THIRTEEN
Reese
Have you ever had a day that was so amazing, so full of all the best things, that it trumped literally every book you have ever read put together?
Don't feel bad if you haven't.
I hadn't either until I got to have a full day of Cyrus treating me to all the things that I loved most. Books, authors, swag, food, toe-tingling kisses, and, well, him.
Yes.
I was going to go ahead and say it.
Maybe it was still in the beginning stages.
Maybe it was just a flicker of something, still younger than noon.
But it was there.
There was no denying it, even if I wanted to. And, why would I ever want to?
I was falling for him.
Slowly, but quickly, somehow at the same time.
I guess it worked that way when you were in friend-love with someone first.
I had weeks of being near him to like his humor, his easy smile, his sparks of wisdom, his passion for music, his loyalty to his brotherhood and family, his sweetness. I got to know all his preferences, all his pet peeves.
So, really, now that we were more than friends, there wasn't that much to learn, wasn't much more to fall in love with. Except maybe how good he was to me.
And he was good.
Exceptional.
Incredible.
I bet the rate of divorce in the world would plummet if couples surprised their significant other with a day full of everything that would make them smile, even if it wasn't their cup of tea. It showed just how much you meant to someone to be that selfless, to be that giving, that thoughtful.
Books weren't Cy's thing.
I was sure that, some day, when I found the right book for him - and that was my mission in life - he would get all kinds of wrapped up in fiction as well, but that wasn't his current reality. And yet he stood in signing lines with me. He listened to me as I met bloggers I had been virtual friends with for years, but never met, but was blown away with how awesome they were in real life as well. He pulled that naked, sexy man cart around like it didn't bother him in the least. He didn't so much as sigh when I said for the umpteenth time "just one more thing" when, in fact, we both knew it wasn't going to be just one more thing. Even after being there the whole day, he listened to me speed-babble for the walk back to the hotel. All forty-minutes of it. And he wasn't just daydreaming and pretending to listen either; he was engaging, and asking me questions, and offering opinions as well.
In short, he was being the absolute, ideal, perfect leading man.
Oh yeah.
I said it.
Move over all my book boyfriends; there is a real life man who blows you all out of the water.
If you had asked me a few weeks ago if that was possible, I would have laughed.
But it was possible.
It was happening.
To me.
Of all people.
I was afraid if I thought about it too much, it was going to make it all somehow go away.
So I didn't think. I felt. I smelled. I saw. I heard. I tasted.
We got back to the hotel sometime around early evening, Cyrus putting my bags on his bed so I could sort through everything while he ran out to grab food. By the time he got back, I had things stacked into categories, and organized by whether they were signed copies or not. All my bookmarks were stabbed inside the front covers for safekeeping. My mugs, keychains, pens, and a few tees were all in another pile. All of them, though, were still on his bed. Because, while I wasn't sure I could force the words out to his face, I wanted him to know that he was sleeping with me again.
Maybe more than sleeping.
Almost definitely more than sleeping.
At least, if I had anything to say about it.
"Since you were too distracted to tell me what you wanted to eat," he announced as he came in, "I got a little bit of everything." He had, too. His hands were full of various take-away bags, and I could hear the awful scratching noise of multiple styrofoam containers rubbing against one another. "We have Chinese, tacos, burgers, and fries."
I was pretty sure more beautiful words had never been spoken.
"This time, you pick the movie," he announced, walking over to the bed to take things out of the bags, opening the tops, and filling the room with far too much goodness to even go about describing. If there was a heaven, I was pretty sure it would smell like all your favorite foods, together, at once. At least, that was what I hoped.
"I picked everything all day," I immediately objected.
"And now you're picking the movie. Be good, or you don't get to get the surprise I got for you while you were away in your panel thing," he teased, immediately making me turn.
"Surprise?"
"After we eat," he said with one of his big smiles as he moved to sit up on the bed, tossing a set of disposable utensils at me. "Pick your movie."
With a surprise on the line, I surely did.
And he had to sit through what, in my opinion, was a truly under-rated book-themed movie. It was a little ditty starring Will Ferrell, Emma Thompson, and Maggie Gyllenhaal called Stranger Than Fiction.
"He brought her flours!" I declared as the credits rolled. "Flours. Because she's a baker. It's the cutest thing ever."
"Alright, that was pretty fucking cute," he agreed, giving me a smirk as he folded up to close the tops of the food that was mostly eaten. He moved to store the rest in the mini fridge that was actually located in the TV cabinet, and I totally didn't know existed until he pulled it open to do so. "So, are you ready for your surprise?"
"I dunno. Am I ready for the two new J.K. Rowling books that she just announced?"
He smiled at that too. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Take it as a heck yes," I shot back.
