ELEVEN
Reese
"Um, what?" I asked, slow-blinking at Cyrus who was standing at my door at six in the morning, looking all bright-eyed and bushy-bearded.
I repeat.
Six in the morning.
Before I got any coffee in me.
Before I got to shower.
Before I was even supposed to be awake.
I had thought I had heard the buzzer for the main door, but had just tossed and turned through it. But, I realized, as the pounding started outside my door, jostling me awake with a speeding heart, whoever it was had found another way in.
At six in the morning, I couldn't imagine it being anyone other than maybe my mother. She was always a morning person. The freak.
So I ran a hand through my hair, which likely just mussed it up all the more, and stumbled through my apartment toward the door, wiping sleep out of my eyes as I unlocked in a zombie-like state.
But it wasn't my mom.
Nope.
I wasn't that lucky.
It was one thing for your mom or sister to see you at six AM, sans makeup, eyelashes all stuck together, wearing a tee with no bra, and a pair of pajama pants with pigs all over them, crazy hair, and morning breath.
It was a complete other for the guy you had just started dating to see that. Literally eight hours after you started dating.
He had done a once-over, coming back smiling, eyes all crinkly and perfect in his stupid flawless face, amused at my morning-ugly.
But I forgot all of that when he opened his mouth.
"Pack a bag, angel."
Hence the um, what?
Because... um, what?
He reached into his pocket, pulling out two small rectangular pieces of paper with all kinds of small print on them, a bar code and... no way.
My eyes shot up to find him watching me, smile huge.
"Bookjam?" I whisper-hissed.
He had two tickets to Bookjam?
It was impossible to get tickets to Bookjam, unless you sat at your computer when the tickets went up for sale. It was the equivalent for bookworms as Comic Con. It was huge. All the best authors were there, indie and traditional. And the swag. Oh, my God, the swag.
I mean, not that I knew from experience. I had tried the past two years to get tickets, but had never been able to. But I had trolled the social media posts about it. And, yeah, I could go broke at the merch stands.
"You mentioned it, I don't know, fifty-six thousand times," he said, waving the tickets at me. "And I found these bad boys on eBay. Don't worry," he said as I snatched them away. "They're legit. I called to make sure."
I knew what they went for on eBay.
And he had already spent way, way too much on trying to please me.
"You can't say no," he said, seeming to pick up on my train of thought. "I already called Pinch-Face Barb and told her. She was excited for you to bring back new books." At my brow raise, he laughed. "Okay, so she said it was ridiculously short notice, and a huge inconvenience. But fuck her. It's her inconvenience. You're going to Bookjam. So pack a bag."
"Wait... this is tomorrow," I said, my brain not seeming able to compute things as quickly as it usually did.
"Yes, it is. In the city. And there is a train out of here in two hours which will put us in the city just in time for check-in."
"Check-in?" I asked, brows drawing together.
To that, Cy chuckled, touching me under my chin. "Sounds like someone needs some coffee," he declared, moving to step forward.
And because of my aforementioned morning-ugly and morning-breath, I backed up twice as far as I needed to. "I, ah, yeah, it's early."
"You go do your morning thing. I'll make coffee and feed the fish."
And, well, yeah, I needed to do my morning thing. Like bathe. And brush my teeth. And get somewhat pretty.
I rushed through the process, almost painfully aware someone was waiting on me, and hated keeping people waiting. My hair was still wet as I came out of my room in black leggings, a Bronte tee, and an oversized, long sweater.
"This stuff smells lethal," Cyrus declared as I walked into my kitchen, waving my bottle of blueberry syrup at me.
"It's organic," I insisted. "And I only use one pump."
Or, you know, two when I was having a bad morning.
With that, he put one pump in a fresh cup which he held out to me with a smile. "What?"
"Even your mugs are bookish."
Okay, so maybe I totally got the mug set from Penguin Books. You know, the ones with the colors and the names of classic books.
I was a darn dedicated bookworm!
"Oh, and I found this under the fish tank where you store fish food," he said, producing a small mass market paperback that had come in one of my subscription book boxes. It was over the top cheesy, and, unfortunately, not in the good way. Hence how it could sit there forgotten, and not get devoured.
"He called her 'lovebug,' and said he would die without her," I informed him with a lip curl as I took the book and put it down on the counter. I had a strong feeling it was going to go in my rare DNF pile.
My general rule was, if I bought it, I read it.
But sappy wasn't my cuppa tea.
Real men didn't talk mushy.
Case closed.
