13. Cyaire
Cyaire
I’ll own up to this now. Last night, there was no room for talking when my face was pressed into Jamie’s pillow, the fabric damp beneath my parted lips, my breath hot and ragged against the cotton as I panted.
My ass was up in the air, knees spread wide, the cool air of the bedroom brushing against my exposed skin before Jamie’s hands gripped my cheeks, pulling them apart with a possessive roughness that made my thighs tremble.
His tongue was relentless, wet, insistent, dragging over my hole in slow, deliberate strokes before flicking inside me, shallow at first, then deeper, until I was whimpering into the pillow, my fingers clawing at the headboard just to stay upright.
“Oh, fuck me, Jamie,” I gasped, my voice broke, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I struggled to keep my balance. The headboard creaked under my grip, the wood bit into my palms, but I didn’t dare let go. Not when he was rimming me into complete submission.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet baby, Blue,” he murmured against my skin.
His breath, hot and damp, sent shivers down my spine.
“I’m going to fuck you. Just let me taste you a little longer.
” Then he was back at it, his tongue circled my rim before plunging inside again, deeper this time, like he was trying to devour me from the inside out.
I groaned, my hips jerked involuntarily, my dick leaked against the sheets as I rocked back into his mouth, chasing the obscene pleasure of it.
The only coherent words I could muster were the ones that mattered, tested months ago, no one else since the night I saw him at the Vipers game, on PrEP—because if he was going to wreck me like this, I needed him to do it bare, to feel every inch of him inside me with nothing between us.
He hummed in approval, the vibration of it against my hole made my legs shake.
“Please, please, please, Jamie,” I begged, my voice raw, my body strung tight like a bowstring.
“You’re killing me.” He answered by slapping my ass, hard, his palm stung against my skin, the sharp sound echoed in the room.
I yelped, my hand flying back to rub the spot, but he caught my wrist, pinning it to the small of my back.
“Did I tell you to move?” His voice was low, rough, the kind of tone that made my dick throb.
I shook my head and bit my lip as I forced myself to still, to submit.
“That’s right. Your pleasure belongs to me tonight.
Only me.” He released my wrist, but the warning lingered, heavy in the air between us.
Then there was no more talking. Not when I straddled his hips, my thighs trembling as I sank down onto his thick length, inch by agonizing inch, until I was seated fully against him, my ass pressed to his balls.
He filled me so completely it bordered on pain, but I didn’t care.
I needed it, needed him, like I needed air.
I rode him hard and fast, my hips snapped down onto his, the slick sound of skin meeting skin filled the room.
Jamie’s arms wrapped around me, pulled me flush against his chest, my face buried in the crook of his neck as I marked him with my teeth, bit down hard enough to leave bruises.
He groaned, his fingers dug into my hips, guided my movements as I chased my third orgasm. My body trembled with the effort.
Fucked out and exhausted, there were no words left as he carried me to his massive walk-in shower, my legs barely held me up as he pressed me against the cool tile.
The water was scalding, steam billowed around us as he knelt in front of me, his hands spread my thighs apart as he cleaned me with slow, deliberate strokes of the washcloth.
My ass was sore, my hole tender and swollen, but the ache only made me crave him more.
He looked up at me, his dark eyes burning with something primal, and I knew, knew, he wasn’t done with me yet.
His fingers replaced the cloth, slipped inside me with ease, stretched me open as his mouth wrapped around my dick, sucked me deep into his throat.
I came with a broken cry, my hands braced against his shoulders as he swallowed my release along with all the words we should have said but didn’t.
I couldn’t speak when he woke me hours later, his lips wrapped around my dick, his throat working as he swallowed me down.
My body was boneless, my mind still half-asleep, but my dick didn’t care.
It hardened instantly under his touch, my hips jerked up into his mouth as he hollowed his cheeks and took me deeper.
I came with a whimper, my fingers twisted in the sheets, my body shook as he licked me clean before collapsing beside me, his arm slung over my waist, pulling me close.
Talking is overrated anyway. Especially when Jamie presses me against the kitchen counter, his lips crash into mine as the scent of brewing coffee fills the air.
