Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Did you really need me to run errands with you?” Peter asked, plodding two steps behind Dempsey as his assistant speed-walked down the sidewalk.
“I’m shopping for a birthday present, and you’re good at presents. Considering how much I do for you, I think you can help me with this,” Dempsey said.
“I pay you for that,” Peter reminded them. “Why couldn’t you have left me in bed to rot?”
“Because you’re the closest thing I have to a pet, and it would be irresponsible of me not to make sure you get a walk in the fresh air once a day.”
Peter sniffed the air. There was a faint odor of curry from a takeaway shop, petrol, and the putrid smell of someone’s sick in the gutter.
“I wouldn’t say fresh.”
Dempsey paused their road march to look around, stopping so suddenly that Peter bumped into them.
“Give me two hours,” Dempsey said, “and then I will let you draw your curtains and burrow under your covers until tomorrow.”
They looked both ways, then darted across the street. Peter had to jog to catch up.
There was something familiar about the street. He glanced in a shop window and saw a cat sleeping amongst several stacked books.
“You’re not looking for a book, are you?”
Dempsey pulled open the blue door roughly since it stuck, and some of the flaking gold lettering on the door quivered.
“I am. Come on.”
They’d taken one step inside when Peter balked and said, “I can’t.”
Dempsey grabbed his wrist and tugged. “Yes. You. Can.”
He tried not to breathe, tried not to let his sense of smell dig up all those memories, but the dust in the air tickled his nose and he sneezed. When he inhaled, the scent of dust, groundwood paper, and wood almost buckled his knees.
“How do you find anything in here?” Dempsey asked, having already discovered management’s lack of organization.
“You just—” He thought he saw a flash of red from the corner of his eye. “Have to look for it.”
His words trailed off as he edged toward where he thought he’d seen the flash of color. It would end up being nothing, and then his heart would break all over again. He had to stop thinking every bit of red he saw might be Sybil, no matter how much he missed her.
He poked his head around the shelves. No one was there, and besides the books, not a hint of red to be seen.
If he had it to do all over, he wouldn’t have left Crane Cove. He would have grabbed a bucket full of pebbles and tossed them at Sybil’s window until she’d talked to him. He missed her too much to care about anything else.
Peter wandered, hands in his pockets, down the aisle, glancing up and down the shelves. There had to be something here. There was always something.
Of course, it was hard to find a needle in a haystack when he didn’t know what kind of needle was looking for.
He turned to take the scenic route to where he’d seen Dempsey go, and froze.
Red wool sweater. Red hair bunched into a messy bun. Stretching up on her tiptoes to reach a book.
It couldn’t be…
Her fingers grasped the spine and she pulled the book free from its shelf, and put her weight back on her heels. Then she looked at him and smiled timidly, but there was hope glimmering in her brown eyes.
“Hello, Peter,” Sybil said softly.
“What are you doing here?”
Sybil took a few slow, cautious steps towards him. Peter didn’t dare to even blink in case this was a hallucination that would disappear if he closed his eyes.
“I came to see if you still wanted to sit on my couch while we read books and listen to the rain.” She pressed the book she’d pulled from the shelf into his hands. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. I had to catch up.”
Peter looked down at the book in his hands. Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett.
“I was hoping you’d read it and write in the margins for me,” Sybil said.
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was still there, the line of worry between her eyebrows growing deeper with every passing heartbeat.
“You’re actually here,” he whispered, staggered by his own disbelief.
The book landed on the uneven wood floor with a thump and then Peter had Sybil in his arms again, his lips pressed against hers. She clung to him, her fingers twisting around the fabric of his clothes, and kissed him back like she never thought she’d see him again.
The world ceased to spin. The dust motes, stirred up when he dropped the book on the floor, froze in midair. It was a singularly perfect moment, and Peter was determined to memorize every part of it. The softness of the well-loved wool under his palms. How Sybil’s scent mixed with the aroma of the bookshop. The pounding of his heart in his ears. All of it was precious.
When they finally parted, though only enough to speak, Sybil quickly said, “I love you. I don’t know what this is going to look like or how we’re going to make it work, but I want this. I want us .”
