Page 21 of Unreasonably Yours

Cillian

I press my lips to Toni's damp forehead, feeling small tremors rolling through her.

“So good, baby doll,” I whisper into the shell of her ear. “You were so good for me.” I sit up on my elbows.

Her arms shoot around me. “Don't go.” Her voice is small, distant.

“I'm not going anywhere, doll.” I kiss her swollen lips gently, rubbing small circles against her temple.

Her pupils are blown wide, expression airy. “Come back to me.”

“I'm right here,” she whispers.

“No,” I coo. “You're somewhere in outer space, baby doll.” I cover her face with light kisses.

She laughs softly.

“What?” I ask, littering more kisses over her neck and chest.

“You're sweet,” she sighs.

“Only sometimes.”

“Liar,” she quickly steals a kiss of her own. Her grip on me loosens, and I lift off her, falling onto my back .

“Come here.” I hold an arm open. She eagerly curls into my side, head on my chest.

Another small tremor rolls through her, and I take her hand in mine, kissing her knuckles. “Are you ok, Toni?”

“Mmhmm,” she nods.

“Look at me.” I tilt her chin up. “You sure?”

Her eyes are sleepy but a little less hazy than before. “I'm blissed out but very much ok.” She cups my cheek. “Are you?”

My heart gives a squeeze at the question. I've been in enough situations where my partner didn't ask. Which, considering I typically chose the Dominant position, was fine. But it felt good to be asked.

I nod. “As long as you let me take care of you a little, I'll be just fine.”

She smiles. “This is the one situation where I won't fight that.”

“Why does that not shock me?”

She feigns an offended face, her mouth open, aghast. I can't help but take the chance to kiss her again, tasting her. I pull back before we're both breathless and before my cock writes a check the rest of me is too damn tired to cash.

True to her word, Toni lets me lavish her with attention in the shower and towel off every inch of her perfect body.

Much like music, the power exchange afforded by this dynamic does something to quiet my internal storm.

Something about another person being willing to trust me with their body, their pleasure, their care after the fact, lets me put down some of the weight of my own distrust of myself.

If someone else trusted me in this way, how dare I not afford myself the same, at least in these moments?

Back in bed, I pull Toni tight into my side, savoring the warmth of her soft body beside me.

“By the way,” she says sleepily, “these sheets are incredible. ”

I chuckle low. “They better be for what they cost.”

“A man who splurges on bed linens, I like it.”

“A man who's willing to do damn near anything to try and get a good night of sleep every once in a while.” She presses her lips to my chest, just above my heart.

“Do they help?”

I shrug. “They don't hurt.”

“That's good.” She yawns, snuggling into me.

“Mhm.” After a few minutes, I feel her breathing grow steady. “Sleep well, Toni.”

Sunlight floods through the window when I finally crack my eyes open.

The clock on my nightstand must be broken. No way in hell it was almost ten. Except my phone also insists it's 9:53 am.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept this late. Wallow in bed? Sure. But actually sleep? Years.

Toni is still sound asleep, looking serene with the side of her face against the pillow, facing me, red curls slipping out from her messy bun. My hand moves without thought to tuck a loose curl away from her face.

God, she practically glows. Radiant, like some precious thing from a better place than any I'd ever know.

I swallow hard, writing the static growing in my belly off as hunger.

Pressing my lips to her temple, I gently stroke my hand down the bare skin of her back. “Toni,” I whisper into her ear. “Wake up, doll.”

She lets loose a small sleepy sound before curling up into me, the button of her nose nuzzling into my chest.

“I'll make you coffee,” I try to bribe .

“Hmm, lots of coffee,” her voice is sleep-rough and lovely.

“As much as you want.”

“What time is it?”

“Late, almost ten o’clock.”

“You're a morning person, aren't you?” She accuses.

“Guilty.”

“Gross,” she whines.

I chuckle. “Too many years in the military, doll.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Wouldn't recommend it.” I kiss her temple and down her neck, earning me a small giggle. She cracks one eye open, the sun catching the strands of honey and auburn, making them look like some earthy gemstone. “There she is.”