He went into a dresser drawer with his back to me, turning to face me, holding up a t-shirt I hadn't seen at the merch stands.
Likely, because, on closer inspection, it was personalized.
And it was just so perfect.
All white, except the front was an old-school library card insert from a book. That wasn't the crazy part though.
No.
The crazy part was that under the borrower's name category, there were the signatures of a bunch of my favorite authors. Under the date due spots, were the dates when their first books were published. And at the top was my name.
Alright.
So maybe my eyes glistened a little.
Fine.
A lot.
Possibly, a few of them actually spilled over to trail down my cheeks, which actually made Cy smile.
"Guess I did good, huh?"
Most of my life, I was careful, always thinking things through, always a bit standoffish.
But there were rare occasions when there was no holding back the feelings and urges that were threatening to tear me apart if I didn't let them out.
This was one of those times.
I shot off the bed, arms going up around his neck, pulling him down, and kissing him with absolutely everything within me.
He'd almost seemed taken aback at first, stiffening, lips a bit pliant. But it was just for a second before one of his arms went around my lower back, pulling me flush to him. The other went to the back of my neck, holding on.
He turned suddenly, slamming me back against the wall as his tongue moved in to claim mine. His hands went up, grabbing my wrists, then pinning them back against the wall as his lips pulled from mine to trail down my cheek, jaw, ear, neck. Even as a shiver coursed through me at the feel of his tongue tracing the column of my neck, his mouth was back on mine, harder, more demanding, borderline bruising.
It was so different from what he had given me before - softness, patience, sweetness. And while those were great as well, this was scorching, making my body arch, making my arms fight their imprisonment, wanting to run my hands over him, wanting to pull his hips to mine, to feel his hardness were I needed it most.
After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally released them as his hands moved down to slide up under the material of my tee, his calloused skin moving over my soft belly, sending off shocks over the surface of my skin. Then stopped just under the band of my bra, his hands spanning my ribcage as his teeth nipped my lower lip.
And as the moan escaped my lips, his hands closed over my breasts, squeezing almost to the point of pain before moving upward, impatiently grabbing the tops of the cups, and ripping them downward to expose my skin to his greedy touch.
My inward gasp of breath seemed to penetrate the crazed fog that was overtaking him, making his lips pull from mine, his heavy-lidded eyes opening to watch me as his palms moved upward to gently cup my breasts. It had been so long, the sensation almost felt foreign, like the first time.
His thumbs moved out to stroke across the hardened peaks before his fingers took them and did delicious rolls that made my legs almost go weak from the brilliant surge of desire. My arms went around his shoulders, more to make sure I didn't fall down with the pulsing need between my thighs as his hands left my breasts to move to pull my shirt up, making my arms leave his neck to go straight above my head.
"Fuck," he hissed as his hands moved to trace the band of my bra toward the back, his eyes fixated on my breasts that felt heavy all of a sudden. His fingers moved out to tease over the sensitive skin, making shivers course across it.
At this point, my mind and body were at odds.
My body had preferred the hard, fast, demanding, had known that it would bring me to orgasm faster.
But my mind was enjoying the slow and sweet, finding something almost akin to worship in his touch.
His fingers moved upward, tracing under my clavicles, then over my shoulders, and down my arms, moving inward over my hips to where the waistband of my pants was. And I swear, his eyes asked for permission. My shaky breath was all the answer he needed before he started working the soft, tight material down, going down on his knees as he did so, lips pressing into the skin as it became exposed - under my hipbone, under the bottom of my panty line, down the center of my thigh, the side of my knee, the bone that ran down the front of my leg. He lifted each foot, releasing it from the leggings, before kissing his way up the other leg. But he didn't stop at my hip. He went up the center of my belly, his beard scratching and tickling in a delicious way. His lips pressed between my breasts. Then, before I could even fully anticipate it, his lips closed around one of my nipples, sucking it hard, then lavishing over it with his tongue until my whimpers became somewhat incoherent begging as he moved across my chest to torture my other nipple.
"Bed," he mumbled as his lips moved up the column of my neck. His hands moved to my hips, gripping slightly into my butt, as he dug in and pulled up, forcing my legs around his hips as he lifted me, and brought me toward the bed, lying flat, and pulling me on top of him.
My hips dropped to feel his cock, straining hard against the thick material of his jeans, making my body do an instinctive grind against him to try to sate the borderline painful need for release.
His hand closed around the back of my neck, pulling my lips to his again, releasing me a moment later so his hands could freely trace down my back, sides, then, finally, over my ass where they slipped under the material to squeeze the swells without a barrier, his fingertips touching the innermost backs of my thighs, so so close to where I needed to feel him so badly.
