Page 19 of Unreasonably Yours

Toni

Despite the temptation, Cillian and I display an impressive amount of self-control throughout the evening.

No one could call us chaste, but we do make it through the entire show without slinking off to a secluded corner of the venue.

In fact, we even manage to linger long enough after the closing number to congratulate Jac on an incredible performance and greet an acceptable number of people.

This does mean that by the time we make it to Cillian’s car, I am considering the merits of forgoing any extracurriculars in lieu of fucking in his backseat like teenagers.

However, I remain strong. Not for any sensible reason like not wanting to get caught.

No, my self-control is rooted solely in knowing—based on several blush-inducing text exchanges—Cillian would make the wait worth it.

The thought of what the evening may hold does little to keep my hips from lifting desperately when his fingers slide under the hem of my panties.

He chuckles, the low rumble sending a little shock up my spine. “Someone is eager.”

Taking advantage of his focus on the road, I reach over, feeling the hard outline of his own impatience. “I'm not the only one who's eager,” I say. His cock pulses against my hand for a brief moment before he grabs my wrist in a firm grip, moving my hand to my lap, holding it there.

“I hope you enjoyed that. Because, to me, it seems like someone needs to learn how to keep her hands to herself.” He kisses my knuckles. “Put your hands under your thighs until we get home.” The command in his voice is so delicious, I want to glut myself on it.

The rest of the drive is torment. He continues to tease me, a kiss to my neck, fluttering touches to my thigh, tracing the shell of my ear with one finger. When we pull into his drive, I almost fling myself from the car, mad with the need of some kind of release.

As if reading my mind, he pulls the keys from the ignition and orders me to stay put.

“Anything you want to discuss before we go upstairs?” He asks as he opens my door.

“No,” I say with full confidence. We’d gone over any necessary boundaries in our texts. He tilts his head a little, waiting. “No, sir,” I amend.

“That's better,” he hums, grinning with satisfaction. I take his offered hand and step out of the car. “I'll get your bag, and you keep your hands behind your back until I tell you otherwise. Understood?”

I nod, clasping my hands obediently behind my back.

“Words.” The stern tone makes my pulse drop from behind my ribs to between my thighs.

“Yes, sir.”

Cillian motions for me to lead the way to his attic-level room, and I feel his attention—and my calves—burning the whole way up.

At the foot of the bed, he takes hold of the back strap of my harness, drawing me to a stop. Holding me in place, he traces the high neck of my dress before loosely wrapping his fingers around my throat, tilting my head back onto his shoulder.

The contrast of his rough palm and the cool texture of his rings against my skin is delicious.

His lips barely graze my ear as he says, “Tell me your safe word, Toni.”

I shiver. “Hurricane.”

“Thank you.” He kisses my temple.

I drink him in as he comes to stand before me.

Tall and broad, Cillian cuts an intimidating image without much effort on his part. But it’s the way he softens his edges that I find irresistibly compelling. The loose fit of his sheer button-up, the smudge of black making the green of his eyes stand out even more, his silver manicure.

As he traces my bottom lip with his thumb, my tongue flits out, hungry for the salt of his skin. Taking that as an invitation, he slips it into my mouth. I tease the digit with my tongue, delighted at the way his nostrils flare as he tries to take a steadying breath.

With visible effort, he drags his eyes from the moisture he left on my lips to meet my eyes. “Take my rings off.”

Without thinking, I reach out to do as he says.

Grinning wickedly, he grabs both my wrists. “Did I say you could use your hands, doll?”

My body tingles. “No, sir.”

He guides my hands back to their previous location. The action brings him close enough that I can breathe in his scent this time, a piney, musky fragrance and a touch of tobacco from his cigarettes. My mouth waters.

“Now,” he says, index finger brushing over my lips. “Take them off.”

I wrap my lips around the first ring. He pulls away, holding his hand out to receive it. I let it fall into his palm. We repeat the process for all of his rings, the taste of salt and metal and desire coating my tongue.

“Very good.” He slips the rings into his pocket as he pulls me in for a kiss.

We hadn't kissed like this since that night on my porch, the same night he'd placed his wager. It’s the kind of kiss that overwhelms everything.

I can't say I forgot how good it felt to kiss this man; I'd thought about it far too often for that to be true, but I had begun to wonder if I'd blown it out of proportion.

After all, the first time I'd been painfully hard up after several months of self-imposed celibacy, and the next I'd been pleasantly drunk.

