Cyrus lowered his lips to mine, and just before we touched he said, “You don’t have to worry, I will ensure there are no children between us.”
Before I could ask another question, his hand slid across my thigh, and he shifted his weight so that he could reach my centre. My breath was shallow as he slid one finger inside of me, followed by another. My body adjusted immediately, and as soon as those low tingles started, I had to move. Every stroke of his fingers had my body winding tighter and tighter. My head fell back and I didn’t even care about the little moans leaving my lips, I was too far gone to be embarrassed.
When Cyrus’s thumb rubbed across me, I couldn’t hold on to my pleasure any longer. It spiralled away from me with enough force that I was light-headed when I finally came back to myself. Deep breaths in and out were pretty much the only function I could manage for a click or two after. Cyrus removed his hand, and I mourned the loss. But I knew we weren’t done yet, so it was a short mourning.
Reaching out, I attempted to touch him as well, but he shifted just out of my reach. “I don’t need any warming up,” he said gruffly.
I had to smile at that. “I didn’t need any either,” I chuckled. All of the looking and touching from before had gotten me there no problem. “But I’m not going to complain.”
Cyrus’s sudden smile was breath-taking. When he reached out and cupped my face, I lifted myself to meet him half way. The moment our lips touched, he slid inside of me, and despite my orgasm not two clicks ago, my body still needed a moment to adjust to fit his size. He held himself inside until I began to move beneath him, unable to bear keeping still any longer. The building heat that had washed away any sense of discomfort was driving me to wrap my legs around his hips and urge him deeper.
He made a low, guttural sound, lifting his head until he could see me properly. There was a strange look on his face—something torn between chastisement and desire. Feeling a tingle of amusement somewhere in the back of my mind, I tightened my hold of him even further, until he gave in with a rumble. He drove into me, his lips crashing back to mine. His pace wasn’t slow and careful—it was full of emotion, backed by all of the pent-up frustration that we always had for each other, and I loved it. My hands roamed his muscles—wherever I could reach, drawing sounds and groans from him as his lips moved to my neck, his teeth scraping against my skin. Something shifted, then, and I wasn’t sure what it was. I had the oddest sensation of the world tilting around me, of society falling away until only my soul remained, burning brightly with Cyrus’s light. I felt as though I was on the edge of a precipice; a choice. I could give in, jump off, submit. I could give him exactly what he had been demanding for so long … all I had to do was agree.
“Yes,” I murmured, just as the tightening in my stomach started again, the pleasure making my head light.
He reached between our bodies, pressing his fingers to my centre and driving me quickly over the edge as the world settled back into place around me with a heavy crash. He held me as I shuddered in his arms, feeling as though I was falling apart at the seams. I felt changed. Altered beyond reasoning. When the final waves passed through my body, he pulled out and switched our positions so fast that I barely had time to steady myself on my knees at the edge of the bed as he slipped off to stand before me. His length was suddenly pressing against my lips, his eyes asking permission, and on instinct I opened my mouth, my tongue moving to cover my teeth. He had barely pressed inside when he exploded, his fingers tight on the back of my neck, his eyes burning in white fire as he watched me.
We collapsed back to the bed afterwards, both of us struggling for breath. I wanted to start panicking, to run off to do damage control on what could potentially have just been a very big mistake … but instead, I turned on my side, needing to feel connected to the man beside me. It was suddenly necessary for me to be close to him. His eyes found mine, and immediately, the room stopped spinning. It re-centred around him, and my mind quietened. I couldn’t sense any turmoil from him, and he didn’t look like he was freaking out. His hand was gently stroking my hip, his expression lazily possessive. He was happy that he had claimed me, I realised. At the realisation, I almost snorted.
“Something funny, bug?” His voice was a husky murmur, his eyes warm, despite the nickname.
“You’re pleased with yourself,” I accused, and I realised that I sounded just the same as him: deeply satisfied, lazy, warm.
What the fuck?
“I told you I would ensure that there were no children between us,” he rumbled, his hand gripping my hip tighter, dragging me fully against his body again.
I had to swallow a laugh. “That’s … not what I was talking about.” Even though I had not minded it at all.
“What were you talking about then?” He was nuzzling into my neck, his fingers trailing from my hip, to my waist, and back.
I completely lost my train of thought, and somehow ended up pressed beneath him again, his lips still dragging over the tender skin of my neck. One of my legs was bent, half-curled around his waist, cradling the recently-awakened hardness that was pressing insistently against my belly. When he slid inside me again, it was slower than the first time. He rocked me gently to another orgasm, finishing with his lips fused to mine, holding my legs firmly around his waist as he held himself inside me.
Never enough. The thought echoed inside my head, but it held a different taste to my usual thoughts. It sounded like Cyrus. He must have said it out loud, I realised.
“Fuck … bug,” he groaned, rolling off me and tucking me into his side as I tried to recover from the aftershock of tremors that had seized up my body.
I was beginning to like that nickname.
“We can’t do this all night,” I panted, trying to get my breath back.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he countered, biting into my shoulder.
I arched back into the touch, my whole body over-sensitised, a heavy breath falling out from between my lips. “I know. You just told me.”
He stilled, suddenly turning me around, his eyes locking onto mine. “What?”
“You told me?” I repeated, hesitantly this time. “When we were … um … just before. You said ‘never enough.’”
Bonded. The word was spoken in his voice, but this time I had a clear view of his mouth … and it hadn’t moved.
“Bonded?” I repeated, my voice shaking.
He was silent and still, only the fractional widening of his eyes cluing me in to the fact that he had heard me.
“Yes …” he finally croaked out, emotion riding his tone. I had never seen him so open and unguarded before. “We’re fucking bonded. You were always meant to be mine.”
His mouth crashed back down to mine, then, and I quickly lost myself to the demanding press of his hands. When I felt the hard press of him pushing between my thighs again, I opened my legs to welcome him inside, but a protesting wave of discomfort travelled through my body. We had done this too many times already.
