Chapter 4
I couldn’t rightly say what I’d expected of the morning after an impromptu adult sleepover with my teenhood frenemy. Waking up snuggled up in warmth was pretty nice. Rolling over to find the male who’d woken me up in the middle of the night to do awful, wonderful things to me, missing, not so nice.
Shouldn’t I be sore? He was eager, I was very new at this, and Cy was not a small man in the snake trouser department.
I should be a lot more sore, I think.
I’d had a work friend in my early twenties, a fellow factory worker. She used to tell me way too much about far too many personal things about herself. I could clearly recall a conversation where she complained her then boyfriend was a beast in the bedroom and often made her sore…
Maybe he was doing it wrong.
Thinking about my time with Cy, I couldn’t find a single thing in our bedroom gymnastics adventures that felt even remotely wrong to me.
Cy knew what he was doing. While I very much appreciated this and enjoyed reaping the benefits, a part of me was jealous of the idea of him learning all of this experience with someone else.
With Elm it had felt like equal footing when we got down to naked fun times, two clearly inexperienced fumblers raring to go.
A little record scratched in my head, warning me to never compare the two in any way, shape, or form ever again.
Elm left, mumbling his regret.
Cy is here. He doesn’t appear to be going anywhere, and whether he really means it or not we’re both enjoying this game we’ve been playing where he claims I’m his and I deny it.
My denials were getting very weak, the more this went on. That’s the part that scares me.
Unwrapping myself from the blanket cocoon I woke up in, I pulled the fluffy bit of whatever the heck was tickling the top of my head off of me. Fur? Purple… fur?
Sitting up, I jerked the softest, fluffiest blanket ever into my lap and stared at it.
This one was not one of mine. Nor had it been unearthed from this house. I knew that for a fact.
It was Cy’s? He’d wrapped me up in it?
Bringing it to my face, I ran my cheek along it and a small, goofy, stupid little smile tugged at my lips. He’d given me his blankie. It smelled like him, like he used it often.
It was a soft shade of lavender of the likes I’d never seen before— not exactly something I’d have pictured Cy ever owning, let alone to the point he took it with him and kept it in his truck— he was black, blue, plaid, denim, in that order— and it was softer than anything else I’d ever felt.
Turning it over, I frowned at the double-sided fur on it.
Barely visible seams along the sides told me this monstrous thing was folded in half and sewn closed.
Was it fake fur? Dyed? What freaking animal could it possibly be from?
A fantasy themed faux fur blanket? It was unique, one of a kind.
Was Cy aware I was into this kind of stuff?
It was right up my alley. I’ve just never had the money to splurge on pretty luxuries like this. It looked as expensive as it felt.
My fingers ran over it absently, smoothing across it lovingly.
Mine. The thought slammed into my head.
I loved purple. It was my first favorite color, followed closely by black, pink, and orange. Glancing around, I bit my lip. Would Cy miss this thing if I hid it?
As if thinking of him summoned him, the man himself popped his head into my bedroom.
“Thought heard noise.” Blue eyes zeroed in on me hugging my brand new, super soft and comfy blanket.
“Sucks to be you, this is mine now,” I blurted, clutching my brand new, favorite, world’s softest blanket ever to my chest.
Instead of any kind of protest, an argument as per usual with Cy, he smiled and nodded. “Yours,” he said simply.
Swallowing thickly as my body reacted to his softly crooned response, the good feels shivers breaking out all over my flesh, his eyes flashed with heat and he looked eager to show how many other ways he could make me tremble in response to him when I made out a faint sizzle and pop and finally glanced away from his face long enough to notice the spatula in his hand.
Eyes widening, I gave a small, experimental sniff. Bacon.
As if in response to the smell as it hit my nose, my stomach began to growl.
Cy’s grin widened, until he was flashing a set of sharp canines that hung lower than the rest of his even, white teeth my way, no half smile with a peek of teeth.
Another genetic anomaly maybe? Lots of people had fangy-like canines. Perhaps I’d just never really noticed this about him before? A big smiler, Cy was not.
It was easy enough to explain away.
“Come. I feed my female,” he rumbled out happily, then popped right back out the doorway to hum to himself as he strode back towards the kitchen.
“My female?” I echoed. “Okay, Conan,” I jokingly called back softly.
“That Mr. Barbarian to my Pru!” he laughingly shot back.
