"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.TWELVECyrusI'd been to New York countless times.
Any concert worth seeing took place there.
From the brick-walled and black-accented Mercury Room to the three floor metal and black Terminal 5 to the somewhat gaudy, modern decor of Webster Hall, and on and on and on, you name a venue, I had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with other music enthusiasts, just getting a high off that energy that you could only ever get when you saw your favorite musicians live.