16. Jamie
Jamie
Cyaire stands there, just inside the entryway, his hands still warm from where they’d been tangled with mine in the car.
The drive home had been charged, heavy with the weight of everything we’d finally said aloud.
There is still no clear path forward, no roadmap for how two people like us navigate something this complicated.
As long as he has his hand in mine, we will figure it out together, that much is certain.
I felt assured by his touch during that drive, anchored by it.
His thumb had traced slow, soothing circles over my knuckles for the rest of the ride home, a quiet rhythm that said more than words could have managed.
That small, constant motion, deliberate, grounding, reminded me that he was choosing this just as much as I was.
Home. The word sits differently in my mind now, heavier and more expansive than it did this morning.
Yes, I want this space to be not only mine, but his as well.
I want him to feel like he belongs here, like he can leave pieces of himself scattered throughout these rooms without hesitation.
Would it be considered too soon to want that?
More than likely, in the minds of so many people who, at this point, I honestly couldn’t give two fucks about.
Their opinions, their timelines, their expectations, none of it matters.
Nothing about Cyaire and me has ever been linear.
We’ve circled back to one another across years and distance and entirely different lives, and now that he’s here again, I want to keep him in my orbit.
I want to build something that doesn’t require justification or permission from anyone else.
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we just collide, drawn together by the same gravity that’s been pulling at us since the moment he walked back into my life.
His hands find my waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of my shirt like he’s making sure I’m real.
I cup his face, my thumbs brush over the sharp line of his cheekbones, and he leans into the touch like he’s been starving for it.
The kiss isn’t hurried. It’s not desperate.
It’s slow, deep, like we have all the time in the world, because right here, right now, we do.
His lips are soft, a balm to my soul. I’ve wanted to do this all day, but I spare my family the PDA.
Next time, I tell myself as I deepen the kiss, I won’t hold back.
Cyaire sighs into my mouth, it’s the sound of someone finally letting go.
Our tongues tangle. The sweet taste of lemonade drank on the ride home still lingers.
I kiss him, chasing the taste, but it’s not enough. I don’t think it will ever be enough.
Cyaire is the one to break first, his chest rises and falls in quick, uneven breaths as he presses his forehead to my shoulder.
The warmth of his exhale seeps through the thin fabric of my shirt, his nose brushes against the curve of my neck like he’s breathing me in.
His voice is rough, raw with need when he speaks, his fingers already curling into the hem of my t-shirt, seeking skin.
“Jamie, please baby, I need to feel you.” His words are a plea, a demand, a confession all at once.
“All of you.” The pads of his fingers skim upward, tracing the ridges of my abs.
The contact sends a jolt through me, my dick throbs in response.
A low groan rumbles in my chest, the sound swallowed between us as his touch sets every nerve alight.
I don’t waste time. My hands slide down the dip of his spine, mapping the familiar terrain of his body. When I reach the firm swell of his ass, I grip him hard, my fingers sink into the muscle, kneading, claiming. The sound he makes, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, goes straight to my head.
“I need to feel you too, Blue,” I murmur against his ear, my voice a dark promise.
“I need to sink my dick so far inside you that you’ll still feel me tomorrow.
Next week. Hell, next month.” My grip tightens, pulling him flush against me so he can feel exactly how much I mean it.
“I want to fill you with my cum, over and over, until you’re dripping with it.
Until there’s no part of you that doesn’t know who you belong to.
” My lips brush the shell of his ear, my breath hot.
“And all the other times I’ve had you? They won’t even compare. You want to know why?”
Cyaire’s body trembles against mine, his hips roll instinctively, seeking friction. He tries to capture my mouth again, desperate for more, but I pull back just enough to deny him. His frustration is palpable, a growl building in his throat, but I don’t let him have what he wants, not yet.
“Answer me, my sweet baby Blue,” I whisper, my lips hover just out of reach, teasing. Taunting. His breath hitches, his fingers clench in my shirt like he’s fighting the urge to drag me back to him.
