Page 93 of Twilight of Embers
Unease flitted through me. “What does that look like?”
Cillian’s hand dropped from my neck, and I missed it instantly. He leaned to the side, opening one of the drawers on his nightstand. He lifted something, extending it to me.
The black rope was perfectly coiled and tied. I reached out, running my fingers over the fibers. It was smooth as silk but somehow still held an ominous promise.
My gaze lifted to Cillian’s face. His eyes were hooded now.
“Just watching you touch that rope has me hard as a rock,” he growled.
I bit my bottom lip, heat pulsing low. “And you what? Want to tie me up or something?”
Green sparks danced across his eyes. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Cillian’s jaw tightened. “I need to feel in control. I crave your total and complete trust. Giving yourself to me to do whatever I want with you.”
I studied his beautiful face, not missing the scattering of faint scars that dotted it. And I knew there was a story behind his need. A story he wasn’t quite ready to give me. But if neither of us took the first step, we’d never make any real progress. And despite everything that had happened, I wanted that progress with Cillian, with all of them.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Cillian’s eyes flared. “Okay?”
I nodded.
“Little Flame…”
I lifted a finger to his lips. “Trust me to know myself. To know what I want. And what I need.”
And right now, I needed Cillian. I needed to lose myself in him.
His jaw hardened to granite as if it were taking everything in him not to pounce. “You need to know your safe words.”
I frowned. “Safe words?”
Cillian jerked his head in a nod. “Yellow means you’re approaching a limit of what you can handle. Red means everything stops.”
My stomach dipped and rolled. Would I need Cillian to stop?
“What slows us?” he pressed.
“Yellow,” I whispered.
“What stops?”
“Red.”
Cillian stroked my cheek. “Good girl.”
More heat pooled, wetness gathering between my thighs, and he’d barely touched me.
My tongue darted out to wet my suddenly dry lips. Cillian’s gaze zeroed in on the action.
“Step back,” he ordered.
I swallowed and did as he instructed. But I hated the loss of him, his heat, his touch.
Cillian ghosted his thumb across his bottom lip. “Strip.”
