Bulbs and Fireflies
Chapter fifty-four
Cyrus
Fallon’s hand fits perfectly in mine as I lead her to the backyard, like it was always meant to be there. Made for mine. Made for me. One day, my ring will rest on her finger so everyone else can know who she belongs to. She is mine.
Her giggles break the silence. She’s fucking adorable without trying. Giggling shouldn’t be a turn-on for me. With her, though, it is. My body just reacts. It’s uncomfortable walking around all day half hard. I’m fucking hers. Whatever this woman wants in life- she’s going to have it.
“Can I take the blindfold off now?”
“Have some patience, woman.”
She scoffs. “I don’t think ‘patience’ and I belong in the same sentence.”
“Well, at least you’re honest.”
“Hey!”
“What? You said it.”
We stop. “Do I smell smoke?” she asks.
“What if our date night consists of burning the town down?”
“Tempting idea,” she murmurs.
I hear the smile in her tone as my fingers trail over the silk blindfold.
A soft breeze lifts the fine copper flyways near her cheek, and I pause, drinking in the sight—wild red curls, that cute, upturned nose, freckles scattered across her rosy cheeks.
Christ, she’s captivating. I’m a fucking goner and don’t I know it.
I want to spend the rest of my life getting lost in this woman.
I pull the tie loose, the silk tumbling into the grass, her gasp, the way her eyes light up is my only purpose in life.
“Oh my God…” she breathes, as she takes in what’s been done.
The backyard has been transformed into our own private drive-in theater—pillows and blankets piled across the trampoline, fairy lights woven through the safety net, an inflated movie screen tucked against the fence, the projector humming quietly from its perch on an old log. It’s the kind of magic Fallon deserves.
When Mom asked me last week if Fallon had been outside lately, the realization hit me hard. She hadn’t stepped farther than the porch since the salon was vandalized. And that fact, bothers me. She’s been shrinking herself away from a town that should’ve stood beside her.
She sniffs softly, and I immediately catch her shoulders, turning her toward me. “Honey? What’s wrong?”
She gestures around us, blinking fast. “It’s beautiful. When—how did you even do this? I’ve been here the whole time.” The words leave her in a breathy rush, her mouth falling into the cutest little O. And God help me, that look nearly drops me to my knees right there in the grass.
I curl my fingers tighter around hers, grounding myself in the cool night air before I do something reckless—like ask her to marry me before the movie even starts.
Her excitement lights her up from the inside out, somehow sexier than the sway of her hips as I help her onto the trampoline.
She crawls toward the center, blankets bunching beneath her knees, fairy lights catching in her hair.
And my brain, apparently choosing self-destruction, immediately wonders what it’d sound like to hear her say my name like a prayer while she crawls toward me like that.
Too late. My dick swells against the cotton of my sweatpants. I’m half-hard from watching her. Down, boy.
Climbing up after her, brushing her hair to the side to kiss the soft skin of her neck. She shivers. I sit back, biting the inside of my cheek. I’ll wait. Even if it kills me. Tonight is about her.
“Really, Cyrus. This is incredible.”
“I had the kids distract you with cookie baking.”
Her eyes shine again, and before she can say anything, I kiss her.
Fast. Hungry. I need her to understand everything I can’t seem to say out loud.
Too scared if I really tell her how I feel, she’d run.
She tastes like strawberries and summer evenings, warm and sweet and entirely addictive.
And the closer I pull her, the more she smells like honey, sunshine, and something dangerously close to home.
I force myself to pull back before I completely lose my mind.
Her lips are glossy and swollen from our kiss, her breathing uneven, and for one reckless second, I want to devastate her body, so she’ll remember this moment, forever, us both right here under the glow of cheap fairy lights on this trampoline.
But my want for her isn’t what’s lodged in my throat.
No, what I want is bigger than that. I want the guarded smile she gives the rest of the town—the polite, practiced one she wears like armor—to vanish for good.
I want this version of her instead. Soft-eyed.
Laughing. Safe enough to let herself feel things again.
Safe enough to know she never has to earn a place here with me. Because this—my life, my family, my heart—has been hers for longer than she realizes.
“There’s a lineup,” I say, clearing my throat. “10 Things I Hate About You, Pretty Woman, Ever After, The Princess Bride, or,” I scroll on the tablet, “Top Gun.”
She laughs. “You came prepared with all of my favorites.” That sound?
Her laugh. It’s magic. “Only the best for you, doll.” I declare, as I turn the screen on.
She rolls over on her stomach, catching my attention as the thin silk dress rides up, showing off the curve of her legs.
Entranced, I lay the remote down, and kiss the spot right below her knee.
She rewards me with another one of those laughs.
Slowly, I slide her gown up around her waist to see the soft swell of her bare bottom. Oh, she’s the one who's prepared.
The fire-crackles a few feet from us, feeling like a man possessed.
My fingers drag across her sun-kissed skin, leaving goosebumps blooming in their wake. I trail kisses down the curve of her back, lingering at the base of her spine. The answering shudder she gives me, the only answer I need.
This woman. This force. She bows to no one—but here, she’s mine. Trusting me with her body and her heart.
I want to worship her. Always.
Every sass-filled comment. Every stubborn glare. Every smile. She’s got me wrapped around her damn finger and doesn’t even notice how every inch of me is consumed by her. She can rule the world; I’ll hand her the crown. But right now, I’m not in control. My need for her is.
The fire crackles beside us, highlighting her soft features. I’d lasso the fucking moon if she asked.
I kiss up the line of her spine, savoring every inch. Flipping her onto her back. The trampoline shifts under our weight, our bodies molding together in perfect synchronization with the slight bounce. She looks ethereal in the moonlight.
“Cyrus,” she whispers, needy, breathless, mine.
My lips crash into hers, devouring her. Conveying how much I want her, before pulling back to admire the curve of her body, the flush rising in her cheeks. Every fantasy I’ve had since we were sixteen barrels through me. I can’t wait to make them real.
Her legs fall open, inviting me in. Her hands slip under my waistband, dragging my sweats down. My cock springs free, engorged, pulsing. She wraps her legs around me, bringing me closer. I fist myself, dragging the thick head across her core.
Her walls flutter. That tiny gasp? It nearly undoes me.
“Cyrus, please.”
That’s it. Baby, feel how good we are together. I gently work my way inside her. She cries out in the sweetest, most beautiful, raw sound. Her nails lightly trace down my back, her hips thrust up to meet mine.
I’m fucking gone.
Each stroke drives me deeper. She’s so fucking tight, so wet, every inch of her clinging to me. I press my thumb to her clit- once, twice, a third time- she shatters beneath me, my name a prayer on her lips.
Her back arches. Firelight flickers around us as she clenches down on me. And I give her everything.
My release crashes over me in a white-hot wave, hips jerking as I pour myself into her, head tipping back to the stars.
None of them comparing to the woman under me.
I’d break every rule in the book for this woman.
To see her smile. To hear her moan my name.
For her to never know another moment of loneliness.
She’s mine.
I gently roll us to our sides, pulling a blanket over us as I tuck her against me. I snatch the remote and ask, “So what movie are we watching?”