And I refused fiction that didn't at least get the characterization realistic.
Cy snorted at that too. "He'd live just fine without her. He'd drown it in whiskey and pussy, and move on."
"Right!" I declared, happy he got it. I had gotten into more than a few online arguments about sappy heroes.
"Like when jock assholes are with their buddies claiming they 'destroyed that pussy,'" he commented, making my face heat slightly. It had been a while; I forgot how, ah, easily Cy used phrases like that. "You didn't destroy shit, man. She's fine. She's home, probably a little disappointed, but she's gonna bounce back."
I laughed at that, the smile so big that my cheeks hurt.
"Missed that fucking smile," he said casually, making my belly do the flutter thing again. "So, now you got some caffeine in your system. Your brain finally working again? Can we talk about Bookjam without your head exploding now?"
"I think I can manage that," I agreed, but my head was actually kind of still spinning at the idea.
I mean, he was taking me to Bookjam?
In the city?
After only, technically, dating for half a day?
Who did that?
"Good. Like I said, we have a train leaving in an hour and a half now. Which should put us in the city around ten or so."
"But... no hotel does check-in that early," I objected. I knew this more from books than, ah, real life. In fact, I had never stayed in a hotel in my life. I was kind of super excited about it.
"They do if you reserve the night before, and call them to tell them. I ironed out all the kinks, angel. You just have to tag along, and enjoy."
Enjoy.
Yeah, I was pretty sure that wouldn't be a problem.
"So this fish," he said after a moment.
"What about him?"
"I'm assuming he needs to eat every day."
"Oh! Right." Geez. I almost forgot all about poor Knightley in my excitement. I, ah, hadn't exactly made friends with any of my neighbors, so that only left my mother, Paine, Elsie, or my sister. My mom and Paine were still in the dark. So was Elsie, though I could tell her. I just didn't want to put her in that position.
But telling Kenz, though she already knew about him in general, meant enduring about one-thousand texts while I was in the city. All in varying degrees of teasing explicitness.
Oh well.
I had to do what I had to do.
"I will ask Kenzi to drop in to feed him. I will probably come back to my clothes all in a Goodwill bin, but..."
He laughed at that. "What's wrong with your clothes?"
I wanted to tell him about her comment about my grandma sweaters being 'cock kryptonite,' but I couldn't quite seem to force those words out.
"Come on, with a look like that on your face, now you have to tell me. And I'm not above using torture methods."
Torture.
Yeah, about the third time we went out, he had accidentally figured out that I was ridiculously ticklish. And when he wanted something out of me, he used that knowledge shamelessly.
"She has an issue with my 'grandma sweaters,'" I hedged.
"What kinda issue?" he asked, clearly enjoying himself.
Oh, God.
I was pretty sure I had never used the word 'cock' out loud before, let alone around a guy I was dating.
But I didn't want to almost pee myself through a tickle session either.
"They're, apparently, cock kryptonite," I informed him, words coming out too fast, almost tripping over each other.
There was a long pause before Cyrus threw his head back and laughed.
"Cock kryptonite, huh?" he asked, giving me a smile. "Well, I appear to be immune. Your grandma sweaters have big pockets for you to store books in."
I totally did do that when the book was pocket-sized.
He got me.
I wasn't sure if anyone had ever truly gotten me before.
People knew me, sure. Like my family. They knew my habits and quirks. But no one seemed to understand me.
Cyrus did.
"Exactly," I agreed.
"So, you're going to need to pack about... four of them in your bag," he concluded.
"Four sweaters for a day? I don't... what?" I asked when he gave me another keen smile.
"We're going for a long weekend."
"Wait... what?"
"We'll go up today, explore a little, then do Bookjam tomorrow, and then checkout is Sunday morning, so we can head back then."
A whole long weekend in the city with Cyrus?
In a hotel room?
Oh.
In, um, the same bed?
"What's the matter?" he asked, always seeming to read me far too easily.
"Nothing. I was just thinking. We'll be back by like two on Sunday right?" I asked, trying to cover my discomfort with a change in topic.
"Don't worry, I'll have you home before the Wrath of Kenzi befalls you."
I had maybe gone off one late Sunday night when we met for coffee after a particularly stressful cooking session with my sister.
The monster actually took my book and hid it so I couldn't sneak off to read.
"Okay, good."
There was another pause, and Cyrus clinked my mug with his. "Guess that hasn't kicked in fully, huh?
"What?"
"You gotta pack, angel. Chop chop."
I laughed, shaking my head as I moved down the hall.