Slipping from the bed, I shivered as my feet met cold wood floor. I noticed it then, the neatly folded flannel in varying shades of blue, a dark grey t-shirt, and what appeared to be a raggedy pair of grey sweats. Atop all of that was a fresh pair of my dad’s thick thermal socks.
Huh. Were those for him or…?
Bypassing Cy’s picked out outfit, I went to my dresser and opened the top drawer. Empty.
Uhm…
“Cy?” I called out as I opened drawer after drawer and found them empty, every single dang diddly darn flippin’ one.
“What the hell?” I muttered, rushing to my closet to find much the same nonsense.
Wrapping Cy’s blanket around me, I ran from my room and straight into the bathroom.
Cy glanced over his shoulder curiously as I glared at him on my way down the hall.
Music played softly from the kitchen, nineties country from the sounds of it.
Was he out of the hidden music genres love closet?
A soft chuckle issued from my personal short order cook and snowed in lover.
He was about to learn what a full time popsicle felt like if he- “The laundry hamper too?” I barked.
Marching out of the bathroom and out into the hall, I gave Cy a look that could peel paint. “What kinda game is this, Tree?” I barked.
Cy’s eyes widened innocently and he tapped the butt of the spatula in his hand to his chest as if to say, Why… do you mean me?
“Where is my shit?” I hissed.
Furry brown eyebrows shot up. “Mean you not like what Cy find for my Pru?”
Throwing a hand up, the other clutching the ends of his blanket in place, I pointed at him. “I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, but I’m on to you!” Pointing at my eyes, I then pointed at him again.
Cy turned and set the spatula down, exposing the contents of the pan he was babysitting.
Potatoes? For me?
Potatoes is and would probably always be my love language.
My gaze darted from him, to the potato pan, then the freshly crisped bacon, then back to him again.
Cy moved fast, faster than my easily distracted brain could keep up with. Dressed in a Godzilla t-shirt, dark blue jeans, his feet bare, hair still damp as if maybe he’d made use of the shower, he wrapped me up in a big hug that pressed my face into his chest.
“What are you doing?” I mumbled into his shirt front. He’d shaved the prickles off his face, I noted this close to him. If he didn’t they’d grow out past his beard, around his eyes, nose. Shaving like that must be a bitch.
“Hugging my Pru,” he replied easily, a chuckle sneaking in there as he spoke.
Good god he felt nice. The clothes stealing fool smelled incredible.
A beat passed before I grumbled, “Where are my clothes?”
“Not want them packed? Cy help Pru pack, box up clothes.”
“That’s usually the last thing to pack, really,” I pointed out.
“And now it done, yes? No worries for last. Cy helped.” He was trying so hard not to laugh, his chest shaking with silent laughter.
Pinching his side, smiling into his chest when he yelped, captured my hand, and pretended he was going to nip the offending digits, he placed a kiss to the pinch offending fingers instead.
Pulling back, I stared up at him. “What are we doing? I mean, really, what the hell are we doing?”
“‘Sides packing my Pru’s clothes so she has to wear mine? ‘Sides making food for my Pru so her stomach stops growling at Cy? Make taters so my Pru smiles biggest at Cy? ‘Sides that?” he teased as he began swaying with me in place. His hand lifted and he smoothed it over the side of my face, then over the side of my head. It was such a tender gesture. I loved how at ease he was with me. He didn’t see me as that lady with no hair. He didn’t assume I had some kind of condition that garnered sympathy and pitying looks or words.
He saw me. He didn’t hold back and treat me like I was different, like I was too fragile to handle shit.
“‘Sides that,” I croaked out.
Cy bent and placed a smacking kiss to my forehead. “We doing whatever we want,” he rumbled out softly, emphasis on the ‘we’ there, the togetherness.
This was, admittedly, rather nice.
Plucking at the back of his shirt as I swayed along with him with my arms around his back, I glanced towards my bedroom and muttered, “What’s on the other shirt?”
“It matter?” he rumbled out with twitchy lips and twinkling eyes.
Still plucking at his shirt, I glanced away shyly to mumble, “You know I like Godzilla.”
Cy laughed, pulled back, whipped off his shirt, fur and muscle as far as these eyes could see on display, and tugged it down over my head.
Smoothing a hand down the side of my face, he cupped my chin, tugged it up, and dipped to meet my lips in a toe curling kiss that had me grumbling when he ended it far too soon.
“Distract me, taters burn,” he reasoned.
My gaze darted from him to the pan and I took a step back. “Good point.”
“Taters, precious,” he hissed, then rushed me and tickled my sides until I jumped out of the danger zone.