Page 81 of One Secret

I'm desperate to touch.

Cyrus's hold moves from my neck to my navel. His fingers expand across my lower belly, slipping beneath my shirt and branding the skin beneath.

I gasp and try to thrust against him again. His hand is a sweet restraint against my stomach.

'I want this to be all about you,' Cyrus finally says, breaking the kiss so I can breathe. 'Your pleasure.'

I buck against his hold. Trying to meld my pelvis to his, to feel that delicious friction again.

'This,' I promise, rocking against him again, 'would be pleasing to me...'

'I know of something else.'

My wrists are suddenly free. Two vast hands take hold of my ass. I'm lifted into the air. The world spins, strong arms come around me, and I'm suddenly being laid down. Not onto the bed and its silken sheets. But the floor. Plush carpet cushions my shoulder blades and Cyrus manifests a pillow from somewhere. Lifting my hips, he sets it under the small of my back, my hips turning wantonly skyward.

'What's going on?' I ask, breathless but eager. I plant my feet, my upturned knees swaying merrily in the dark.

Cyrus's only response is to trail his burning touch along my arms and guide them over my head again. He wraps my fingers around something—the leg of the king-size bed—then leans low to growl his orders in my ear.

'You might want to hold on to that,' he warns.

Shivers rush along my spine. My knees tremble. My toes curl into the thick tufts of the carpet.

Kneeling between my legs, Cyrus bends low to work the zipper of my pants. He hooks his fingers over the waistband and pulls slowly downward. My lower abs meet cool air then the slanting curves of my hips...

Cyrus presses a kiss above the soft mound of my womanhood then trails his tongue along my pelvic crease. Glancing up, he catches me playing witness and grins in the dim light.

'No need to watch, baby. Unless you want to. Just lay back and feel this. Feel me.'

He pulls my pants lower, slipping them from under the slope of my ass, revealing the pale length of my thighs. I let my head fall back and fix my eyes on the ceiling. Moonlight dances over the swirls of plaster, distorting the curling gold fixtures. I feel a sweet dampness—Cyrus's tongue—against my inner thigh. I spread my hips wide to beckon him closer.

His chuckle is like steam against my skin. My inner walls clench in anticipation. I give a shaky inhale, my grip tight on the wooden leg of the bed.

I follow Cyrus's lead and lift my legs so that he can free me of the faux leather entirely. My limbs are ghostly pale in the darkness, my feet capped in little black nails.

Cyrus's fingers wrap around my ankles, massage along my tendons and then stretch slowly up the backs of my legs. I close my eyes, feeling only his fingertips reaching higher and higher. His thumbs curl around the sides of my calves. My legs are lifted higher and my heels hook over something hard and broad—his shoulders.

He strokes the back of his fingers up from my knees to my glutes, the touch so soft and endearing, until it curls towards my inner thighs. I gasp as Cyrus splays his fingers, and strokes possessively over my skin. From my knees to my apex, he caresses, pressing hard enough to part my thighs unconditionally wide.

My lungs start to spasm. My heart is in my throat. I can hear it thudding through my head and feel an echoing pounding through my lower lips.

Cyrus's breath is hot and wet as he sinks closer.

Please... I want to beg, but some instinct keeps me quiet. The slow seduction of the moment, the deliberate claiming of my body. It all feels too specific, too sacred, too muddy with open cravings. This isn't an act of sex but an act of nature. Something not to be interrupted, dictated, or disturbed: inevitable, inescapable, and irreversible.

It's only a heartbeat to wait. But that heartbeat takes an eternity as I close my eyes, sink hard into the ground, and finally, blessedly, feel Cyrus's mouth in my most sensitive of places...

'Ah—mm...' I dig my ass into the cushion, I tilt my hips towards his face. My legs fall further down Cyrus's back, my heels hooking over muscle and scar tissue.

Cyrus's lips are soft as velvet, his tongue slick and wet. With my preference for waxing, his canvas is clear and smooth and he makes full use of it. His hands are on my thighs, keeping me bare and open. He nudges my folds aside with his nose and then replaces the caress with his tongue. He licks the length of me. Works along the creases of my shape. Presses the breadth of his tongue against my clitoris.

Then he hums.

'Oh my...!'

Vibrations shoot from his tongue to my nerves and have me shaking in reaction. I gasp and I pant but otherwise shut the hell up. Cyrus doesn't need my narration to know I like what he's doing. My heels are working hard into his back, my knuckles are white on the bedframe...

And there's a thick dampness between my legs that has nothing to do with his tongue.

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