Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Peter had three new text messages when he stepped out of the shower.
Sybil
Mallory offered to take the cat to the vet so Dempsey is off the hook
Peter
Our cat needs a name. We can’t keep referring to it as “the cat”
He was surprised when he got a swift text back.
My cat, even if it likes you better. And “Cat” worked just fine for Holly Golightly
Don’t try and use Audrey Hepburn against me. We could do Sherlock for a boy or Agatha for a girl. Mystery theme.
It’s only a theme if there’s more than one cat.
Peter had just started typing when another message came through.
Do not get me a second cat.
He laughed. She knew him too well, because he’d been about to ask if she wanted him to find her a second cat.
Fine. No second cat. Love you.
Casual.
The next unread message was from Sam.
Sam
Lacey wants to know how my sex advice worked for you.
Lacey really was the most perfect person in the world for Sam. He had a tendency to clam up, but she was a blunt instrument designed to crack him open.
Good enough that I don’t want to leave a paper trail.
Finally, he opened Jordy’s thread.
Jordy
Call me.
Jordy answered on the third ring.
“Hey, bud. What’s up?”
“You told me to call you, remember?” He put the phone on speaker and laid it on the counter so he could get ready. “What’s up with you?”
“Yeah, I can talk,” Jordy said with exaggerated casualness, then Peter heard him loudly whisper, “I’m going to take this outside.”
“You’d make a terrible actor,” Peter told him.
“Good thing I have no plans to enter the dramatic arts.” There was a soft breeze in the background, and Jordy grunted, so Peter assumed he’d lowered himself into a chair. “I think I might have a plan for proposing, but I need your help.”
“Do I need to get a fireworks permit?”
“No.” Jordy chuckled. “I’ve been stuck for days trying to figure this out, and last night Annie and I were talking and it all just came together.”
Peter picked up his phone and wandered into the bedroom area to get dressed. “The suspense is killing me.”
“We were talking about how much we miss everyone and how we don’t think we want to raise our kids in LA?—”
“Kids? Is Annie pregnant?”
“No…I don’t think she is…” There was a confused lilt to Jordy’s voice and Peter could imagine the small frown on his face. “Anyway, she brought up maybe moving to Oregon. Both state universities are only about two hours from Crane Cove, which is kind of perfect. I suggested we go visit while you’re in town, maybe go look at some properties between the universities. She loved the idea.”
“So where do I fit into this plan?”
“Can you hold onto the ring? I don’t want her accidentally finding it.”
“Of course I can! When are you going to come up?”
“We’re still figuring that out, but definitely before you wrap.” Jordy let out a shaky breath. “I’m so nervous. I want this to be perfect.”
“I think no matter what happens, Annie is going to think it’s perfect because she loves you,” Peter said. “But I’ll have Dempsey source a bunch of those little battery-operated candles, just in case.”
“Why battery-operated?”
“So they won’t blow out, burn out, or start a fire.”
“Oh, that’ s smart.”
Peter buttoned his pants. “I’m becoming really practical as I get older.”
Cell service in Crane Crave was fucking abysmal. Peter took small steps, holding his phone at face height, trying to find the signal he’d somehow lost so he could purchase the multi-level cat tree he’d found for Agatha. Their cat was a girl, and he was chuffed that Sybil had used the name he’d suggested. He’d already managed to order an automatic litter box, a water fountain, and some cat toys between takes.
Would Agatha like a catnip plant? Was it okay for cats to have access to kitty weed? If he got her one, would she become a kitty stoner and nap in the sun all day, high out of her little mind?
“That’s a wrap,” his mom shouted into her megaphone. “Great work, everyone. Enjoy your weekend.”
It had been perfectly overcast all day, but the predicted rain had started half an hour earlier than the weather man had called for. Crew members hurried to strike the equipment, partly to protect it from the elements, and partly so they could get their weekend started. People who lived in Portland and the surrounding areas would drive home, and those staying behind started making plans. He scanned the moving people for Sybil and saw her headed for her car.
He’d order the cat tree later.
“So what are we doing this weekend?” Peter asked when he’d caught up to her.
“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I have things to do,” Sybil said and opened her car door.
“What kinds of things?” He got into the passenger seat before she could object.
She sighed and started the car. “I’m helping Connor with his cross-country meet tomorrow morning, then I’m working at Stardust, and I’ve got to get the coffee cart ready so it actually works.”
“I could help with that,” he offered.
“With what?”
“All of it. Any of it. As long as I get to spend time with you, I don’t really care what we’re doing.”
