Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Cillian jerked away from the touch again. “Then what I do in my private life isn’t yours.”
He knew Brendan was right. He knew.
This sick feeling of disappointment in the pit of his stomach was his own fault.
Maybe he wasn’t getting over it as well as he thought he was, though, when this shouldn’t be upsetting him so much. Then again, he’d tried to vent off some steam, and look what happened—
“You want to tell me,” Brendan said.
Cillian dragged his head up, staring at the man watching him with such completely unshakeable confidence. “What? I most certainly do not—”
“You want to tell me because you’re keeping something a secret,” Brendan murmured. Brown eyes slid over Cillian’s face as if reading every word of him with a tactile gaze that traced every tiny dark clandestine thing that belonged to him and him alone. “And there’s a part of you that wants that secret known. Accepted. You aren’t protecting your secrets out of fear of anyone who hurt you.” Brendan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re protecting yourself from fear of rejection.”
“How—I—” Cillian spluttered. The burn in his face hurt more than the bruises, searing his skin; he stared. Had…had Brendan noticed the way Cillian’s breaths cut short, the way he’d melted to that controlling hand on the back of his neck? “How the fuck would you know that?”
“Wouldn’t an actor do everything in his power to understand the unspoken signals and motivators that drive people? That speak when they don’t speak.” Brendan crooked a finger at him, the alcohol wipe dangling, waiting: come here. “You should know that. You exemplified it in The Sound of Glass.”
Cillian’s embarrassment bloomed into something else—confused, startled, mortified, but there was something warm there, too, sparking and hopeful.
“You…you watched my film…?” he straggled out—and didn’t resist, this time, as Brendan caught his chin and drew him in again to wipe at the makeup.
“I did.” Brendan said it the same calm, assured way he said everything else, as if his confidence could simply make the words he said a given. “I was curious about the man who stole this role from me.”
Cillian’s heart fluctuated. “I—I didn’t mean to steal—”
He wasn’t expecting those brown eyes to lock eye to eye, then, fixing on him, lancing through him.
Nor was he expecting Brendan’s small smile—so different from the debonair, arrogant smiles on the red carpet, a small and tired thing and yet something that felt a little more real than the swagger and the cocky little tilts of his head.
“You were better qualified, and the right age range for what this role required.” Rough fingers firmed on Cillian’s chin. “Stop fidgeting.”
As if he could. Cillian curled his hands restlessly against his thighs, fingers clenching. “Did…you like it? The Sound of Glass.”
“It was rather absorbing,” Brendan answered neutrally.
“That…that could be taken either way.”
“So take it how you want to take it,” Brendan said, and,
“I like noncon roleplay,” Cillian blurted.
Then closed his eyes, wincing—and not because Brendan was still dabbing his face, hitting a bruise enough to make a starburst of pain explode in Cillian’s jaw. The pain nearly shocked his head clear; what—why was he—
Oh god, was he going all puppy love right now just because a man he idolized was taking care of him and…and…
…and had maybe been right.
That Cillian wanted someone to…to know, to accept him.
But did he have to take a risk on that someone being Brendan Lau?
Brendan hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t stopped wiping at Cillian’s face, either, so at least he hadn’t recoiled in disgust—but the silence made Cillian’s gut quake. He cracked one eye open, bracing himself for the look of disdain, condemnation, confusion.
But Brendan’s expression hadn’t shifted, focused in intense concentration on his hands—though when Cillian peeked, that dark gaze flicked to him again, brows lifting.
“Carry on. So that’s how this happened?”
“I…yeah,” Cillian said tentatively, lips just a little numb. “I…I met up with a hookup off Grindr last night. We talked about safe words and limits, and I told him not to get rough with my face or go too far with the bruising.” He started to bite his lip—then winced as he hit the split, recoiling from the metallic flavor, the sting. “He got a little…carried away anyway. I didn’t realize until it was too late, and even after I said my safe word he was a little too rough.”
“I’m going to have to make yelling at assholes a hobby, it seems,” Brendan muttered, dropping the third wipe and pulling back to dig inside the first aid kit. “You left, then? He doesn’t have any other way to contact you?”
“None. He didn’t try to stop me or get violent after that, he was actually pretty embarrassed, I…” He swallowed, throat tight. “…I just…I had wanted it to be my choice, last night. So I’d…forget.”
“He must have frightened you. Made it worse.”