I noticed about five feet down that he was following me.
"What?" he asked innocently, tucking his hands into his front pockets, making his shoulders hunch forward slightly. "I didn't get a tour."
And the apartment was in no shape for one either. But there was no stopping him, I was sure, with an argument as weak as that one.
So we passed Kenzi's old room, the walls still as she left them. Except now there were a ton of Ikea bookshelves lining them, and a big, old, lumpy, amazingly hideous burgundy couch that had been around since I was a little kid. My mom was ready to throw the old thing - that she had been keeping in her spare room - away when I intercepted it and saved it. I spent way too many hours laying in various positions, falling in love, having adventures, seeing new worlds on that couch for it to end up in a trash heap.
So what if the cushion was dented in the very center and the wood part would dig into your butt? Who sat directly in the middle of a couch anyway?
"Damn, there must be ten grand worth of books in here."
"Um..."
He turned to me, brow raised. "More?"
"More than double that. Average eight a book. There are about three thousand books here."
"Christ. Fuck the jewelry; raid the library."
"Don't even joke about them getting stolen," I gasped in mock-horror, clutching a hand to my chest.
"Don't worry, with all those locks, I think your paperbacks are safe," he said, putting an arm over my shoulders as I moved back into the hall toward my bedroom.
There was an odd surge of insecurity as we stepped into my bedroom with its mellow light yellow walls, my full-sized bed with its white lacey comforter, my nightstands piled with books I was currently reading, or planned to read next, my small white desk near my closet, facing the wall, with piles of paperwork for the library, bills, and three coffee cups I had somehow forgotten to clean up.
"This is very you," Cyrus declared, making me even more self-conscious. What did that even mean? "It's very, I don't know, soft-looking. Like you," he added, bumping my hip before moving to sit off the end of my bed.
Soft?
Soft... how?
Soft as in, like sweet?
Or soft as in I could use to lose a few pounds?
I mean, I could, that was for sure.
But that would be a pretty crummy thing to say to me.
"Ree," Cy's voice called. When my head shot up, his chin ducked a little. "What'd I say?"
"That I'm soft," I answered without thinking.
"And you're taking that as a bad thing... oh, get the fuck out of here," he said, smiling huge, somewhat inappropriately big given the circumstances. "First, you're the right amount of soft in your body, angel. Fucking perfect. Second, I would never comment on a woman's weight because that's about the biggest dick move you can pull. And third, if I had said something like that, your reaction should be to tell me to get the fuck out of your apartment, not worry if it was true."
I knew he was right. I was even raised on that very same mentality. But where ideas like that really seemed to sink into Kenzi and take root, for me, there had always been a bit of a problem with my security regarding my appearance. No matter how badly I tried. And I had the self-help books and browser history to prove it.
"Alright, let's move on," he said, seeming to get that I wasn't ready to go over that kind of topic. "You have a bag, right?"
I nodded at that, moving toward my closet to pull down a huge, old, hideous, but adorable floral piece of luggage I had asked my grandmother for when I was younger.
I went immediately for my dresser, grabbing a few pairs of leggings, a few tees, and then tried to very discreetly throw in some undies and bras before moving to my closet to grab some sweaters, rolling them up so they didn't wrinkle.
I could just wear the shoes I wore today for the other days. It was easy to pair anything up with a set of black ballet flats.
I ran to the bathroom to throw a couple basic necessities into a plastic bag, then made my way back into my room.
"Got an extra suitcase?" he asked, taking it from me after I zipped it.
"I don't need one. This is all I need for a few days." That part should have been kinda obvious since it was only like a third full anyway.
"Cute that you are so low maintenance, Ree. But I meant for the books. I'm assuming we'll need to rent a moving truck to store them all?"
"You know me well," I said with a smile as I went to my closet to get a plain black duffle that actually managed to fit a lot. "Okay. I think that's it," I declared, unzipping the other suitcase to slip the duffle inside.
"Nope."
"What'd I forget?" I asked, looking around.
"Good morning, Ree," he said oddly, making my gaze move to his face. "You forgot to say good morning."
"Oh, um," I mumbled, shuffling my feet because this seemed incredibly awkward. "Good morning?"
His lips twitched as he reached out to put his hands on my hips, pulling me closer. Pulling me until my legs pressed into his knees, then started pulling me downward. A little too dazed to pull away, I ended up on his lap.
"This kinda good morning, baby," he declared a second before his lips went to mine.
And, well, yeah.
I stopped thinking for a good, long time.