Sybil snorted. “You’re only saying that because you’ve never stood in the rain for hours waiting for teenagers to finish jogging through the woods.”
“I guess I’ll find out what that’s like tomorrow.”
Peter really didn’t care what they were doing as long as they were together, but helping Connor at the same time was a bonus. He needed Sybil’s best friend on his side if he had any hope of convincing her in a few weeks that continuing their relationship was feasible. Eloise would be on his side, but Peter had a sinking feeling that Connor’s probable dissenting opinion would hold more weight.
“You have to be there by seven,” she warned.
“You know what might make this easier?” Peter began, covering the hand that was casually resting on her thigh with his own and twining their fingers together. “If I spent the night at your place. Then you can make sure I’m there on time.”
Sybil laughed, so he decided to keep pressing his luck.
“And I don’t want poor, sweet Agatha to think I’ve abandoned her. I could help with her transition from alley cat to house cat.”
“God, I hope Mallory put her back in the laundry room and didn’t let her roam the house,” Sybil muttered as she turned on to the road that would take them back to the hotel.
“So was that a yes or a no to me spending the night?”
“I’ll think about it.”
But she squeezed his hand, so he felt pretty good about his chances.
Rain drummed on the roof of Sybil’s covered porch and the fat drops splashed on the pavement, miniature droplets spraying the bottom step. Peter sat on the top step, the toes of his shoes slowly growing damp from the residual mist.
He could have let himself into the house and waited for Sybil in there where it was warm and he could have snuggled with the cat. The door was unlocked. But as he’d been opening the door it had occurred to him that letting himself into Sybil’s house was not a good idea. So he sat on the porch, watching the street for her to come home, his fingers worrying a leaf from the bouquet of flowers he’d bought for her. All cat-safe, in case Agatha got into them. He’d interrogated the florist.
A car turned into the driveway, and once the headlights weren’t in his eyes, Peter confirmed it was Sybil’s car and an ounce of the nervous tension in his shoulders leaked away.
“I’m surprised you’re not in the house,” she said as she headed toward the porch.
Peter stood, grabbing the bottle of wine he’d brought by the neck, and held out the flowers as she reached the bottom step.
“I decided to follow vampire rules. Can I come in?”
Sybil took the flowers and lifted her head for a kiss, which he gladly gave her.
“You’re terrible at being casual,” she murmured against his lips.
“I’m being very casual. I haven’t asked you to marry me yet.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile playing in the corners of her mouth.
“Where’s your stuff? I know you didn’t show up with flowers and a bottle of wine without an ulterior motive.”
Peter looked at his backpack, which was hidden behind a flower pot, and Sybil’s gaze followed his.
“Is the wine red or white?”
“Red, of course.”
Sybil opened her front door. “Good answer.”
Irritated meows could be heard from the back of the house. Agatha did not enjoy her confinement.
Peter left his backpack near the door, slid out of his shoes, and followed Sybil to the kitchen.
“Will you let Agatha out?” she asked, taking a vase out from a low cupboard.
The cat was thrilled to see him. Her yowls changed to delighted chirps when he opened the laundry room door, and she rubbed against his legs, purring loudly.
“Is your girlfriend happy to see you?” Sybil asked, already opening the bottle of wine when he returned to the kitchen, cradling Agatha like a baby.
“I ordered her some stuff today,” Peter confessed, scratching the cat on the chin while she tried to contort her body so he could pet her head at the same time.
Sybil poured two hefty glasses of wine and handed one to him. “You’ve got a sugar daddy, Agatha.”
“Do you think a catnip plant is a good idea or a bad idea?”
They wandered back to the velvet couch, and he sat right next to Sybil, their thighs touching. Agatha, in an effort to be cute and garner more attention, wiggled, rolled, and got herself trapped in the seam where their legs met, like a turtle that had landed on its shell instead of its feet.
“Tale as old as time.” Sybil shook her head and tsked her tongue disapprovingly. “A normally very intelligent girl makes an absolute fool of herself for the attention of a good-looking man.”
Peter draped his free arm around her shoulders. “You think I’m good-looking?”
“You’re fishing for compliments.” Sybil tapped the end of his nose with her index finger. “Weren’t you on the Sexiest Man Alive list?”
“The compliments mean more when they come from you.”
“I will never understand you,” she confessed, brushing a few humidity-induced curls off his forehead.
“You don’t have to understand it, just accept it.”
