Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“Won’t Maxwell worry?”
“…after I told him why I didn’t come home the other night, he didn’t want to know. Ever. Ever again.”
A slow smile exposed Brendan’s teeth in a flash of smooth white. “Monster.”
“That’s the thing you don’t realize, Brendan Lau.” Cillian draped himself against Brendan’s chest, and pressed a fingertip to his nose. “I’m not your victim. You’re mine.”
Brendan nipped Cillian’s fingertip. “I’d believe that. You’re definitely changing a few ideas I had about myself and sex.”
Cillian faltered. “Are you comfortable with that?”
“Mm.”
Not a yes, not a no, not helpful.
“Brendan.” Cillian pushed down his own uncertainty and brushed his fingers to Brendan’s cheek. “It’s okay. I…look, I’m not some kind of guru on this, but…” He traced the starkly defined lines of Brendan’s temples. “I know it’s not just about me feeling safe. It’s about you, too. Feeling safe letting go like that, and being that person for someone else.” He smiled faintly. “You don’t have to be Mr. Man about it. It’s okay to be a little unsteady.”
“I’m just…” The words came out grudgingly, stubbornly, through gritted teeth. “I think, for me…that kind of thing takes trust. To let myself go like that with you.”
Cillian bit his lip. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”
Dark brown eyes caught him. Brendan touched his chin, traced his lower lip, pressed down with his thumb where Cillian bit until Cillian let go, the tingle of the indented flesh plumping again leaving him aching for a kiss; for the taste of Brendan’s skin.
“I’m saying that I’m starting to,” Brendan whispered, and leaned in close to seal their mouths in a kiss that felt like…
More.
When Cillian was afraid to think of what more could be.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IF CILLIAN DIDN’T PUT OLIVER Newcomb through a wall, Brendan just might.
Because if he heard “Tell!” echoing over the set one more time, grinding everything to a halt and leaving the entire cast and crew waiting for Newcomb to finish with his next round of harassment disguised as professional advice…
Caution be damned.
He was getting a little sick of Newcomb crawling all over Cillian for every little thing—and knowing damned well that as long as he made it part of performance direction, there was nothing Brendan could do. Nothing but stand close to Cillian while Cillian clenched his fists and took it in grit-toothed silence; nothing but pull Cillian into private areas of backstage to let the other man hide against him for long moments, silent and leaning into each other until Cillian’s furious shaking quieted.
Nothing but let Cillian in when he came by every night over the past few weeks and asked Brendan to kiss him, touch him, until neither of them were thinking very much at all anymore.
But that leash Cillian had on his silence was fraying rather obviously thin—and thinner by the day as Cillian grew more listless, grayer, brightening only for his lines and then withdrawing into silence, keeping close to Brendan and Sophie but speaking to few other people.
It ate at Brendan. This was emotional abuse, no fucking other thing to label it, happening in plain sight and with people’s hands tied. And now that he could see how vibrant Cillian was when he felt safe, relaxed…
It created an odd disquiet inside him, to watch him lose his luster day by day.
And to be able to do nothing about it except be a warm body to distract him with pleasure.
Why do you even want to do more?
He pushed the thought aside, ground it to dust between his clenching teeth as Newcomb interrupted the last shoot of the day with another call of, “Tell!”
For fuck’s sake.
They didn’t have time for more reshoots right now, when they had a narrow scheduled window at the rented castle and would have to depart soon. They could reshoot after. What mattered now was getting through as much as possible, not nitpicking over every imaginary offense Newcomb could find to take Cillian to task.
In the center of a nearly-finished set piece depicting a moonlit glade, Cillian froze, flinching as if he’d been struck and turning away from Sophie, whose face pinched in tired, worried displeasure as she watched him. Slowly Cillian turned, glaring at the ground rather than at Newcomb.
“What.”
His anger was a tangible thing, and every time this happened that invisible substance around Cillian swelled to take up more space.
Brendan didn’t want to think about the pain that would backlash on Cillian if he snapped.
“You still aren’t standing where you’re supposed to,” Newcomb sneered. “You’re blocking off Miss Ling from camera B.”
Cillian worked his jaw and grit out, “I’m standing exactly where the tape marks are. The camera crew isn’t complaining.”
“Is the camera crew running this production? You—”
Newcomb cut off as Brendan stepped forward. He couldn’t fucking take it anymore, and he crossed to Cillian’s side, simply standing with him. For him. Resting one hand to the small of his back, just to remind him he wasn’t alone.