And I only started again when he pulled back, stroking his thumb over my swollen lower lip.
"That's how we say good morning from now on."
"I, ah, I think I can handle that," I mumbled, brain trying to catch up.
"Alright, let's go before I get any ideas," he declared, gently pushing me onto my own feet as he stood.
Ideas.
Yeah, no. We wouldn't want him getting any of those.
Right?
Normally, I would obsess about that for a while, but then Cy's hand was slipping into mine, and pulling me through my apartment, hauling my big, super girly luggage in his other hand like it was no big deal.
And, quite frankly, if I was getting a day with Cyrus as my, um, more-than-friend, then I didn't want to waste a single second of it not being fully present to enjoy it.
The train into the city was pretty much full of people-watching, looking out the window, telling Cyrus about the authors I was excited to see when prompted, and desperately trying not to let on just how affected I was by his hand on my knee, occasionally moving around, tracing the shape of it, giving it gentle squeezes.
I didn't want it to end, but then the train was pulling into Penn Station, and instead of rubbing my knee, he was lacing his fingers between mine and, yeah, that was just as good in my humble opinion.
Now, you have to understand something about me to truly get what followed next.
I grew up poor.
Not with an average paycheck-to-paycheck household.
Not just not being able to have name brand school clothes.
Not just having no computer in the house.
No.
I mean there was more than one occasion when we had no lights, when the water got shut off for a day or two, when we all had to be quiet and pretend we weren't home when the landlord showed up and mom was three months behind on payments.
There was no money for new sneakers every year, let alone vacations.
So I had never really been exposed to anything grand before.
Walking into the lobby of the hotel was like falling through the rabbit hole, it was like going through the wardrobe, it was like walking into the halls of Hogwarts.
It was a completely different world from one I had ever seen before.
I actually pulled Cyrus to a stop because he had kept walking, and I had stood frozen, completely and utterly transfixed by the gleaming tile floors, the vibrant golden wallpaper, the thick pillars, the mesmerizing, enormous glass chandeliers. Yes, plural. From where I stood, I could see four of them. But I had a feeling there were more.
To the sides, there were low, brown leather couches and black coffee tables, flanked by healthy mini trees. To the front, there was a low, golden service desk with funky reddish wall art behind it, and two attendants immaculately dressed in suits.
"Ree, you alright?" he asked, watching me with almost worried eyes.
"This... this place is..." I shook my head, trying to clear it of my awe. "It's beautiful," I supplied, knowing that word didn't do it justice, but at a loss for anything better.
His smile went soft at that, giving my hand a squeeze.
"Wait till you see the room. And the dining hall."
"Have you been here before?" I asked as he pulled me toward the check-in.
"Once," he agreed, then launched into an explanation about the remote check-in to the attractive man at the desk, and was given the keycards to the room.
And so what? Maybe I was taken aback by the gosh darn elevators too. And the hallways. And the cool cleaning carts I saw here and there.
What can I say, when it came to real life, I hadn't seen much, so I was incredibly easy to please.
"Go on," Cy said, pressing the keycard into my hand. "You know you want to."
Of course I did.
So, right there, with Cyrus at my side, I opened my first hotel room door ever.
He wasn't wrong, either.
It was gorgeous.
Not quite as over-the-top awe-inspiring as the lobby, but still stunning.
But the first thing I noticed was two beds. Two beautiful beds with white sheets, pillows, and white tufted headboards, with three separate nightstands. But two beds.
My gaze went to Cyrus, finding him watching me. At my questioning eyes, he shrugged. "No pressure here, Reese."
And I was pretty sure my heart melted right then and there.
He was just so gosh darn dreamy.
Yes, dreamy.
That was the only word.
"Are we just gonna chill in the hall all day, angel?" he asked, making me move inward, looking at the other parts of the room. Like the understated brown carpet, the big flatscreen and dresser across from the beds, the small seating area with a table to look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.
Just inside the door, there was another door to the left, leading into the bathroom that had a shower enclosure made of tile and stone floor, with a floor-to-ceiling all glass door. And, oh dear, sweet God. The tub. The tub was the stuff of dreams. It was in the center of the room, deep enough to sink under the water fully if you wanted to, white, and not jetted. I wasn't a fan of jets. They made me anxious.
I didn't know how or when, but I needed to get into that tub.
"I'm taking this one," Cy declared as he sat down at the end of the bed closer to the door. "It's customary."
"Customary?" I asked as I moved over toward the other bed.
"Manners and shit. Man walks on the side of the road that is closest to the street. And he sleeps closer to the door. Or so someone once told me."