He waited for her to try the wine and then leaned forward and kissed her, enjoying the warmth of the grapes from her tongue. She sighed lightly, relaxing into his attention like it was all she’d been waiting for all day. Agatha pawed his side, but he ignored her.
“That’s good wine,” he said when Sybil finally broke their kiss.
“You should try it again,” she suggested and took another drink.
Peter relieved her of her wine glass and put both glasses on the coffee table, then sank his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull and kissed her again, slow and deep, savoring her. Shivers flooded his body as her tongue slid against his, and he swallowed the tiny, whimpering moan that escaped her.
Agatha meowed.
“Should we go upstairs?” Peter asked. “We could drink our wine without any interruptions.”
“Mallory is closing at Moonie’s tonight. She won’t be home until after two.”
“I meant the cat.”
“Worried your girlfriend is going to get jealous?” Sybil teased.
“I am. I want to continue to be her favorite. Plus, I don’t want to scare her when I start begging to eat your pussy.”
Sybil deposited Agatha on the floor and hopped up from the couch, grabbing her wine glass and walking quickly toward the stairs. Peter didn’t need to be told to follow. He snatched his glass of wine and hurried after her, catching her on the third step and curling an arm around her waist.
“So can I eat your pussy? Please?” Peter asked, kissing the sensitive spot behind her ear.
Sybil let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “If you must.”
He grinned and released her, but the swat he’d intended for her rear missed as she bolted up the stairs as fast as she could without spilling her wine.
Peter got to her room a mere footfall after she did, and quickly shut the door behind him as he heard the pitter-patter of little paws on the stairs.
Sybil set her wine on the nightstand and started undressing.
“Please tell me you brought condoms this time.”
He froze, his wine glass halfway to his mouth. That was what he had meant to get at the store. Condoms.
“You are so lucky I’m responsible,” Sybil said as she opened her nightstand drawer. A fresh box of condoms, still sealed in plastic. “Otherwise you’d have spent the night eating my pussy over and over again as an apology.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Peter took a hefty swallow of wine then set the glass next to Sybil’s so he could undress too.
His shirt was halfway off when Sybil took off her top and his brain short-circuited so violently he got stuck with his arms around his ears.
When they’d been dating in London, she’d once told him that she didn’t see the point of lingerie because it was impractically constructed and coming off in thirty seconds anyway. So the last thing he’d expected was for her to be wearing a sheer black bra with red flowers embroidered along the top half of the cup. He didn’t understand the physics of how a bra that insubstantial managed to make her breasts look that full and perky, but the effect made him dizzy from lack of blood flow to his brain.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “What…when…how…”
No, there was definitely no blood left for his brain. It was all flowing into his dick, which was almost hard enough to dent steel.
“What? This?” Sybil touched the black straps coquettishly. “Oh gosh…a few years? Eloise was shopping for her honeymoon, and I got inspired.” She shrugged nonchalantly and unbuttoned her jeans. As she parted the zipper, black lace peeked out.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“You don’t think you’re already in heaven?”
Peter awkwardly tugged his shirt off and tossed it behind him, then fumbled with his belt, trying to catch up to her.
“Have you been wearing those all day?”
She shook her head. “I came home after I dropped you off to check on the cat and thought, why not?” She trailed a finger along the top edge of the bra, following the outlines of the flowers, and he’d never been so jealous of a digit before. “Do you like it, or should I take it off?”
“Yes.”
“There were two questions,” she reminded him.
“I know, and the answer is still a very enthusiastic yes.” Peter shucked his pants and underwear at the same time, leaving him standing in his socks. “I like it very much”—he indicated his penis, which was standing straight out from his body—“and I would like it off…eventually.”
“Eventually?” She frowned. “What does that mean?”
He stepped into her space and slid his hands into the gaping waistband of her jeans, squeezing her ass, and running his hands over her skin to learn where the lace ended and she began.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured and tipped her backwards onto the bed.
He knelt before her and peeled off her jeans like wrapping paper he wanted to save, kissing her skin like the gift it was as it was exposed to him. Sybil went to take off her underwear, her fingers already in the waistband before he grabbed her wrists to stop her. He used his shoulders to part her thighs, then guided one of her hands to the crotch of her panties and helped her pull them to one side.
Then he feasted.
Every day felt long when Sybil was near and he couldn’t touch her whenever he wanted, but today had lasted a lifetime. He couldn’t get her mind-blowing blowjob out of his head, and every second that ticked by he regretted not returning the favor. Going down on her wasn’t a favor, it was a privilege. It didn’t matter that the hard floor was biting his knees, or that his jaw started to ache when he pressed on because he thought she might be close; he was exactly where he wanted to be.
