Page 62 of While You Sleep

He stared down at it.

“Stew, colcannon.” I slid the bread board over. “And brown bread. I thought you might like a taste of home. I hope it’s okay? I wasn’t sure what to cook. I looked it up online,” I said and chuckled, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

He looked up at me. “My ma didn’t cook, and we lived on chips and curry sauce when we lived with Seamus’s sister.” He looked back down. “No one but my nan ever cooked for me like this.”

His grandmother was the last person to cook for him? “Is she still in Ireland?”

“She died when I was ten,” he said and picked up his fork.

I felt my lips tremble. “What did you eat when you were at your father’s?”

He forked stew into his mouth and made a low sound. “I was fifteen, they put me and Dec in the basement. I cooked for us.” He looked up at me. “This is amazing.”

“The basement?”

He looked up again, the horror in my voice making him pause.

“It was fine. It had a kitchenette and a bathroom. I cooked for me and Dec every night. That’s probably why I don’t like cooking now.”

“What about on your birthday?”

He frowned. “What about it?”

I shook my head, trying to fight back my emotions. Seamus was a fucking monster. “Try the bread,” I said to distract him from looking at me. I didn’t want him to see how furious I was on his behalf, how close to angry tears I was.

He sat there, shirtless, beautiful, eating like he’d never eaten before. Seeing him like that, it satisfied something inside me. I wanted to take care of him, please him, give him the things he’d missed out on. When he finished, he sat back and stared at me across the table.

“That’s just about the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” he said, and those gorgeous, terrifying eyes weren’t cold, they were bright, hot.

“Just about?” I said, and it came out breathlessly.

“Nothing beats the taste of my wife,” he said.

I had to bite my lips as I walked around the table. “Come on, I’ll clean this up in the morning.”

“Where are we going?” he asked, and there was actual amusement in his voice.

“We’re going to shower, then we’re going to bed.”

He said nothing else as I took his hand and headed upstairs. He let me lead him to the bathroom and watched as I stripped off and turned on the water. He kicked off his shoes and socks, then his pants. He was hard, so incredibly hard.

There was a slice in his arm that I hadn’t seen before.

He followed my gaze. “It’s nothing.”

I got in the shower and he followed, crowding in behind me. I turned, and he stepped back into the spray when I pushed against his chest. For now, he was letting me lead, but the way his fingers flicked at his sides, the way his chest rose and fell faster, the hunger in his eyes deepening, told me he was close to the edge. Cillian liked control, and he was humoring me now, but not for much longer.

I scrubbed him clean, working my way across his muscled body, soaping him up, and rinsing him off. He watched me avidly, like the predator he was, waiting to see what I’d do next. My pussy was hot and aching. I was so wet, but I didn’t drop to my knees like I wanted to, no, I turned off the shower and got out. Cillian released a shaky breath but did the same, still letting me lead, still choosing to follow. The cut on his arm was bleeding again, and I took a Band-Aid from my cosmetics bag, tore off the wrapper, then took his arm, dried it, and covered the cut.

He looked down at it, then up at me, and his lips curled, flashing his teeth. “Race cars?”

“I bought them for Tommy,” I said.

He nodded. “You’ve fed me, cleaned me, tended my wounds.” He took my jaw in his hand, his thumb pressing against my lower lip, and my tongue darted out on its own, touching the tip. He made the same rough, appreciative sound he made while he ate his dinner, then pressed his face into the crook of my neck and up to my ear. “You gonna let your husband take care of you now, my wee fairy princess?” Then he gripped my towel and tugged, and it dropped to the floor.

Cool air hit my nipples and they grew even tighter. “What if I haven’t finished taking care of you?”

“I’m all yours,” he rasped.

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