I give myself another moment to savor the feeling, then I pull out only to thrust into her again. Earning me another shout.
We’re off to the races then. Hands roving each other. Bodies coming together. Hearts racing until she once again finds her pleasure.
She takes me with her this time.
As I pour myself into her, my last coherent thought is that there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here, inside of her.
I’m the luckiest bastard in the world.
FIVE
DAHLIA
I blink up at the low ceiling, brain foggy, body pleasantly wrecked in the sort of way that says yes, that happened, and yes, it was even better than I remembered.
The mattress shifts. A moment later, Cyrus re-appears in the doorway with two mugs and the most devastatingly casual morning scruff I’ve ever seen.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice a low scrape that curls behind my ribs.
I sit up, blanket clutched around me, hair probably in a state that qualifies as a cry for help. “Hi.”
He hands me a mug. Our fingers brush, and the jolt hits exactly where it did last night.
“Coffee,” he says. “And toast. The power’s still out, but the stove works.”
“Toast is practically a love language.”
He huffs a laugh and sits on the edge of the bed, not touching me but close enough that I feel the heat of him.
Now that the storm isn’t the only loud thing in the room, a thousand thoughts rush in at once.
Did we really do that?
Do we talk about it?
Does this change the universe?
Does he regret it?
Do I?
No. Definitely not.
He looks at me over the rim of his mug. “You okay?”
I nod, then shake my head, then nod again. “I’m… yes. Just thinking.”
“About last night.”
My face goes hot. “You’re really going to say it out loud.”
“You wanted me to avoid it?”
“No,” I admit. “I just wasn’t ready for directness before caffeine.”
He smiles, and it hits me low and warm. “Then drink.”
I take a sip. Too hot. Perfect anyway.
