thrust made it feel good.

“Mmm—fuck—” I gasped, head snapping to the side, burying my face in the pillow. His hand shot out, fingers gripping my jaw in a bruising hold. He yanked my face back to his, forcing our eyes to lock.

“Don’t you fucking hide from me, Moon.” His grip tightened. “I waited long enough to have all of you. I’m not settling for half.”

The wet, obscene sound of him fucking into me filled the room. It felt far too good. My hips kept rising to meet every thrust. How am I ever going to keep denying this shit after tonight? There would be no clean version of this memory.

Cillian moved over me, emerald eyes burning down into mine. Sweat and dried blood from the fight streaked his collarbone and throat, making the black ink flex and glisten with every powerful thrust. The thorns across his chest tightened over hard muscle.

He hooked my legs over his shoulders, folding me in half, pressing me deeper into the sheets. Slow, devastating strokes that punched the air from my lungs and dragged a broken sound from my throat. Fuck. The angle shifted. I felt him in my stomach. Is this normal? My mind scrambled for control, for some shred of dignity while the Ashbourne heir rearranged my insides. Obscene. Invasive. So fucking good I wanted to hate him for it.

“Fuck—I’m so close,” he groaned against my mouth, voice cracking. “You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, prince. Been dying to fill you up since Saint Lucia. You’re going to take every last drop of me.”

“Cillian.” My fingers locked behind his neck. “Please. I want you. Don’t stop.”

Our bodies locked, sweat-slick. I sound desperate. A broken, humiliating moan ripped out as the second orgasm crashed through me, spilling hot and messy between our stomachs while my body milked him with shameless pulses.

Cillian groaned. “Fuck—Moon—I’m coming—” He drove to the hilt with one final brutal thrust and came hard, flooding me with thick, wet heat. His hips jerked through it, grinding deep. Forehead slammed to mine, both of us shaking, breathing each other’s air while he kept pulsing, forcing every drop deeper.

I held myself very still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for shame that never arrived.

It should have come. Years of rules. Warnings. Expectations. Legacy. They couldn’t vanish just because I’d let Cillian Ashbourne fuck me. Any second the Gallery, the Seat, my father’s voice would crash back in.

Instead the only thing that arrived was the quiet, devastating truth. I didn’t wish it had never happened. I wished it hadn’t ended.

Cillian’s forehead rested against mine, breath ragged. One large hand stroked down my side, fingers digging in. His hips gave one last shallow thrust.

Safe. Exactly why I needed to leave. If I stayed, this stopped being a mistake. If I stayed, there would be no version of the House of Moon successor left to protect. I didn’t say any of it. My hole kept fluttering around his softening length, milking the last drops of his release.

He finally pulled out with a wet sound that made my stomach clench. The sudden emptiness made me flinch. I bit the inside of my cheek.