Page 94 of Our Little Cliche
“Okay, so. No,” I snap, standing a little taller and cutting him off. “You don’t get to get shitty with me. You don’t get to wave your finger and tell me I’m the bad guy. Not when I haven’t done shit. Did you ever consider just asking me if I blabbed about you and I?”
Guilt riddles his face as if a light bulb sparked in his head, but he stays silent for several moments. “N- no.”
“Exactly. You didn’t.”
He sighs again, reaching out to touch me, desperate to pull me into his embrace, but doesn’t. “Fuck. My love, I’m so sorry,” he weeps. “But, if— I— Who…” he stutters.
“What exactlydidshe say to you to assume I’d said something?”
“She looked like she had something on her mind, and you know me, big friendly teddy bear who looks out for everyone, soI asked her about it. Then the second I did, her face flipped the script and she looked very guilty about something.”
Guilty… Stacy felt guilty for being gay.
Cyrus truly has this all wrong. I can’t blame him, though, we knew this night would be hard. We knew it would cause us to be a little on edge. I guess that’s why I’ve had more than a few drinks. But I don’t kiss and tell. Stacy told me that part of her in confidence, I’d be an ass if I repeated it to anyone, even Cyrus.
“You bloody drongo,” I laugh to smooth the static panic. “All I can say is, you have it all wrong.”
“I do?”
I peer over my shoulder, checking if anyone was listening. “Yes. I never once mentioned us, I didn’t even talk to her about working for you. Avoided you like the plague, actually.”
“Oh,” he breathes a sigh of relief, then guilt runs through his eyes for thinking otherwise. “Oh.”
“As much as talking about monster cocks, and…”How much I wanted to tell her about the night you did what you did when I was asleep…“Uh… smut reminded me of you, I kept my mouth shut.”
The space between us shifts in an instant, like an electric hum, vibrating between our cores, and his tone changes, pitching higher—hotter. “You had monster cocks,andme, in the same category?”
“Yes,” I swallow, expecting I’ll say something stupid because I’m unbelievably aroused once more. Cyrus’s eyes dart around us, checking over his shoulders, then, in a blink of an eye I’m slammed against the other side of the bathroom door, pinning it closed. My breath leaves my chest, startled by the sudden gesture, but I don’t move.
I don’twantto move.
Without even a millisecond to spare, his warm möet flavored lips are against mine, and he grunts with need. My knees fallweak underneath the grip he has on my waist, his fingers pinching at the fabric, taunting me as he presses his body firmly against mine.
I prepared for this exact moment. I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me, especially after learning that I had no underwear on. If he wants to fuck me right here right now, we could. Easily.
No. No, no, no.We’re in a stinky men’s bathroom.Gross.
But I need him. Now.
Always.
I hesitate, the words feel like blades, soaring wounds as they leave my mouth and push him away. “Not here, please.”
“Where?” he asks desperately, but I don’t answer, rather I pant, because my brain is ringing with abuse. Arguing if I should have him right here right now, like I want to, or listen to my inner monologue. “When?” Cyrus adds.
“I—”
The door handle wriggles behind me. “Hello? Is anyone in there?” someone calls.
Shit.
“Quick, in here.” He drags me to a cubicle, covering my mouth to mute mydesperate for himsounds of breathlessness, locking the stall door behind us. Whoever was behind the door enters, and takes care of his business while I remain under the gentle clutch of Cyrus.
When the guy leaves, I wait for the door to close again. “How much do you want me?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“One I’m asking,” my tone is firm, but he can see past my bluff.