As if sensing the desperation, his arm anchored around my hips, then rolled, coming over me completely. He pressed back and up on his knees, reaching between us to snag the last small, pink lacy barrier, and starting to drag it downward, losing patience less than halfway down when he grabbed it, pulled, and ripped it off.
My hand slapped down on his thigh in a mix of surprise and need. But then his hands were under my knees, pulling them up, then pressing them open against the mattress as he dropped down, and sucked my clit into his mouth.
The.
World.
Went.
White.
I was pretty sure other hotel room guests within three floors heard my cry as Cyrus devoured me, tongue moving in circles, lips sucking, hands kneading my inner thighs as he made that rumbling noise of his deep in his chest as he ate me, like it was the single most delicious thing he had ever tasted.
My hand slapped down on the back of his neck as his head shifted, tongue sliding down my slit, beard burning across my inner thighs, tickling over my sensitive flesh in a way I never knew before. His tongue curled, then penetrated, a incredible, unknown sensation as he started thrusting, his thumb moving up to work my clit at the same time.
It was a matter of a few, short minutes before my inner thighs started shaking, before my sex tightened, before my breath caught, and the orgasm crashed through my system.
Cy kept working me, wave after wave, dragging it out, intensifying it.
Then, finally, when my body slackened, he kissed the triangle above my sex, and moved to sit back on his heels, looking down at me with hungry eyes as he reached up to pull off his shirt.
It was impossible, truly, to get turned back on as quickly as I did. But there was no denying it as my eyes raked over his chest, his abs, the adonis belt muscles that disappeared into his jeans, the small trail of hair that did the same. His hands came into view, working the button and zip before he was scooting back off the bed, letting his pants drop.
There was, ah, no hiding his cock - hard, long, straining against his black boxer briefs, making me need to press my thighs together as a pulsation started again, a deep, primal urge for fulfillment.
"Reese," Cy's voice called somehow softly, but full of the grit that was male desire. My eyes drifted a bit guiltily back up, realizing I had been staring, and also that I was just laying there all exposed myself, then self-consciously folding up so that my arms were around my knees.
"Yeah?" I asked, seeing the molten desire in his eyes, feeling a similar fire inside me growing by the moment.
He moved around the side of the bed, reaching out to run his fingers down my arm. "This too fast?" he asked after a long moment.
Too fast?
Warp speed wouldn't be fast enough to put an end to the desire that was threatening to burn me up from the inside out.
But I had no words - at least, no words that I could force my brain and tongue to work in unison to bring forth.
Instead, I released my legs, scooting toward the edge of the mattress, spreading them around the sides of his body, as my hands moved up to run down his abs, fascinated by the way they seemed to tense under my touch. I snagged the material of his boxer briefs, pulling them down, my belly tightening a bit in a mix of anticipation and maybe the tiniest twinge of uncertainty.
It had been so long since I had gone down on a man.
And, well, it had never been a man with the kind of experience Cyrus had.
Enthusiasm trumps expertise.
I read that in an online poll about oral sex once.
I was choosing to take those words to heart.
Because as his cock was exposed - hard, thick, long, and straining, as my sex clenched painfully with the idea of him buried deep inside - well, there wasn't a woman on Earth more enthusiastic than me right then.
"Ree, you don't have..."
Have to?
No.
But, for maybe the first time ever, I truly wanted to. Not out of obligation; not out of the desire for reciprocation; not because it was simply what was done.
No.
This was different.
Every bit of me was anticipating it as I curled my hand around his hard length, taking in the hot, oddly soft skin as I stroked it to the hilt, then leaned forward to run my tongue over the head, lapping up the silky bead of precum already waiting.
If there was any trace of lingering doubt in me, it disappeared as a shudder wracked its way through Cy's body at the contact.
My mouth opened, taking in the head as my tongue continued to work it for a moment, before sucking him deep, getting a thrill at the outward hiss of his breath as his hand landed at the back of my neck.
That was all the encouragement I needed.
My mouth and hand worked him enthusiastically, relentlessly, as my free hand moved down to stroke over his balls, feeling him getting harder still inside my mouth as I sucked him, wanting to give him at least an ounce of the pleasure he had given me.
But before I could do that, his hand was pulling at my hair, dragging me backward until his cock was no longer in my mouth, a realization that was met with a small grumble from me.
"Another time," he promised, his finger stroking down my cheek. "But right now, angel, I need to be inside you."
As if remembering its own desires, my sex started pulsing with that need as well.
So when he scooted my hips back so he could climb up as well, I moved all the way back, laying flat as his body came over mine. His lips claimed mine as his hand reached into the nightstand that separated both beds, shuffling a bit before coming back with a telltale crinkle, making me realize he had found time to stash those there for convenience in case of this inevitability.
Forethought shouldn't have been sexy, but in that moment, as my legs spread around his hips and he pushed back to slide the condom on to protect us, it totally, totally was.
