Page 71 of Our Little Cliche
So incredibly fuckingmine.
I watch her body react as I ease in further, her lashes fluttering and a sharp breath drawing in. Just when I think it couldn’t get any better she tilts her hips for more of me. I bear down, but nowhere near my maximum capacity, pausing to allow her time to adjust.
Holly’s perfect blue eyes blink at me sleepily, but blissful. “Merry Christmas, angel,” I whisper, my voice muffled under the mask.
“Cyrus… I need…” Her sweet pleading halts as I push a little deeper. “Fuck.”
This woman has no idea what she does to me. I don’t even want to exist without her by my side.
I don’t want to be in this house,unless she’s in it.
I don’t want to write another book,unless she’s in it.
I don’t want to leave this house,unless she’s by my side.
I have no desire to eat unless she’s eating with me. I don’t even want to breathe unless it’s her vapor that I’m drawing in.
What is that?
Obsession, ormadness?
All of it. I am madly, truly, and utterly obsessed with Holly Cate—my girl.
My fucking woman.
“Yes, baby? Tell me what you need.”
“More.Please. I want all of you.” Her plea burns my skin.
Fuck.
“My fucking pleasure.” The words are all I need to shove into her withalmosteverything I have, all without a slither of mercy.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
HOLLY
Thisis betterthan the book. Better than what I thought it would be. The sight of Cyrus’s balaclava above my face is sending me into orbit. He looks different without his glasses on, which adds to the illusive sensations of secrecy, because he no longer looks like the hot nerd that I’ve come to know him to be—he, in this very moment, looks like a strange man that I’ve never met.
His arms bear his weight beside my head as he thrusts deeply and I wince at the intensity, struggling to accommodate his girth. Despite how deep he is, I know he’s holding back from shoving in more. He pauses his movements, allowing me to catch my breath.
“If it’s too much I can stop, just tell me.” His husky, hot breath seeps from where his mouth lies under the mask, radiating over my skin. I loop both arms around his back, hooking my barely existent manicure into his flesh, trailing them down to bring him closer in the hope that the action shows my answer: no hold backs—Ineedeverything he has to give.
E.
V.
E.
R.
Y.
THING.
“If I ask for all of you, then give meallof you,” I demand, tugging his mask from his head. Now I can see him for all that he is in this very moment: a possessive, hungryanimal.
“Fuck,” he groans the word like I’m both his drug and his nemesis all in one, relishing the sensation of me marking his back. I can’t help but lose myself in the way his eyes look in the dim light. They’re almost black. Almost sinister.Dangerous, and louring.Jesus, he’s gorgeous.His stubble, his creased eyebrows, his lips, and his biceps… Holy shit his biceps. Holy shit his neck.