“Why?” The word is a growl, edged with impatience, but he plays along.
I let my hands slide lower, my thumbs pressing into the crease where his thighs meet his ass, and I squeeze, hard.
“Because you were mine the moment you ordered that Jack and Coke that night at the Langham.” My voice drops, rough with memory.
“You were mine the first time you wrapped those long legs around my waist and took what you wanted from me. You’ve been mine every second since, even when you walked away and fucked other people.
” My fingers dig in deeper, pulling a broken moan from his lips.
“You. Are. Mine, Cyaire Reed.” The last words are a growl, punctuated by a sharp squeeze of his ass, and then I lift him like he weighs nothing.
His legs lock around my waist instantly, his arms loop over my shoulders as he clings to me, his mouth crashing into mine before I can even finish the motion.
The kiss is brutal. Teeth clash, tongues war, and I fuck his mouth with mine like I’m already inside him, deep, relentless, possessive.
His fingers tangle in my braids, yanking just hard enough to sting, and I groan into him, swallowing the sound he makes when I bite down on his lower lip.
We’re both breathless when we finally break apart, our chests heaving, our lips swollen.
His eyes are dark with hunger, his pupils blown wide, and the sight of him like this, undone, desperate, mine, makes my dick ache.
I don’t let him recover. I don’t let him think.
I just take his mouth again, because I can, because this is where he belongs, in my arms.
The house swallows us whole as we crash through the hallway, our mouths fused together, hands roaming with desperate urgency.
My sandals hit the floor first, kicked aside without breaking the kiss, and then Cyaire’s tank follows, peeled off in one smooth motion.
He’s already working at my t-shirt, dragging it over my head before I can even register the loss of it, the fabric joining the growing pile of discarded clothes in our wake.
Shoes, socks, the detritus of our haste scattered like breadcrumbs marking the path to where I’m taking him.
The couch flashes in my periphery. No. This isn’t some quick, frantic fuck against the nearest surface.
I want him spread out. I want him mine. The bedroom upstairs is the only option, but the way Cyaire’s grinding against me, his dick thick and insistent against my stomach, tells me he won’t last that long.
Not if I let him keep rubbing off on me like this, and fuck no am I letting him cum before I’ve had my fill.
“Oh, my needy, needy Blue,” I murmur against his lips as we reach the foot of the stairs, my voice rough with amusement.
I ease him back onto his feet, my hands already sliding down to grip the waistband of his shorts.
Before he can so much as take his next breath, I drop to my knees in front of him, the hardwood cool against my skin.
His eyes widen, but there’s no time for protest. I hook my fingers into the fabric and yank them down, shorts and briefs, in one swift move.
They pool at his ankles, and he steps out of them automatically, his dick already heavy and weeping, slapping against his stomach as it springs free.
“Jamie,” he breathes, my name a half-moan, half-complaint, and the sound makes my heart beat faster. I tilt my head back to look up at him, taking in the sight, lips swollen from kissing, cheeks flushed, his dick long and dark at the tip, precum already beading. He’s perfect. A goddamn vision.
“Cyaire,” I answer, just as breathless, because even after all this time, the sight of him like this, still steals the air from my lungs.
I lean in, pressing my nose against the warm weight of his balls, inhaling deep.
He smells like salt and sun, like the faintest trace of sweat from the day, but beneath it all is him, that clean, intoxicating scent that’s uniquely Cyaire, the one that’s haunted me for years.
My groan vibrates against his skin, and his fingers grip my braids.
“What are you. . .oh, fuck—” His words dissolve into a broken moan as I don’t give him time to finish, my tongue drags up the thick vein on the underside of his dick before I take him into my mouth.
His hips jerk forward involuntarily, and I swallow around the head, my throat opens for him as I bob down, taking him deep.
Cyaire stumbles back a step, one hand slamming against the wall for balance, the other white-knuckled on the banister.
His thighs tremble, and he fights to stay upright, to surrender to the sensation without collapsing.