Chapter 30 Ticking Clock

Chapter 30 Ticking Clock
Rinoa /Sloane

“One more night in London, and I miss you, wife.”

I shivered at his touch, “Cillian, I told you I don’t want make-up sex.” 

He traced my face gently with his fingers, “It’s not, let me make love to my wife, on our honeymoon.” 

“Fake honeymoon.” I reminded him, biting my lips. 

“There was nothing fake about my feelings. I won't make promises I couldn't keep anymore; I'd rather show you.” 

One last try. Rinoa. 

If Cillian King Montgomery hurts you, 

You’ll walk away and never look back, and you endured so much for him, your last chance to find your inner strength to save yourself from ruin if Cillian sets you aside again. 

We were moving too fast, and my back hit the wall. Boxed in by his much larger frame, I grabbed onto him, fisting my hand in his wavy hair and clinging to his toned shoulder. He growled into my mouth, and instantly, the clothes between us were too much. 

I wanted nothing to hide his skin, nothing to cover him from me. I wanted to touch and lick and taste every bit of him. 

He threw me on the sheets the next time I knew. In a shift, he took his shirt off, and in the dim light of the room, I marveled at the view. His chest was chiseled as if sculpted by God Himself, toned, ripped muscles beneath smooth, golden skin with a trail of Cillian hair disappearing into his jeans. His eight-pack winked at me, begging for a touch, and my mouth filled with hungry saliva; it took all my willpower not to drool like a woman so in love with him. 

Thus, his stunning body was on me, pressing me to the mattress, and I was covered in hot, warm flesh. I wanted to prey on like a lioness. His mouth was on mine, and for a moment of clarity, I found that he tasted of male in his prime, hot and tasty, and his scent brought me to heaven. 

The moment of translucency was gone as fast as it came, though, and then I was aware of myself pushing my top up and off my body and then yanking my skirt. He helped me slide them off, as well as my shoes, and then he unbuttoned and unzipped his own jeans and pushed them away in one quick maneuver, along with his boxers, too. 

This extra-large manhood of his, the only thing that separated our bodies was my bra and panties, which he got rid of a second later. His hands were cupping my generous breast, and my mouth was devouring him again. 

His lips left mine, and his blue eyes illuminated in the dimness as they locked on my own for a moment. He started trailing kisses down to my jaw, chin, and neck, where I moaned since this place was quite sensitive. There he suckled on my skin, leaving a hickey no doubt, and continued down to the valley of my chest, where he buried his face, taking a long, deep breath in as if savoring the scent of me. Before I knew it, he was between my legs, pushing my thighs apart with his oh-so-strong arms, and he was giving me a languorous lick that made my eyes roll. He lost patience then mercilessly sucked and nipped my femininity, even pushed his tongue into my entrance, and I almost lost it; my body violently thrashed at the tight knots that manifested in my abdomen, and when he pushed a finger inside, I screamed, orgasm exploding from my inside out. 

I didn't know if it was because I was finally having my eternal dry spell nullified or if it was a secret talent of his. 

Cillian tasted me, and when he finished, rose sliding like a python, backup and kissing open-mouthed, the aftermath of shocking orgasm still rocking my body and only intensifying 

when I felt his rigid erection probing against my inner thigh. 

An excited moan left my mouth, and it seemed to make sense to him. He suddenly broke away from my lips and stared down at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes of his. 

"Tell me how much you miss me, Flower."  He whispered with his seductive, low tone.

I stared at him, oozing with desire, wanting him to make me his.  

"Cillian..." I murmured. He tensed, making his muscles much more evident and way more richly toned than before. It made my mouth water all over again.

"Shh, you don't need to say anything anymore."

Incapable of speaking more, I dazedly nodded. He agreed that maybe I was hungry for him too; after all, the next thing I knew, he was gripping my thighs and roughly, almost viciously thrusting inside of me, balls deep. I screamed with the sudden contentment that he awakened in me. 

"Don't stop," I pleaded. Cillian is not someone to disappoint. The next thing he was pumping in and out of me with sharp, rough strokes that made me feel even more pleasure. 

I dangled onto his shoulders, crushing my torso to his, and held on for the wild ride. 

Shortly enough, we are both in heaven, the pleasure that made me moan so loud it was a wonder that we couldn't stop. 

Cillian's hands were grabbing my breast almost hard, and the other braced on the bed to my side as he drove in and out so fast it was a wonder he didn't get cramps. 

My husband screamed stamina and endurance through and through.

We changed position; he was sitting, and I was perched on him, and he was driving up and down, doing all the work, while I was wrapped around him like ivy.

He lay his face in my neck, his teeth closing on my skin as he penetrated faster and faster, making my tiny, wet inner muscles clench on his big, heavy shaft. 

His next growl made me shudder as I felt it tremble through his chest, and I moaned when my abdomen went tight-knotted again. I was about to come again, and I couldn't wait. 

"Cillian!" I cried out sharply as I finally orgasmed, the ecstasy ripping me in two and making me see pretty stars. Spasming, 

I felt him tense, and then he drove one last time so deep until I swear I felt the head of his manhood kissing my womb. He shuddered as he emptied himself inside me. 

We were both breathing heavily when he pulled away from my neck and looked at me with astonishment in his eyes. Still buried deep inside me, he planted his lips on mine and kissed me slowly, seductively, and I literally wilted. 

Ultimately, he pulled out, and we both lay on his king-sized bed, trying to catch our breath. I felt tired.  

“You’re good at this.” He said, tucking my hair in my ears. 

“Hmm, good at what?” 

“Making babies.” He teased, spooning me. 

“And thank you for trusting me again.” 

He sounded sincere, but actions speak louder than words. 

Our clock was ticking, and he only got one last chance left, and it’s up to him whether I live.