He paused, fingers tracing my thighs, before he lowered himself back down, settling between my welcoming legs as his lips took mine again, soft, unhurried, deep, full of meaning, like he somehow realized this moment was significant.
And, to me, it absolutely was.
His hips shifted, and his cock pressed against my slit, the head brushing over my clit, making my legs tighten around him as I whimpered against his mouth.
The sound had him pressing up, balancing on an arm as he reached between us to press his cock against my entrance, pausing there as he rested his other hand down to hold his weight.
His eyes held mine, the intensity in them almost unsettling, as he slowly inched his way inside me.
The slight ache of stretching after so long was drowned almost instantly under the unbearable feeling of rightness as his cock buried to the hilt, claiming every inch of me.
I blinked hard, fighting back a wholly unsexy stinging in my eyes, hinting at tears that would likely ruin the moment as my arms went around him, as my legs folded over his lower back.
He pulled back then, pressing forward with an unhurried, but somehow still forceful stroke, making my hips rise up to meet him, then pressing down as he was inside me and withdrawing again, feeling his cock scrape over my top wall, making a shudder course through me, making my muscles clench around his cock.
And that, somehow, was his breaking point, was the encouragement he needed to be able to go back on his plans for it to be slow, and sweet, and gentle all the way through.
His pace stayed unhurried, but the force with which he fucked me was enough that both our bodies slid upward on the bed an inch with every thrust until my head was slamming back against the headboard. That was only a vague realization though as my hands clawed down his back, my lips bruised back into his as hard as his did to mine, as every inch of me was poised for the clawing need inside to explode with a surge of something that somehow felt different than anything I had experienced before.
But before I could even fully rationalize that thought, his cock pressed in deep, and the orgasm slammed through me with an intensity that made a moan - or cry - or scream - completely impossible for a long minute, the pulsations deep and slow at first. Then, when I did find my voice again, I cried out his name as the second set of waves moved through me faster, more insistent.
"Fuck yeah," Cy growled as he thrust through it, his own body getting tense as he held off his own climax, only finding it at the very tail-end of mine, buried deep as he came, growling out my name into my neck as he did.
It was a good full three or four minutes before my brain seemed capable of any thought after that, my limbs aching from still holding on so hard. I slowly released my legs, my inner thighs screaming a bit at the movement, as I turned my head inward to press a kiss into the column of his throat.
Maybe I was a silly, sentimental romance reader.
Maybe it was my own fanciful thoughts.
Maybe it was the endorphins.
But nothing, no intimacy had ever felt quite so raw, so intense, so earth-shaking as sex with Cyrus did. And I had to slow-breathe and fast-blink in the aftermath to keep myself from getting sappy about it, as was my nature.
Cyrus pressed upward, his breathing evened out, looking down at me with eyes that I couldn't quite describe. The closest I could come was: awestruck.
He shook his head, seeming to try to shake some thought as he mumbled something that sounded awfully like, "Worth it."
"Hmm?" I asked, hand moving up to brush his hair backward where it had fallen down over his eye.
"It was worth it," he said, voice still unusually low for him. "All the times I wanted to kiss you, but couldn't. All the nights I wanted to take you home, but didn't. Even the almost-kiss and interruption. The separation. It was all fucking worth it for this."
And it was.
Truer words had never been spoken before.
But unable to find words that even expressed how much I agreed with that statement, my hand rose, going behind his neck for a change, pulling him downward, and claiming his lips for a long time.
He pulled up a while later. "Let me up for a minute, Ree," he demanded softly. As my legs fell, he slowly pulled out of me, then got off the bed, walking toward the bathroom to deal with the condom.
As much as I wanted to go ahead and keep holding him, though, it was maybe, just possibly, worth the separation to get to see Cy's muscular ass as he walked away from me.
He came back not two minutes later, curling in at my side, resting his face in the crook of my neck, his arm reaching out to my hip, half-curling my lower body toward his where he slid one of his thighs between my legs, then his hand settled behind me.
On my butt.
And, incredibly, I didn't have the almost frantic urge to push it away.
I drifted off to sleep a while later, realizing with a falling sensation inside that it was over. Our perfect long weekend would be gone when we woke as we frantically packed bags so we could check-out and catch the train in time to be back in Navesink Bank for the meal prep for Sunday dinner.
I wasn't sure the last time I felt a sadness as I did right then nagging at me.
It wasn't the end, of course.
We were just getting started.
But it was the end of something.
The end to one of the few times where real life wouldn't interrupt us, when there were no places to be, no one to call, no one to answer to but each other.
But then Cyrus shifted in his sleep, his hand squeezing my butt, and I somehow had a smile on my face as I drifted off to sleep.