Page 80 of One Secret

'Say.'—I nip at his thick lower lip—'It.'—I lick over the mark I made and flick the tip of my tongue against his upper lip—'Again...'

He swallows. I can hear his breathing in the dark and the soft slide of fabric as he wraps his arms back around me.

'I like you,' he repeats with more confidence. 'Fuck it, I like having you around, okay? I like how you don't take my shit, how you argue with me. I like how, when you're in that crappy hotel uniform, I still want you so bad I can't see straight, and how you whack me out even more when you're wearing something like this. I like how you make me cum so hard I don't know up from down. How I want to be inside you every second of every day if I could but would settle just for holding your damn hand. I really, fucking like you, okay? So, it kills me when I see you looking at other guys like you did that asshole. It shouldn't. But it does. I can't help it.'

Holy crap...

For a second, I can't hold back the optimistic little voice in the back of my head. The one vein of childish hope that life experience has yet to quash. Cyrus's words are the forbidden password, bringing free ideas previously so pent up that they explode into my head like an overflowing well:

Is he rethinking his stance on relationships? Does he perhaps want this to be something real? Would he stick around if I tell him the truth? Maybe he'd still want me? Maybe he'll want our child?

Cyrus's sigh is a shuddering exhale against my shoulder.

'Honestly, Darcy...' he breathes fervently into my neck, his words searing against my skin. 'I want you so damn bad, that I'll take you any way I can for these next two days.'

Maybe... not.

It takes a second for me to reign my fantasies back in.

"I'll take you any way I can... for the next two days."

You're no worse off, I try to tell myself. You thought you were saying goodbye tomorrow. Two days is a miracle in itself. Don't waste it for the sake of a foolish, momentary daydream.

With determination, I cram every witless hope to leak from that well back into hiding. I brace my shoulders against the wall, imagining it as the door I'm closing on my deeper feelings. I turn my focus on where I am. Who I'm with. And how lucky I am to steal these next few days from fate.

Lifting both feet off the ground I wrap my thighs around Cyrus's hips and toe off my ankle boots. One. Then the other. They hit the carpet with a pair of dull thuds.

"I'll take you any way I can", he'd said.

I hold him fast, bring his face to mine, and whisper against his lips.

'Then have me,' I urge him, teasing his mouth with my tongue. 'Have me now.'

Say what you like about this cryptic man. He knows how to obey instruction.

Cyrus takes my hold from his neck. With the slow machinations of a man proving his power, demonstrating his dominance, Cyrus takes both my wrists in one hand and pins them to the wall above my head. His hold splays over my wrists, my heartbeat thudding against his palm. His grip is so broad, so large, that his fingers fan out to the wallpaper and then some. He entraps me. Holds me as his willing prisoner, arms raised high, legs wrapped around his waist.

With his other hand, Cyrus claims control over our kiss. Wrapped around my neck, his fingers stretch up into my hair, his grip inescapable.

Not that I would want to flee.

Drawing me to his lips, Cyrus's kiss is glacial slow, firm enough to bruise, and declaring of its dominion.

Mine, it screams.

Mine, it commands.

My woman. My lover. My kiss.

I can feel my lips swelling against his, my face flushing with arousal. The soft flesh at the apex of my hips is tight and tingling. I hug my thighs firmer around his waist and try to thrust up against the hard length in his pants.

'Mmm...' My moan never escapes my throat as the kiss goes on, air denied. I inhale through my nose and my chest spasms for more.

I tilt my hips and the ridge of his arousal brushes through leather to my clit. I squeal and then pant.

Cyrus barely lets me breathe before he's on me again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, I fight to free my arms.

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