Page 41 of Never Too Late

“Which is?”

Cillian’s sly grin said he knew full well that I was angling for more dirty talk, but that he was happy to provide it. “Deep and hard.”

I fingered myself harder, my muscles straining with the effort of holding the approaching orgasm back. “Yeah?”

Cillian’s hand sped up, the lube providing a satisfying squelching sound beneath his palm. “You like to be dominated.”

“I do,” I admitted, too horny to even think of denying it.

“You’re not happy if you don’t have a few bruises to show for it.”

I distinctly remembered a time or two when I’d admired the finger mark bruises on my hips from where Cillian had gripped me hard. His astute realization of how much I liked it surprised me, considering his lack of interest in other aspects of our relationship. “Yeah…”

“Can you feel me sliding over your prostate?”

I introduced another finger, the stretch catapulting me to another level

of sensation. “I can.”

“You’re going to come soon, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, external stimuli too much when all my focus was on the twin points of pleasure of cock and arse. It robbed me of the sight of Cillian stroking his cock—I should have pressed that record button—but there would be other times.

“I’m going to come too.”

And then there was no more talking, just gasps and groans as two men brought themselves to orgasm. When mine hit, it had all the hallmarks of delayed gratification and was far sharper and intense for it, cum splattering across my torso. Blood roared in my ears as I fought to slow my breathing. Had I called out? If so, I probably had about thirty seconds before Adeline Girard came hammering at my door, demanding to know what I was up to. With that in mind, I eased my fingers out of my arse and peeled my eyes open to find Cillian looking pleased with himself. I’d missed his orgasm, but the evidence of it was all over his chest.

He smiled when he saw me looking. “I don’t know whether to be pleased or jealous that you came harder than when we were together.”

“Not jealous,” I said croakily. “It was still down to you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

We stared at each other for a moment, both of us unable to keep the smiles off our faces. Cillian dropped his gaze to his chest. “We should probably clean up.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “If my legs still work.”

The next couple of minutes were spent in washing my hands and wiping, my reflection in the mirror above the sink looking happier than I’d seen it in a long time. “You are so fucked,” I said to it, “and I don’t just mean sexually. I hope you realize that. You’re just as in love with him as you ever were. Maybe even more.”

When my reflection had nothing to offer to the conversation, I turned away. I put a shirt on before returning to the computer, Cillian having done the same. “You probably need to go to bed,” I said as I sank back onto the seat. “I bet you have an early start.”

“I’d rather talk to you. Who needs sleep?”

“Every human being since the dawn of time.”

“Well, I’ll just have to be superhuman, then. Unless… you need to go to bed?”

I shook my head. If Cillian asked me to sit here all night, I probably would. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Death and taxes.”

I snorted. “Sounds fun.”

“No? Okay… You can tell me some more facts about the Eiffel Tower.”

“I think I might have run out.”

“Notre Dame, then… Or the catacombs.”

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