That someone was me.
And I learned about it in a historical novel.
And brought it up when we were in The Creamery people-watching, and a girl was walking near the street in a pretty white sundress, only to get splashed when a truck went by, making it not only dirty, but see-through. While her man on the store side stayed clean and dry. Then, because he hadn't looked at me like I was nuts in explaining that, I went on to say that a man sleeps closer to the door in case of an intruder.
"You have a good memory."
"Hey, I'm not all just good looks," he said with a smirk. "Well, I'm about ninety-seven-point-five percent good looks, but that other two-point-five still counts." He watched me as I moved toward the windows, looking out on the city that was more frenzied than anything I had seen before, even from so far above it all. "So, are you the type of freak who has to unpack and hang her shit in hotel closets, or can we go explore?"
I turned, smiling. "I kept a book in my fish cabinet, do you really think I'm that kind of neat-freak?" I asked as he moved to stand. "I want to explore."
So then we explored.
We walked out onto the streets, and Cyrus waved a hand, declaring, "The world is yours."
And, for that entire day, it truly was.
We walked past a closed-off street where they were filming an episode of a show I watched. We ate soft pretzels off carts because I wanted to keep seeing things, not stop to eat. We wound up at The Museum Of Natural History, skirting carts and melting-down kids, Cyrus insisting on buying me a giant replica of Knightley from one of the three separate gift shops there.
By the time we made it back onto the streets, Cy with Knighty-Knight (his choice) tucked under his arm like it was no big deal, me tucked under his other arm like I always belonged right there, it was starting to get dark.
"So the question is, food somewhere out here in the great big yonder, food in the hotel restaurant, or food in bed while in pajamas?"
I turned my head to smile up at him. "Was that really even a question?"
And it wasn't until I got back into the hotel, after dragging my bag with me into the bath, and taking a quick soak before the food arrived, that I realized, in my haste, I hadn't packed pajama bottoms. To add to this dilemma, unfortunately, my pajama shirts were not of the long variety either.
I dried the rest of the way off, shimmying into some panties, shrugging on the tee I did have, then throwing one of the fluffy, white hotel room robes on, and belting it.
Sleeping in a robe was going to be a chore, but it would work. I just had to find a way to sneak into a store the next day to get a pair of sweatpants for the next night.
"I think the dessert was overkill," Cy announced as I came out into the main room, the rich, hearty smell of pasta sauce mingled with the decadence of chocolate making my belly grumble, reminding me that I had only eaten a hot pretzel so far that day.
"Dessert is never overkill," I objected, opening the top to my plate of lasagne which had been hideously overpriced, but kind of smelled like it was worth it.
"Alright, pick a movie," he declared, reaching for the remote.
"I've picked everything all day. Pick your favorite movie."
I almost instantly regretted that, wondering if maybe his favorite movie involved a lot of gratuitous violence and explicit sex scenes that would be, ah, problematic.
Not because I didn't want to go there with Cyrus; of course I did. But just because we hadn't gone there yet, and watching it would just make me all squirrelly inside.
But, he saved me by picking some baseball movie I had seen while flicking through the channels but never stopped to watch.
Thankfully, Major League did not have intense violence or explicit sex scenes, and I was scraping my chocolate cake plate clean by the time the edits were rolling.
"So," Cy said, as he came back from putting the cart out. "This thing starts at ten tomorrow. You want to get up and cram something in early? Or do you want to sleep in?" he asked as he kicked out of his shoes, and went rummaging through his small bag.
I leaned back in the bed, body aching in weird places thanks to using muscles I was sure had long since taken up residence in a body that would actually use them. "Um, have you felt these mattresses?" I asked, smiling a little lazily, feeling the day of walking catching up to me. "We're sleeping in."
"Sounds good to me," he agreed, moving off into the bathroom to shower.
I tried.
I swear I did.
I tried really, really hard not to think about him in there.
Naked.
Under the stream.
Beads of water slipping down his chest, between the muscles of his abs, sneaking lower to his...
Okay.
I had to focus.
I was in a beautiful hotel room in a bustling city. I did not need to be thinking about abs and happy trails and...
Oh, it was useless.
So I went ahead and turned off my light, climbed under the covers, and thought about it.
Thought about it all.
In exquisite detail.
Until I was so turned on by just my imaginings that when he came out of the bathroom with a small cloud of smoke shirtless with his heavy black sweatpants slung low, yeah, I may have actually let out a little whimpering noise.