Her fingers tangled in his hair and gripped tightly, holding his face in place, like there was a chance he might give up and move on. A bomb couldn’t have shifted him. Her scent, her taste, and her voice filled his senses, all urging him on until her thighs tensed and her body tightened.
Her chest and cheeks were flushed when he crawled up next to her on the bed. She reached out and wiped some of her wetness off his chin with her thumb.
“You kept your fancy knickers on for more than thirty seconds after I saw them. Still think they’re silly?”
“If they’re going to get me those kinds of results, I’ll wear them all the time,” she said. “But I think you’d be just as happy if I was wearing cotton.”
He licked his lips and smiled. “Guilty.”
Sybil put a hand in the center of his chest and pushed him onto his back, then swung a leg over him, mounting his hips like he was a horse. His cock was safely nestled against her ass crack, so he had no objections.
“This was your favorite position, wasn’t it?” she asked him, lowering her torso so her nipples grazed his chest through the thin material of her bra. They inhaled sharply in unison. “You liked watching me ride you? Fucking you so good until you couldn’t stand it anymore and you begged me to let you come?” She rocked her hips back, grinding her wet pussy against his rock-hard shaft, the soaked lace tickling his sensitive skin. The head of his cock pressed against her opening, barred from penetrating her only by her delicate panties. It would be so easy to pull that scrap of fabric to the side and impale her on his bare cock. “Mmm…do you want me to make myself come on your cock?”
It was a miracle he didn’t come then and there.
“Y-yes, please.” His breathless plea caught in his throat when her teeth grazed his racing pulse.
Sybil dismounted and he missed her warmth so acutely that he whimpered. She smirked, and took the box of condoms from her nightstand, piercing the shrink-wrap with her nails and tearing the box open. She tore a condom off the edge of the strip and tossed it on his chest.
“Put that on.”
Peter scrambled to do her bidding. While he rolled the latex sheath down his length, she stepped out of her lacy underwear and dangled them from the tip of her finger. Once his task was complete, she straddled him again, trapping his erection between their bodies.
“Say ‘ahh,’” she commanded, opening her mouth wide to demonstrate.
He opened his mouth and she stuffed her panties inside. He moaned, sucking the taste of her from the fabric.
“Good boy.”
She sank onto his cock, working him in slowly, her eyes half closed and her lips slightly parted. Peter fought to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head as she enveloped him in her tight warmth. He didn’t want to miss a second, but it felt so good he thought he’d die. Nothing this good happened to anyone who had another sixty years or so to live.
“Oh fuck,” Sybil whined when she’d taken in three-quarters of him. “You’re so big, you stretch me so good— Oh fuck , you feel so, so good.”
She rolled her hips, rocking back and forth, and he didn’t dare move for fear of ruining the rhythm she was building for herself. Her fingers dug into his chest and he focused on the slight pain to distract himself from the intense pressure of his building orgasm.
“Rub my clit,” she begged, and he jumped at the chance to be useful.
His thumb found her clit, and he started touching it the way that seemed to get the best results. Sybil gasped and her body clamped around his, her pussy trying to milk his cock for all it was worth. Her motion faltered, so he grabbed her hips and wrung every last drop from her orgasm.
Sybil collapsed on his chest, panting.
“Did you come?” she asked.
Peter removed her underwear from his mouth and dropped them onto the floor. “Not yet. Are you all done?”
She nodded. “Come for me.”
He gripped her hips, pressed his feet into the mattress, and fucked her from below, his cock pistoning in and out of her as he chased his own bliss.
“Oh fuck, yes ,” she moaned, and he lost it.
His muscles tightened as he exploded in the condom, coming like he hadn’t relieved himself in days instead of just that morning. His mind shattered and slowly came back together, golden happiness repairing the cracks.
His bones felt like they weighed a ton as he wrapped his arms around Sybil, their breath slowly falling into sync.
“I am definitely in heaven,” he said against her hair, and kissed the top of her head.
“I don’t want to move. I don’t know if I can move,” she mumbled.
Outside the door, Agatha yowled. They both chuckled, too spent to find the energy for a real laugh.
“We should clean up,” Sybil said, slowly disconnecting their bodies. She pushed herself off the bed and went to the door. She’d barely opened it a crack when Agatha darted in and dove under the bed. “Someone doesn’t want to be kicked out.”
“I understand how she feels.” Peter forced himself to sit up. “If I go under the bed, can I stay too?”