He liked tense better. Cyrus slid his hand slowly up her leg, from knee to thigh to hip. He tickled the trim of her silky panties and the even silkier skin his fingers found everywhere he touched her. He slipped a finger under her panties, just to touch the smooth curve of her hipbone. Paulina tensed again, even took in a quick breath, but she didn’t tell him to stop.
“Nervous?” he asked her.
“Yeah.”
“It’s all right. The second you want to stop, we’ll stop. And we’re not gonna go too far tonight.”
“I’ll go anywhere,” she said, “as long as you go with me.”
He heard nothing but love in her voice, love and trust, which sounded about the same to him.
“You’ll tell me if you get scared?”
“I won’t get scared.”
“I know you won’t.” Of course she wouldn’t. Whether she’d done this before or not, Paulina wasn’t the type of woman to be scared by what she wanted, only scared of not getting it. So she had no reason to be afraid of anything because there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t give her if she asked for it.
He slid his whole hand under the fabric of her panties and started to pull them down. Paulina went still in his arms, like she’d taken in a breath but wasn’t ready to release it yet. Her eyes were closed, her thick dark lashes on her cheeks. Her face looked kissed by gold in the soft light of her bedside lamp. No make-up. Half-asleep. She’d never looked so sexy to him.
Cyrus was so hard it hurt and got harder as the palm of his hand cupped her soft round ass as he pulled her panties down and off of her. He’d patted her bottom of her clothes before, over her skirts and jeans and even her bikini bottoms, but there was nothing quite like his bare hand on her bare ass.
“Let’s elope tomorrow,” he said.
“Why wait?”
He laughed softly. Although they were alone in the house, they both were keeping their voices low, like what they were doing was a secret. And maybe it was, though who they were keeping the secret from, neither knew nor cared. It was just fun to have a secret to keep together.
Although it almost killed him to pull away from her warm soft body, he had to do it. He came up on his knees to finish taking her panties off, and threw them across the room out into the hall.
“You’re crazy,” she said, grinning. Despite the smile, he could tell she was nervous, at least a little. She’d clamped her legs tight together. He couldn’t even fit a credit card between those knees, much less his body. But they’d work on that.
“You make me crazy.” He rubbed his hands up and down her thighs again, the tops, the sides, the backs, trying to calm her, relax her. Her nightgown was long enough that it covered her. And though he was dying to see her, all of her, he wasn’t going to rush it. They’d waited almost two years to be together like this. They’d survive waiting another five minutes.
Maybe.
“You are the sexiest man alive,” Paulina said as she looked up at him.
“Damn.”
“It’s true.”
“I wasn’t arguing.”
She giggled and shook her head. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Cyrus took his t-shirt off, threw it so it landed by her panties in the hall.
She looked up at him again. “Now I can believe it.”
“You’re gonna give me a big ego,” he said.
“You? I’m the one getting married to the sexiest man alive. My ego’s big as this house and getting bigger all the time.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, baby,” he said, “but I’m glad I did it.”
No more laughing. Paulina wasn’t even smiling. She was dead serious when she met his eyes and said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too. And you’re gonna let me show you how much, right?”
She inhaled slow and exhaled even slower. He knew this was hard for her. Whether she’d ever done it before had nothing to do with it. She’d never done this with him. He slid his hands up and down her thighs again, and when he reached her knees, he pushed them apart.
Paulina didn’t put up any resistance. If she had, even for a second, he might have put a stop to it all. But she didn’t. He pushed and she spread her legs like she wanted to do it as much as he wanted it done.
Then it was done. He stared down at her beautiful body lying open for him in the lamplight. The soft dark curls, the slit just starting to open, the little bit of pink and red showing through.
“You better say something,” Paulina said.
“I’m speechless.”
“That’ll do.”
Cyrus slid down on top of her again, chest to her breasts, arms around her back, kissing her mouth with lips and tongue and love and need and twice of everything all over again. The way she kissed him now…he realized she’d been holding back with him. Before, her kisses had been sweet and tender, sometimes deep. But never like this. Never desperate.
Paulina lifted her hips and rubbed against him. Even through his jeans, he felt her heat. It wasn’t enough. He had to touch her. He slid his hand slowly down and up her arm, over her breasts and down her belly. Finally, he pressed his hands between her thighs, cradling her in his palm.
She buried her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder as he held her there, soaking in the wet warmth against his skin. But she didn’t close her legs. In fact, she opened up a little wider for him and lifted herself into his palm. He had to touch her and she had to be touched. With only one finger, he started to stroke her along the slit. She was wet and swollen. He’d almost forgotten how good it was to make a woman feel this way.
Almost.
As he stroked her, spreading the folds, he felt Paulina’s fingernails digging lightly into his shoulders as she clung to him, breathing hard.
“It’s all right, baby,” he said. “I got you.”
She nodded against his chest. It was happening again, that sense of complete and utter calm he’d felt earlier. He had one job and that job was to take care of Paulina. That he could do and would do for the rest of his life.