What can I say?
It was all just too much.
At the sound, Cy's gaze moved in my direction for a second, eyes a little bedroom-sexy, but then he looked away, going to the other light to turn it off, leaving just a small nightlight type of thing on near the door.
A bit uncomfortable with the silence - and possibly embarrassed about my whimper - I was the one to speak first.
"Goodnight, Cyrus."
He paused in pulling the sheets down, slowly turning to face me, then coming to my side of my bed. "Remember what I said about how we say good morning?" he asked.
Could I ever forget?
"Yeah."
"Want to see how we say goodnight?"
Was there even a way to say no to that?
But, seemingly unable to form any coherent words right about then, all I could manage was a nod.
That was all he needed, though.
His hand reached out, snagging my sheets, and whipping them to the side. His finger moved down near my ankle, touching the skin just at the outside, then gently stroking upward. So slowly that goosebumps raised on my skin, and the pressure of desire on my lower stomach amplified by ten-thousand by the time his finger touched the side of my knee.
"Would you be mad at me if I told you that I noticed while you were packing that you forgot PJ bottoms, but didn't say anything because I liked the idea of you without pants a whole hell of a lot more?"
If I could muster the braincells to be mad, yeah, well, I probably still couldn't. Quite frankly, his fingers on my bare skin were a lot better than having the PJ pants I had planned on.
Not able to find words as his fingers trailed from the outside of my knee toward the inside, I managed a small head shake as he parted the robe near my inner thigh, whispering over the sensitive, soft skin of my inner thigh. But lazily. Not in a rush. Happy with his unhurried exploration of my body.
By the time his hand was near the highest part of my thigh, I could barely breathe through the heavy sensation in my chest.
But instead of moving up and in, touching me where there was a throbbing need for attention, his hand moved out to my hip, then up to my stomach, working the tuck of my belt out, then reaching downward to spread the sides of the robe out on the bed.
Then his knee moved to the outside of one thigh. Then the other moved between my legs.
There was a long, expectant pause, me pretty much convinced he was about to pounce.
But then he slowly lowered himself down over me, supporting his weight on his forearms, watching me, I think, for any sign of objection, before his lips sealed over mine.
And, yeah, from there, it was all pure need. I kissed him back hard, until his perpetual gentleness, his determination to keep being so, snapped, and his lips bruised into mine. My leg fought its imprisonment, moving out from between his legs, so both could wrap around his lower back, dragging him against where I needed him most.
There it was again. That low, rumbling, growling noise that sent a pre-orgasm tightening between my legs as my thighs instinctively tightened, pulling his pelvis flush to mine.
There was no way to keep the whimper in when I felt his hardness press into me, promise me things I wanted more than I had wanted anything in a long, long time.
Hearing me, Cyrus released my lips, looking down at my face with heated eyes as he pulled back slightly, then ground his cock against me.
My back arched as a moan escaped me, realizing for the first time how much I truly needed it, how long it had been, how close I already was from barely any contact.
He pulled back again, then pressed against me, his cock hitting my clit, almost making me see white right then and there.
But just when my hips started working against him, begging for more, he pulled against my hold, and moved to lay on his side beside my body. I could still feel his hardness against my thigh, and his hand moved out to rest in the center of my belly.
"Ree," he called, voice a little rough. My head turned, finding him watching me. "There you are. Just want to see your face when I do this," he declared. Then his hand wasn't on my belly, it was between my thighs, pressing down on me through the wet material of my panties.
At the tail end of my moan, I could hear Cy's ragged breath hiss out of him.
But then his finger found my clit through my panties, and started working it. Not quickly, but determinedly, not slowing or softening, giving me the perfect, consistent touch that had the orgasm crashing violently through my system less than two minutes later.
His hand moved to rest on my thigh, giving it a little squeeze.
But he said nothing.
And, suddenly, orgasm-sated, the silence was feeling uncomfortable for me. Maybe it was because it was so one-sided. Or maybe it was just because it had been so long that I was starting to forget how to navigate the after-sexy-times small talk.
Oh, who am I kidding? I never knew how to navigate any kind of small talk.
Thankfully, Cyrus always seemed to know when to step in and save me.
"And that, my dear bookworm, is how we say goodnight."
So we said goodnight.
And he kissed my temple.
He threw an arm around my belly.
He snuggled into the space between my shoulder and side of my head.
Then he fell asleep.
A couple minutes (okay, hours) of enjoying that later, I fell asleep as well.
And it was officially the best night of my life.
You know, until the next one.