“You’re sure?” He touched his forehead to hers, and their noses bumped against each other. “I don’t want to push?—”
“Peter, I flew almost ten hours to get to you. I chased you across an ocean. You’re not pushing.”
“I really get to keep you?”
Sybil nodded, a watery smile stretching across her face.
“Not to break up this touching reunion, but you are in public and cell phones have cameras,” Dempsey reminded them, standing where they might have blocked someone’s shot if they were taller.
Peter took a step back from Sybil, but kept his hands on her arms. “I’m so sorry I got distracted. Did you find a book for your friend?”
Dempsey and Sybil exchanged a look of barely contained amusement and smugness.
“There was never a friend,” Sybil explained. “I called Dempsey yesterday, explained my plan, and asked them to lure you here under whatever false pretenses were necessary.”
Peter narrowed his eyes at his long-time assistant. “You sneaky little—” He engulfed them in a hug. “I actually thought you meant the pet comment.”
“I did.” Dempsey’s voice was muffled by Peter’s chest. “You also qualify as a complicated, emotional houseplant I have to keep hydrated.”
“Should we get out of here?” Sybil suggested, bending down to pick up the Terry Pratchett book he’d dropped.
“Where do you want to go?” Peter asked and took Sybil’s hand, intertwining their fingers.
She squeezed his hand. “Anywhere I can take a nap. I was so anxious that I didn’t sleep at all on the plane.”
“I’m renting a flat between Grosvenor Square and Bond Street, if you want to go back there.”
“Isn’t that in Mayfair? Somebody’s moved up in the world.”
The flat Peter had rented for his stay in London wasn’t very large. In terms of square footage, it was roughly the size of the shitty flat he’d rented twelve years ago when he’d met Sybil, except instead of four bedrooms and one bathroom, this flat had two bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms, and he couldn’t hear his neighbors through the walls. It was cozy and bright, and Sybil immediately gravitated toward the window seat.
“The view is a lot shittier than I imagined,” she said, peering out the window, which looked directly into the building next door.
“I rented it for comfort, not for the view. And the view isn’t that bad. There isn’t a dying neon sign in sight.”
Sybil stifled a yawn with her hand. “Sorry. Jet lag.”
“Do you want to see my bedroom?” he offered, not thinking about how that sounded until she chuckled.
“You’ve had me here for two minutes, and you’re already trying to get me into bed.” She rested her head against the window. “Could we talk first?”
“Of course.” Peter joined her on the window seat, which was not meant for two people, so their sides were pressed tightly together. “What did you want to talk about?”
Sybil closed her eyes. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry for how I reacted when I thought you were going to propose to me.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Please, just let me say this. If you interrupt me, I’ll lose my nerve.” She took a deep breath. “I freaked out because when I found the ring, I wanted to say yes. That really scared me because we’re not ready. We haven’t figured out how to merge our lives yet. So I knew I’d have to say no. And I guess I hated that you were ready to make that leap and I wasn’t and I needed some way to make it not all my fault and…I’m sorry.”
Peter knew there was some important stuff he should have heard, but his brain was stuck on one thing.
“You want to marry me?”
Sybil put her hand over his and squeezed. “Someday. Not yet.”
“You know this means I’m going to start asking so I’ll catch you the moment you’re ready, right?”
She groaned, but there was a smile on her face. “Oh god, what have I done?”
“Sybil, will you marry me?”
“No.” She laughed and then cupped his cheek, her brown eyes warm and soft. “Not yet.”
She kissed him, tenderly at first, and then her tongue swiped his bottom lip, asking for entry. He opened to her, kissing her back with growing fervor, his blood humming, and his dick hardening and growing the best it could against the confines of his pants until she suddenly pulled back.
“I don’t think I’m very sleepy anymore.” She bit her bottom lip and smiled.
Peter jumped up. “I have to run to the chemist.”
Sybil frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t have any condoms.”
“Hold on.” She held up a hand for him to wait, then opened her purse, dug around for a second, and held one up. “There’s probably six more in here. Mallory hid them like Easter eggs in my luggage. TSA had a really good laugh at my expense.”
“I am buying her the biggest Christmas gift this year,” Peter said. He grabbed Sybil’s hand and tugged her towards his bedroom. “You said you had six more?”
