Page 188 of Ruthless Claim

The sound seems to spur Cillian on because he thrusts rougher into me, his hips smacking into mine.

His breath comes in huffs as he adjusts his grip on my hips and pounds deeper into me.

His lips crash against mine to devour my moan as release shudders through me, my walls clenching and squeezing him as he spills into me.

Cillian continues thrusting, his movements wild and unrestrained as we both come down from our high.

His hips finally slow before he buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breaths coming in pants.

I brush his hair off his sweaty forehead and kiss the top of his head.

“Bed?” I remark, my legs shaking.

“Bed,” he agrees.

We end up tangled together in the dark, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my shoulder.

His heartbeat is steady under my cheek.

The city hums outside.

I’m half asleep and warm all the way through for the first time in months.

“I was thinking,” I say sleepily.

A large arm sweeps up my arm. “Mmm. That’s dangerous.”

I pinch his side. He doesn’t flinch, which is annoying. “I was thinking we should go somewhere. Before the baby comes. Just the two of us, out of the city, somewhere that isn’t—” I gesture vaguely at the general concept of our life. “This.”

Cillian stops stroking my arm and I frown, pushing my arm toward him in a silent demand for him to keep going. He chuckles but resumes. “Like a babymoon?”

I lift my head and look at him, wrinkling my nose. “Don’t ever say that word again.”

“Why? That’s what it’s called.”

“Well, it’s a dumb word and I won’t have it.” I put my head back down. “I just think it would be good for us. To get out. Away from Connor and Leo and the investigation and all of it. Somewhere we can just—” I pause, searching for the right word. “Relax.”

Cillian is quiet for a moment, his fingers still blessedly moving on my skin. “Where would you want to go? Paris? Rome?”

“Ugh, no. I’ve been there too many times.” I wrinkle my nose.

Cillian’s chest rumbles with amusement. “Okay, so no big city. What about camping? We can go out west.”

Who the fuck does he think I am? “Me? Roughing it?” I am horrified. “Cillian, a Marriott hotel is roughing it for me. Do you really think I could handle sleeping in a tent and pissing and shitting in a hole in the ground?”

My husband snorts. “We’d be in a campground⁠—”

“Oh god,” I moan. “I’d have to use a communal bathroom?”

This time Cillian lets out a bark of laughter. “There’s that Santoro princess I know and love,” he teases and my heart leaps when he says and love. I’ll never get sick of it. “Fine. No camping. No Paris and Rome. Where do you want to go?”

I think about it, my hand on his bare stomach, tracing his abs and smiling slightly as he sucks in a breath. Someone’s ticklish. “Somewhere quiet and beautiful.” I pause. “Somewhere no one knows us.”

“So definitely not a staycation.”

“Definitely not.”

He presses his lips to the top of my head. “Okay. Let’s do it. I’ll talk to Connor, make sure there’s nothing urgent. We’ll go somewhere for a week, just us.”