Cyrus stroked her a little harder, pushing in a little more until he felt the wet silk under his fingertips. He looked down at her, and at his own hand touching her. He’d never seen anything that turned him on so much as her beautiful thighs wide for him and his fingertips on her. He wanted to push in and push in deep, but he also wanted to save that for later. And he didn’t want to push Paulina too far. They were just getting started, after all. They had their whole lives to make love every which way they wanted to.
He turned his head and saw Paulina was watching the show, too, watching his hand touching her. Her eyes were wide, full of wonder. He knew how she felt. This woman, her love for him…what a wonder.
Cyrus kissed her once more on the forehead and she turned her mouth to his mouth for another kiss. He gave it to her. And when the kiss broke, he moved down the bed.
He started on her lower stomach, wanting to ease her into it. Not that it was any chore to kiss her stomach, that smooth dark skin and the muscles quivering underneath. Here she smelled like mint, clean and delicious, and he wondered if it was her soap or her lotion or just the natural scent of her skin. Whatever it was, he couldn’t stop breathing her in and in, deep into his lungs.
Slowly, he kissed a path to her left hip and lingered there a while, kissing the curve of the hipbone where it met the top of her thigh. All the while, Paulina kept her hands on his shoulders, not to stop him or push him away, but just to touch him, he could tell. Just to keep the contact between them.
He dipped his head and kissed her inner thigh. New sensations here…even silkier, even warmer, with scents more delicious than Christmas. She was turned on and wet and he could smell it, almost taste it. And almost wasn’t enough.
Cyrus turned his head and licked her. A little quick flick of the tongue, but it was enough to get a gasp out of Paulina.
She laughed at her own gasp. “Sorry,” she said, breathless.
“Don�
��t be sorry for anything,” he said. “Not a thing, ever.”
He really didn’t know what he was talking about because he was out of his mind, more or less. Impossible to think straight lying between the two most beautiful thighs in all God’s creation. He took those thighs in his hands and pushed them wide enough he could get down to work. Up on his elbows, he stroked the soft folds of her vagina again, opening her up like he’d dreamed about doing every day since the day she first let him kiss her.
Cyrus’s self-control was starting to crack. He didn’t want to go all in while Paulina was shaking like a leaf, but there was a good chance she was shaking from need, not fear. She had plenty of practice telling him to stop or slow down, but now she was saying nothing, only breathing short hard breaths. He told himself the second she said “back off,” he would back off…but since she wasn’t saying anything, he went in.
Gently as he could, he pushed back the tender flesh around her clitoris. There it was, like he’d dreamed of it, swollen and red. He pressed his tongue to it lightly, but it might as well have been lightning that struck it, judging how Paulina flinched.
“Sorry,” she said again and clutched at the sheet by her hip.
Cyrus only laughed and licked her again. She flinched, but not so hard this time. And when he licked her a third time, she didn’t flinch at all. She tasted perfect, tasted like a woman should, and her clitoris felt as right as anything ever did against his tongue. He went at it with the tip, carefully as he could, and it wasn’t long before it started to have the desired effect on Paulina.
As much as he wanted to watch her enjoying it, Cyrus forced himself to concentrate. Her pleasure mattered more than his. He’d have plenty of chances on their honeymoon to watch her come over and over again. Now he just needed to get her there and get her there hard.
He swirled his tongue all around her sensitive flesh and was rewarded with all sorts of dirty wicked sounds that came out of Paulina’s lips. Little moans, little groans, tiny little gasps and grunts as he licked and sucked her, dropping his head every now and then to stroke the open folds of her with this tongue before focusing on her clitoris again.
All nervousness, his and hers, evaporated in that room. Cyrus knew he was going to get her there, and from the sound of it, get her there fast. If she had as much adrenaline pumping through her body as he had in his right now, she was going to come so hard he’d have to scrape her off the ceiling after. He’d never waited this long to be intimate with a woman before. The closest thing he’d ever felt was his very first time at age fifteen. But even that couldn’t compare to this. There’d been no sweetness then, no affection, just anticipation, the frenzy, the climax, and the emptiness afterward of having won a game but no trophy.
But this was good and it was right. Anything that made Paulina feel loved and wanted and worshipped had to be right.
“Cyrus,” she said. Just that. Just his name. She wasn’t asking for anything. He doubted she even realized she’d said it. He’d never heard anything sweeter than his name on her lips while his lips were on her body.
She was so close. He knew it. He could feel it, feel the tension in her building to the breaking point. Nothing for him to do now but not stop, not break the rhythm. He ran his tongue over and over her clitoris again and again, kneading and teasing it, stroking and lapping it. Paulina was completely lost. She rocked her hips on the bed and dug her heels into the sheets, his back, and then back on the sheets. He dared to glance up once and saw her head back and her long lovely throat exposed. Her breasts rose and fell under the pink nightgown, and her nipples were hard and pushed against the fabric.
He made himself look away before he crawled up on top of her, stripped her naked, and made love to her until dawn of next year.
