Page 100 of The Dark Before Light

He swells even more in my hand, a vein throbbing against my palm. Tortured eyes meet mine. “You have no idea.”

I squeeze him once, then back off the bed and stand. He groans in protest, the sound cutting off abruptly as I step out of my shoes and shuck off my clothes.

“Open your legs for me. Wider. One knee up, heel on the bed. Yes, like that.”

When I pick up the toy and lube, his brows draw together again. Another struggle commences. His breathing becomes choppy, anxiety tightening the skin around his eyes. I crawl to him, settling between his legs and stroking his warm, tense thighs.

Then I lean up and grab his jaw. “Look at me, Kieran.”

Once I have his gaze, I hold it mercilessly, letting him see and feel my control. My calm. My desire that equals his. My absolute certainty that he will enjoy what I’m about to do to him.

His agitation fades. Arousal surges. Desperation peaks.

He’s ready.

“Do you trust me?”

His eyes bore into mine. “With my heart and life.”

My mouth falls open; I take a steadying breath so my voice doesn’t waver. “Thank you. I promise I won’t abuse that trust.”

Resuming my position between his legs, I uncap the small bottle of lube and pour a generous pool into my hand, then draw the front half of the dildo across my palm until it’s completely coated. With a push of my thumb, it begins to vibrate. I lower it to his cock, running it along the underside of his shaft, then lightly across his balls.

He groans, eyes closing. A stream of Gaelic words hisses through his teeth. I don’t admonish him, too riveted by the involuntary jerks of his hips. When his lower abdomen tenses, I back off until he relaxes again. I repeat the process until he’s glistening with sweat, in that lovely space between agony and ecstasy. Only then do I lift his tight, heavy sack and run my thickly lubed fingers down to his asshole.

Triumph fills me as his bent knee instantly widens, his hips lifting to give me more access. I massage the tight ring of muscle with the pads of my fingers, my other hand stroking his shaft, squeezing every time my finger pressure increases. All the while, I watch his face carefully for signs of true discomfort. But his eyes, open now and on my face, reflect only trust. Commitment. Adoration and desperation.

His surrender is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.

“Say the magic word,” I whisper.

He licks his lips. “Please, my love.”

A tornado of heat overtakes my lungs, my heart. “Your wish is my command.”

I replace my fingers with the toy, pushing vibration first to the space behind his balls, then to his asshole. There’s so much lube already there, and he’s so willing and ready, that a gentle push sinks the toy inside him up to the flared middle. He cries out in rapture. Tightening my grip on the base, I draw the toy out, then slide it back in, slowly increasing the rhythm.

More Gaelic fills the air—a raw appeal that ends with, “Talia! Please.”

I don’t make him wait. Seating the toy inside him so that its vibration is centered on his prostate, I wrap my other hand around his engorged cock.

“I give you permission to come,” I say right before covering him with my mouth. I suck hard and fast, my throat relaxed for his erratic thrusts.

When he stiffens with a strangled shout, I turn off the toy and slip it out, then devote myself to his orgasm. His cock jumps against my tongue, pulsing and throbbing. I drink him down to the very last twitch and finally release him with a kiss.

Kieran’s legs sprawl listlessly, his bound forearms tucked against his face, his stomach flexing as he gasps for air. I crawl up the bed and swiftly untie my knots, unwinding the rope and tossing it off the bed. I massage the reddened skin, then stroke his torso and arms with firm pressure until his breathing slows and evens out. His arms eventually relax and fall to his sides. His gaze is unfocused, his expression tellingly blank.

I stretch out beside him, throwing a leg over his hips and tugging him toward me. He rolls, his arms snaking around me, his head tucked against my chest.

It starts slow—a hitch in his breath, a twitch of muscles. I hold him tightly, wrapping as much of myself around him as I can.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking his hair, his back. “I’m here. You’re safe. Thank you for trusting me. I won’t leave you, Kieran. You’re not alone. I’m here.”

I whisper comfort through his first silent sob, his first hot tear, and through the tsunami that follows. I hold him until the storm fades. Until he falls asleep and until he wakes, stretching in my arms. Even then, it’s hard for me to let go. So hard, in fact, that he ends up having to carry me into the bathroom.

Setting me on my feet, he keeps a strong arm around my waist as he turns on the water in the giant soaker tub.

“I’m sorry,” I say helplessly, blinking through sudden, tearful exhaustion. “I should be taking care of you right now.”

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