She grumbles, sitting up, hair wild.

“How do you feel?” I ask, running a finger down the tumble of peonies over her shoulder.

“Great.” She pauses, considering. “Sore, but good sore.”

“Good.” I pull her toward me, unable to go another moment without kissing her.

“Coffee?” She asks the moment we stop.

I laugh. “Doll, you may have a real problem.”

“There’s only a problem if you lied about making me coffee.”

“I would never.” I hold my hand out to her, tugging her from the bed to lead her to the rack of robes tucked behind a paper screen.

“Take your pick.” I grab a dark green silk number, slipping it on while I watch her run her hands over the myriad of fabrics and prints.

“I thought you didn't drink coffee,” she says, pulling the robe I'd laid out for her the first time she was here off its hanger.

“I don't.” We make our way downstairs. “ But I'm not a heathen. I always have it.” Which isn't entirely a lie. I try to keep some on hand, but when it was clear she'd possibly be here again, I did go and buy some from Jac. Just in case.

“This is possibly the coolest kitchen I've ever seen.” She says as we step into the bottom floor of the house.

“It was built in 1865. Somehow it never got gutted by past owners.” I explain as I get the kettle going for both of us and assemble her pour-over.

“When did your . . . uncle?”

“Yup.” I nod, leaning against the counter.

“Buy this place?”

“In 1980. The neighborhood was still pretty rough. He got it for practically nothing compared to what it's worth now.”

A mischievous smirk teases that dimple out as I hand her two mugs. “But he did not buy it with mob money, right?” She teases, clearly referring back to my quip about not everyone in Boston being in the mob.

I bring the kettle and pour over to the table. “I didn't say that.”

“So he did.”

“Didn't say that either.” I pour water over the grounds, briefly remembering with a pang doing this for Kevin every damn morning.

“Don't be a tease.” She bats at my arm. I raise a brow, leaning back in my chair to give her a look.

I catch her hand and kiss her knuckles. “All I know is my uncle Bobby is a very gruff, very gay accountant with very good stories.” I pour her coffee.

“He sounds amazing.”

“He is pretty fantastic.” Which was an understatement.

I owed my uncle more than just the roof over my head.

He'd been the one I came out to as a confused altar boy at twelve. He pulled some strings to make sure both Lucy and I got easy sentences when we got caught up in the car theft situation that changed the trajectory of my life. Most importantly, he was the one who made sure the people closest to me had and knew how to administer Naloxone. Without that last bit, I wouldn’t be here.

“Ok, another question.”

I chuckle, leaning her into me. “Shoot.”

“What's with the robe collection?”

“I...I, uh—” This was the part of meeting new people I hated, the constant mental gymnastics it took to decide exactly what to tell them and how. “Honestly?”

Toni slides her hand over mine, slowing the steady beat I didn't even realize my fingers were tapping on the table. “Always.”

My pulse slows.

I tangle my fingers with hers. “After I...” was blown to shit feels too harsh, “got injured.

I was in the hospital for a while. My mom decided I needed a better robe than what they gave me, so she brought me a few.

They were reminders of home when that's the only thing I wanted.” I clear my throat.

“After, they just kept finding their way to me. Gifts, thrift stores, wherever. Just stuck.” I chose to leave out that they make me feel less like shit on days I can't bring myself to put on real clothes.

She squeezes my hand. “I promise not to spill coffee on this one.”

That tugs a rough laugh from me. “I'd appreciate that. Getting silk cleaned is a pain in the ass.” I sip my tea. “Do you have any collections—or hoards, as Oliver calls them?”

“Hold on,” she leans back from me, looking at her robe, ignoring my question. “Did you say silk?”

“Yes?”

“Oof. I knew this was too high class for me. ”

“Nah.” I kiss her exposed clavicle. “It's perfect.”

“Best not risk it, though.” I almost fight her as she pushes me away to stand, but I let her go.

Toni unties the robe, allowing the fabric to flow slowly down, revealing each spectacular curve inch by inch. All thoughts of protest or the question I'd asked flee my mind.