My phone buzzes away in my pocket, Cam, no doubt, waiting outside, his patience wearing thin, but I don’t care.
Not when Jamie’s hands slide under my shirt, his fingers trace the marks he left on my skin, his mouth hot against my neck.
I groan, my head falls back as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin just below my ear.
“What time are you supposed to be at the arena today?” Jamie’s lips brush against my jaw before he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. His forehead presses against mine, his breath warm and minty. The intimacy of it, of this, leaves me aching for more.
I groan, my hands grip the counter behind me.
“I should be on the way now.” My voice is rough, my throat still raw from the night before.
“Cameron’s outside. He’s giving us time, but if I keep kissing you, he’s going to have to come in here and drag me out.
” I glance at the coffee pot, the dark liquid calling to me, but I know I won’t have time for even a sip.
Not if I want to avoid the walk of shame into my trailer, still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
Jamie sighs, his thumb brushes over my bottom lip.
“Come on, Blue. Let me walk you out.” He pulls away, holding out his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like we hadn’t spent years apart, like this wasn’t the first time that we’d woken up together.
I take his hand, my fingers threading through his, and let him lead me to the door.
“I’ll see you later,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m not required on set until ten.” He opens the door, the morning air cool against my skin, but he doesn’t let me step through. Instead, he stops me, his hand cups my jaw, his thumb traces the line of my cheekbone.
“Cyaire—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Kiss me.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m not ready for whatever he is about to say. Not yet. Maybe not ever, but this, this, I can handle.
Jamie searches my face, before he nods, like he understands and shares my sentiment.
He leans down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that is soft, painstakingly slow and sensual, before it deepens, his tongue sweeping into my mouth.
I groan, my body responding instantly, my dick twitching against the fabric of my joggers, but Jamie pulls back before I get too carried away, leaving me breathless and wanting.
“Don’t make Cameron wake my neighbors with the horn,” he teases, his voice rough, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he raises his hand to wave at Cam, who glares at us from the driver’s seat of the SUV, holding up his watch in silent accusation.
I force myself to move, putting one foot in front of the other, my legs unsteady beneath me.
I don’t look back until I am safely inside the car, the door shutting behind me with a soft click.
Jamie stands in the doorway, his chest bare, the marks I’d left on his skin stark against his collarbone, his sweatpants hang low on his hips, the outline of his dick visible beneath the fabric.
Fuck, it’s damn near pornographic. He watches me, his expression unreadable, until the car begins to pull away and he disappears behind his front door.
Cameron chuckles, holding out a cup of coffee as he backs out of the driveway. “Here. You look like you need this and a few more hours of sleep.” His tone is light, but there is an edge to it, like he is trying not to pry but failing.
I take the coffee, the heat of it seeps into my palms as I bring it to my lips, the first sip bitter and perfect. I watch Jamie’s front door until it is out of sight, and only then can I breathe again. Like the world outside this car, outside him, can exist without tearing me apart.
“Just get me to set. I’ll survive,” I mutter, settling deeper into the leather seat and letting my head fall back against the headrest. The coffee burns warm in my chest, chasing away some of the fog, but exhaustion clings to me like a second skin.
I close my eyes, shutting out the blur of Seattle’s morning traffic streaming past the tinted windows.
Cameron’s laugh rumbles low from the driver’s seat, rich with amusement and something that sounds suspiciously like pride.
“Sure you will, superstar. Just try not to drool on yourself before we get there.” His voice carries that familiar teasing edge, the one he uses when he’s trying to lighten a mood.
I don’t bother responding, too tired to come up with anything clever.
Instead, I let myself sink into the quiet hum of the car’s engine, the steady rhythm of tires on asphalt, and the distant sound of Cameron humming under his breath.
The caffeine starts to work its magic, but my body still feels heavy, languid, like I’m moving underwater.
I take another sip before placing the cup into the holder beside me.
Sleep pulls at the edges of my consciousness, and I let it come, trusting Cameron to get me where I need to be while I steal these few precious minutes of rest.