But no. I hadn't. If anything, I'd undersold it.

My body melts into his, the missive to keep my hands to myself lost. I take hold of his shirt, pulling the soft chiffon into a death grip.

Gently, he tugs my hands away, holding them against my thighs. “Guess I'm gonna have to do something about these hands, huh?” He asks, panting.

“Guess so.” I wiggle my fingers.

His rumble of laughter makes gooseflesh rise over my whole body. “Alright, then.”

Cillian repositions me a bit to make room for the chest he slides from under his bed.

My eyes pop at the delightful collection of tricks and toys.

A bevy of fun to be had, though, as I anticipated, there isn't a single impact tool present.

Pain, he'd said, wasn't something he enjoyed dabbling in. Pleasure though-

He closes the chest, having found what he wanted, and pushes it back under the bed.

“Hold this.” He presses a bell into my palm before binding my hands to the front of my harness with bondage tape. Each movement of his hands displays a practiced proficiency that makes comfort and excitement sing through my veins.

When he’s satisfactorily dealt with the issue of my wandering hands, he grabs a thick fleece blanket from the foot of his bed, laying it on the floor before him. “Kneel.”

It isn't just the effortlessness of the command that sends me to my knees so fast a better woman might be ashamed.

I'd mentioned, cheekily but sincerely, that I felt slighted he'd gotten to taste me last time, but I hadn't had the pleasure.

Clearly, he'd paid attention and intended to fix this imbalance.

“The bell?” I ask giving it a little ring.

Cillian looks down at me, a wolfish smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Your mouth will be too busy for your safe word, I'm afraid.” He unbuckles his belt. “Eyes up here,” he says, the sound of a repressed laugh coloring his words.

I blush furiously, realizing I'd fixated on his cock as he freed it from his pants. In my defense, it's a thing of beauty. I felt the echoes of him for damn near two days after the last time.

He takes my jaw in a firm but gentle grip, ensuring my eyes remain on his face. “If you need me to stop for any reason, you ring that bell. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” His hand slides to cradle the back of my head. “Open for me.” I do, tongue out and ready. “Keep your eyes on me.” I nod.

Cillian slides his cock between my lips until he taps the back of my throat. I gag against him, but he holds me in place for a moment before pulling back halfway. His heavy lashes flutter with pleasure as smug satisfaction makes me smile despite the mouthful.

Our eyes meet, and he takes my mouth with abandon.

I love it. Love the feeling of being possessed by him, love the way there isn't room for anything else in my skull beyond keeping my eyes right where he wants them, no matter what .

Every growl and groan that falls from his beautiful mouth sends shivers across my shoulders and down my spine.

“You like this, baby doll?” He asks, voice breathy. “You like me using that pretty mouth?” Unable to answer with words, I moan with satisfaction. “Fuck,” he huffs.

I feel a shudder run through him just before his fingers dig into my hair, pulling my head back suddenly.

As I catch my breath, he drops to one knee. With a tenderness that makes my chest ache, he cradles my face, using a small towel he’d had waiting on the edge of the bed to wipe the moisture from my chin and cheeks.

“You ok?” He asks, eyes moving from my mouth to my eyes.

I swallow. “Very ok.”

“Good.” He kisses me softly at first, but when I eagerly respond, he doesn't hold back.

Finally, he slides a hand between my thighs. I feel rather than see him smile with satisfaction when he finds me utterly soaked.

“All this,” he presses three fingers against the wet fabric, “and I’ve hardly touched you.”

Cillian grabs the back strap of my harness, forcing me to arch back and look up at him. “Do you want me to touch you?” Distracting me, his fingers tease as he kisses my neck. “Answer me, Toni.” He catches my earlobe in his teeth. I suck in a breath. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Yes, sir. Please, sir.”

He pulls my panties to the side. A low sound rises from my chest as he slides in one finger, then another. Slowly, he works me open for him, his eyes never leaving mine.

My breath quickens with his pace. A steady increase until he’s fucking me with his fingers so forcefully the only thing keeping me upright is his hold on my harness .

His thumb grazes my swollen clit, his fingers pulsing against my front wall as he thrusts.

My muscles tense. My lungs burn.

“Cillian,” I manage between gasping breaths, clenching down on him.

“Breathe,” he instructs. “In.” I do. “Out.” I exhale a moan. “That's it. Come for me, baby doll.”