⋆ Chapter 191

⋆ Chapter 191
“I lost an old friend. But you…” Cillian let his eyes fall fully on mine, dark and knowing and almost unbearably kind in a way that made my chest ache. “You lost your mate. That kind of grief… deserves room to breathe. I intended to give you that.”
I swallowed hard and looked down, feeling the sting of tears at the back of my throat.
“Fine,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice even. “Okay. You’ve delivered your message. Just… text me the details. We recovered everything from my apartment—including your damn phone. So you can message me there.”
But when I glanced up, he was still watching me. Still standing there. Then, very slowly, he moved closer. When he finally sat down on the edge of my bed, just in front of me, my breath caught in my chest.
“Leave me,” I said softly, though my voice wavered more than I’d intended.
But he didn’t move. He only spoke in that low, devastating way of his, almost like a confession.
“I wish I could take it from you… the pain,” he said, his hand lifting slightly as though to reach for me but stopping just short. His eyes softened, and soon tears from my eyes fell.
He closed the space between us then. His hands came to rest at my shoulders, firm yet unthreatening, and then he drew me in—into his chest, into the cool, quiet sanctuary of his presence. And I let him because, for the first time since Xavier’s death, I felt like I could finally breathe.
Immediately, the tears came harder. I clung to him without thinking, my fingers curling into the fine fabric of his jacket as if I might fall through the floor without something solid to hold on to.
“The pain, you wish to take it from me…” I choked on the words. “I can’t… please… take it. It’s too much. Too much to bear all the time. Please…”
I buried my face in his chest, the scent of him crowding my senses. My sobs tore out of me, louder than I meant. He wrapped his arms around me tighter, his hands smoothing over my back in long, slow strokes that somehow quieted the hysteria running through my veins.
“I am here,” he murmured, voice low and steady, like some dark promise. “You are not alone. You have me, Matilda.”
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but the longer his cool hands moved over my back, the more the edges of my grief dulled into something hot, insistent, and alive. I felt the shift in me like the tide turning, and before I knew what I was doing, I was climbing into his lap, my knees straddling him as I buried my face against his shoulder.
“Please,” I whispered again, though my voice was lower now, raspier. “Take it away now. Just for a little while… take it.”
His hands stilled briefly, as though even he was caught off guard, but then they tightened on my hips. His breath brushed warm against my ear.
“Matilda…” he murmured, almost a warning, almost a plea.
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
The heat rising between us burned through the numbness like nothing else had. It was the first thing I’d felt in weeks that wasn’t pain or grief, and I clung to it greedily.
I pulled back just enough to look at him. Our faces were too close, and when his eyes met mine, I swore they glinted like they could see right through me.
He reached up, his thumb brushing a tear from my cheek, then lingering there, his hand cradling my jaw.
I looked at him for a moment, then closed the distance and kissed him.
It was clumsy at first, desperate, and tear-salted, but he didn’t hesitate. His lips parted against mine, and suddenly the quiet grief in me ignited into hunger. 
His hands slid up my sides and into my hair as his mouth claimed mine fully, and the kiss deepened until I felt like he was devouring what little was left of me, and I welcomed it.
My fingers dug into his shoulders as I began to move on his lap, slowly at first, then more urgently, feeling the shape of him beneath me. His breath hitched against my mouth, and one of his hands gripped my hip hard enough that I felt the bite of his rings through the fabric of my pajamas.
“Matilda…” he murmured again, his voice rough this time, “tell me what you want. I’m yours.”
I moved again, pressing closer. His head fell back slightly, his eyes slipping shut as though he might lose what little control he still clung to.
“I want you to take it away,” I whispered against his throat, my voice shaking. “Please. Just… take it. Make it stop hurting, Cillian.”
I could feel the hard length of him beneath me, his erection straining against the confines of his trousers as I moved against him, chasing the heat that dulled the hollow ache in my chest.
“Cillian,” I breathed, my voice weighted with quiet command. “Take off your coat.”
His mouth curved faintly—not quite a smile, more an acknowledgment of the audacity I dared to wield over him. That familiar arrogance lingered in his eyes, dark and knowing, yet he obeyed without hesitation.
“As you wish,” he murmured. With a shrug, the heavy coat slipped from his shoulders, pooling carelessly on the floor.
I leaned in, my lips grazing the sharp line of his jaw. “Move to the center of the bed,” I ordered again, testing the power thrumming between us.
He inclined his head as though humoring me before shifting backward with effortless grace. The mattress dipped beneath him as he reclined there, waiting—his posture regal and composed, like a king granting his conqueror her moment.
I crawled toward him. My fingers found the buttons of his shirt and worked them free, one by one, my lips chasing the trail of skin revealed beneath. I pressed my mouth to the hollow of his throat, then lower, letting my kisses map the pale, flawless planes of his chest.
Cillian shrugged off his shirt and let it fall behind him. He drew in a slow breath, like he was tasting the weight of my plea. His hands were hovering just above the bed as though he warred with himself not to seize me.
“You command me so boldly, my darling. It seems,” he said, a faint glimmer of amusement at the corner of his mouth, “I am entirely at your mercy. So tell me, what would you have of me next?”
I didn’t bother answering. Words felt too small for what I wanted now.
Instead, my hands moved lower, finding the clasp of his trousers and undoing it with deft fingers, my knuckles brushing against the rigid heat beneath. He lifted his hips in one graceful motion, allowing me to slide the fabric down and away, the discarded trousers joining his coat on the floor.
I paused then, drinking in the sight of him—lean, sculpted, a creature of timeless beauty laid bare, yet beneath me, entirely mine to command.