Paulina’s voice rose, and her little moans and little groans turned into cries, erotic womanly cries of pleasure. He focused his entire attention onto her clitoris, on that throbbing knot between his lips and against his tongue, working until she couldn’t take it anymore. Her back arched and she cried out again, and she came hard on his mouth, hard enough he felt the muscles contract and he could taste the rush of fluid pouring from her. He buried his mouth into her, lapping it all up, drinking her like wine, drinking until he was drunk on her and couldn’t drink another drop.
She went still on the bed, and he crawled up her body. He pulled her limp body to him and held her against him in his arms. Though it seemed to take her extraordinary effort to open her eyes, her lashes fluttered and she looked at him.
“You’re shaking, baby,” he said. “You all right?”
She nodded but didn’t speak. He had a feeling she couldn’t speak. He mentally patted himself on the back for that.
Cyrus pulled her even closer and dragged the sheet and blanket over her. She’d started to shiver. That happened, of course, he remembered. Burning hot one second—orgasm—crash—cold.
“You want me to go so you can get some sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Stay,” she said. “All night. Just sleep with me. Will you?”
He kissed her forehead again and knew she’d be sound asleep in ten seconds, if that long. Nothing more would happen tonight. He didn’t even want anything to. He just wanted to hold her while she slept.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nora woke alone in her dungeon bed. Søren hadn’t left her, however. She rolled up, wrapped the sheet around her for warmth, and found him sitting in her waiting room, fully dressed with a cup of tea in his hand.
“About time you woke up,” he said. “It’s ten already.”
“You are a monster.”
“Am I?”
She padded across the floor to him, trying not to wince. She turned and bent her knee so he could see the bottom of her feet.
“Bruises,” she said. “On the bottom of my feet. On the bottom of my feet…are bruises.”
“This will happen when one’s feet are subjected to foot torture.”
“Did I mention the bruises that are on the bottom of my feet?”
“They’ll heal quickly. The flesh on the bottom of the foot regenerates faster than any other part of the body. So says the tattoo artist that did my work,” he said.
“You asked about tattooing the bottom of your feet?”
“No, I asked her what parts of the body healed the fastest. I thought such knowledge would come in handy.” He grinned devilishly. “Or…footy.”
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you more because you said ‘footy.’”
He set his cup of tea on the table, reached for her and pulled her into his lap.
“And I love making you hate me.” He kissed her and she let him. Begrudgingly. But soon she simply let herself enjoy the kiss and his arms around her. She settled in against him and he pulled her legs up over the arms of the chair and held her in his lap.
“We need to discuss Mr. Tremont,” Søren said. “And this ‘case.’ I’m not happy with you playing detective.”
“Are you going to order me to stop helping him?” Her heart sank at the thought. She really liked spending time with Cyrus, and she wasn’t sure she would ever really be at peace until she knew why Father Ike had tried to call her.
“I don’t want to, but I will if I have to. I’d like to talk to your new friend man to man.”
“Like…have coffee with him?” Her voice went very high at the end of the question.
“Something like that. Would you call him for me?”
Nora stood up and walked to her dungeon to find her phone.
Just to annoy Søren, she said “ow” with every step she took. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. About fifty ow’s in total by the time she returned with her phone. She settled again on his lap and sent Cyrus a text.
You up?
The reply came quickly.
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
“Suspicious,” Nora said under her breath before calling his number.
; “Good morning,” Nora said when he answered.
“Yes, it is,” Cyrus replied. His voice sounded so chipper, it hurt her ears.
“Calm down,” she ordered. “I have a bangover.”
“A hangover? When did you drink?”
“Bangover,” Nora corrected. “It’s a hangover from sex. Everything hurts.”
“And you decided to call me first thing? That’s on you.”
“Søren’s making me. He wants to talk to you again. Oh, he just told me to tell you that you’re not in trouble.”
“That’s good news. Put the man on.”
Nora handed Søren her phone.
“Mr. Tremont?” Søren said. “Do you, by any chance, run?”
Nora’s eyes went wide. She tried to grab for the phone.
“Say ‘no,’ Cyrus! It’s a trap!”
Søren swatted her hand away.
“Good,” he said. “Tomorrow morning? Let’s say seven?”
“Don’t do it!” Nora yelled as Søren named a park where they could meet.
“See you then,” Søren said. He hung up.
“It’s bad enough you torture me,” she said. “But Cyrus, too? He doesn’t deserve this. And he doesn’t even have a safe word.”
“We’ll run and we’ll talk. Afterwards, I’ll tell you if you can continue working with him on the case. In the meantime, you’re getting a security system installed on your house.”
“Speaking of…where’s Gmork?”
Søren whistled. Outside the door, Nora heard a bark.
“You locked him out? No wonder he hates you.”
“I took him out when you were still sleeping. But then, yes, I did lock him out. With water and a blanket.”
She scrambled to her feet, but when she tried to walk to the door to let Gmork back in, Søren tugged the sheet off of her. She turned around, naked, and glared at him.
“Was that necessary, Sir?”
“You can either let him in,” Søren said, “Or we can go back into your dungeon, play, and make love before lunch.”
Søren sat cooly in her big red armchair in his jeans and white tee, his beard with a touch of gray in it, his hair slicked back with water, a look of casual superiority on his face.
The Priest: An Original Sinners Novel Page 22