“You think we’re going to have sex six times?”
“How long are you here for?”
“Three days.”
“We could make that happen.”
As soon as they crossed the threshold, Peter tugged off his shirt and undid his belt, then sat on the end of his bed to take off his pants so he didn’t get tangled in the legs and fall. A trip to Accident and Emergency would definitely put a damper on their reunion.
Sybil straddled him, her knees hugging his hips, and started kissing him again. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and his cock twitched roughly, like it could push through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs.
“I missed you,” he moaned against her mouth.
“It’s been less than a week,” she pointed out, and scraped his bottom lip with her teeth.
Shivers tickled his body. “Worst, longest week of my life.” He slid his hands under the hem of her shirt so he could feel her skin again. “I miss you when you go to the bathroom.”
“If you quote me on this, I’ll deny it, but I hope you always want me this much.”
“As you wish.”
Taking off Sybil’s clothes gave him the same thrill as unwrapping every Christmas present he’d ever gotten as a child all at the same time. She was a gift.
“Sorry it’s not sexy lingerie,” she said as she struggled out of her sports bra. “I was going for comfort over fashion.”
“You can wear whatever you want, as long as it comes off.”
Sybil’s boobs bounced when she finally succeeded in getting her bra off. His eyes followed their motion up then down. He licked his lips.
“I am the luckiest man alive,” he muttered.
“My eyes are up here.”
“They’re beautiful eyes too, but your tits are in my face and I want them.”
Sybil’s laugh melted into a moan as he drew her nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue over the sensitive tip. She arched her back, pressing her chest closer to him, and he cupped her other breast, circling her nipple with his thumb.
“F-fuck,” she whined, threading her fingers through his hair. “More.”
He sucked until she whimpered, and then he released her breast from his mouth with a pop before moving to the other side and giving it the same treatment.
Sybil tried to grind against him, but by the sound of her frustrated groan it wasn’t helping. Peter wrapped his arms tightly around her middle and twisted his body, rolling them so she was on her back and he was between her thighs. Her brown eyes were wide with surprise and her cheeks flushed.
He bent over her, sucking each nipple once more before kissing a winding path down her body until he reached the waistband of her pants. He rolled the stretchy material down her hips and her thighs, kissing her newly exposed skin as it was revealed to him, and once he’d eased them over her feet, he threw them toward the corner of the room.
Peter grasped her thighs behind her knees and pushed her legs apart, opening her pussy to him. She was already so wet that she glistened.
“That’s better,” he murmured, then kissed the hollow where her leg met her hip.
Then he feasted.
There was no teasing preamble. He hadn’t tasted her in too many days and he was starved. He dipped his tongue inside her pussy and moaned loudly as her sweet, salty wetness coated his tongue. Sybil gasped, and sank her fingers into his hair, holding his head firmly against her body. He continued to lick and suck until her legs tensed under his palms and her grip on his hair became borderline painful.
Peter didn’t bother wiping his chin when he sat back on his heels.
“Condom?” he asked, and Sybil pointed at the nightstand.
He helped her scoot up to the head of the bed and settled her among the pillows before he tore open the packet and slid the latex sheath over his length. Then he settled himself back between her thighs and kissed her deeply.
“Mmm…you taste like me,” Sybil murmured when she pulled back. There was a tender smile on her lips and she curled a hand around the back of his neck. “Make love to me?”
“I’ve only ever made love to you.”
He fit the head of his cock against her slick opening and pushed, sliding in by small degrees so he didn’t accidentally hurt her. She locked her legs around his waist and he rolled his hips, thrusting in and out while he kept his gaze locked on hers.
There was no race to the finish line. They moved slowly, taking time to kiss and luxuriate in every sensation. The pressure built gradually in his cock until he thought he couldn’t hold it back any longer.
“That’s it,” Sybil encouraged. “Come for me.”
He shuddered, his body contracting as he came. Her body tightened around his and faintly he thought he heard her gasp. With a final shiver, his arms gave out and he laid on top of Sybil, spent.
“Will you marry me?” he asked, his words muffled against her skin.
“Not yet,” she said, stroking his back. “But someday.”