Chapter Thirty-Two

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Crow

Iwanted to paint Cyrus from life rather than memory, and I wanted to paint him in my bed, in our bed.

He helped me carry the supplies into the house. We set them down, took off the coats, gloves, and other winter wear, then headed to our room.

It had been hard to share my art with him, to give him that piece of me.

I wanted Cyrus, my sun, my little lamb, to see all of me.

“Take off your clothes. Show yourself to me. Let me see what’s mine.”

“Jesus.” Cyrus visibly trembled, his voice shaking on that one word.

You brought me food.

You took care of me.

You risked your life for me.

You give yourself to me.

You love me.

And he deserved to know all of me.

Cyrus did as I said, his beautiful, flawless skin on display for me. He’d gained a little weight since moving to the mountain, his bones not quite as prominent, a little more softness to him that I loved exploring with my eyes, my hands, my tongue.

“Where do you want me?” Cyrus asked.

“Our bed,” I replied, voice rough and feeling strangely unused even though I’d been talking to him. An ear-to-ear smile spread on his face, and it felt like it crossed the distance between us and landed in my chest.

I cocked my head, and Cyrus answered my silent question, “I like it when you call it ours.”

“I like it too.”

He lay down while I arranged the easel and laid everything out. Once I was finished, I went to my Cyrus, brushed my fingers down his shoulder and arm. Goose bumps followed in their wake. “I’m going to paint these too. I love seeing how much I affect you.”

“It feels like no one has ever touched me before you.”

I growled in response, knowing what he was saying, that none of that had been real, none of that he’d ever really felt, because none of the other men had been me. “They haven’t. Not the real you.”

I positioned him the way I wanted him—on his back, arm up and over his head, which tilted down just slightly. One leg bent to the side, the other straight, blankets messy and slept in around him.

I didn’t need him to stay like this. How many times had I painted him from memory already? Every freckle, every muscle, every crease and plane of his body. But there was something incredibly erotic about seeing him like this, knowing he was lying there for me and me alone, that he would let me do with him as I pleased.

I ran my fingers through his hair, brushed my thumbs over his nipples, watched his skin pebble in response again, before I went to my easel and got to work.

Cyrus’s eyes held fast to me, like there was some kind of magnetic pull that wouldn’t let him look away. My need for him rumbled inside me, grew and begged for me to go to him, take him, claim him over and over and over again even though I knew he was mine. It was an animalistic urge, a necessity that would never go away.

When the snow melted, I didn’t know how I would let him out of my sight. While I knew he belonged here with me, I understood that he was different too, that he did things in the outside world that I didn’t, and I would have to learn how to be away from him.

“You growled. Why did you growl?” he asked, a smirk on his lips as though he had a glimpse into my head and liked what he saw.

I just shook my head, words trapped inside me again, the way they likely would always be sometimes…and I painted. For hours. Cyrus fell asleep, while I tried to perfect what was on canvas the way the man in our bed was perfect to me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it right, would never be able to get it right, but I would continue to try until I wasn’t physically able anymore.

He moved around in bed, curled into a little ball the way he often did, but the exact image of him I tried to create was still seared into my mind.

I wanted this to be perfect, as perfect as I could make it, wanted to show him how I felt, even though that was impossible. There weren’t actions or words strong enough for that.

So I just kept painting, putting all I had into every swipe of the brush. Everything except me and the canvas became blurred edges and fuzzy white noise around me, until a soft but sharp intake of breath pulled me out of the world I’d slipped into.

I looked over to Cyrus, who was now sitting up in bed, looking at me, the sort of awe in his eyes I never thought could be directed at me, never thought I would deserve directed at me.

“Crow, it’s…beautiful.”

His cheeks were pink from sleep, his hair mussed, every inch of his gorgeous body on display for me. I wanted to kiss each of my freckles, because yes, they felt like they were mine. Wanted to taste every inch of his body, wanted to inhale his scent, wanted to fuck him so hard, he would never ever doubt that he belonged to me and I to him.

The blurred edges shifted, no longer me and the painting, but me and Cyrus, my mind and body hyper-fixated on him. The world could end, and I wouldn’t care as long as the two of us were still standing.

My dick throbbed, the need inside me sizzling with weeks, or hell, a lifetime of pent-up desire. I needed inside him more than I needed my next breath. I would surrender everything to him, give him anything as we lost ourselves in each other.

The look in his eyes changed, heat flaring there. The flushed glow of his skin spread through his cheeks and down the rest of his body.

“Yes. Take me, Crow. Remind me I’m yours.” Cyrus turned onto his stomach, pressing his ass up in the air.

The rumble started deep in my chest, then fell from my lips in a soft grumble that increased in intensity. The paintbrush fell to the floor, the mess not mattering as I ripped off my clothes, dick hard and leaking, and stalked toward him on the bed. I felt blind with lust, like it wasn’t my heart or my lungs that kept me alive, but my need for him.

My lips pressed to his nape, Cyrus’s body bowing toward me. Every knot of his spine got the attention of my lips, every freckle on his shoulders was touched by my hands as I started my journey of exploration of every plane of his body, every single inch of his skin.

“Crow,” he said needily, amping up my need for him.

His lower back dipped when I got to his waist, and I licked the divot there, blood rushing through my ears, cock begging to mount him from behind and slam home right now. To mark the inside of his body with my cum the way I would never tire of doing.

Cyrus spread his legs, ass cheeks opening, his tight, pink hole begging for me.

“Please, Crow. I want your tongue.”

I snarled as I took in his position, the way he was giving himself to me, offering me what we both knew was already mine, pink balls full and hanging prettily between his legs.

I snarled again because words felt too hard right then, my head filled with nothing but Cyrus and my longing for him. I bit into his ass cheek, and he cried out my name, pleas for more flowing from his mouth like a waterfall. I did it again on the other side, then sucked him there, pulling the blood to the surface and leaving my dark-red mark behind. I ran my nose along his crease, the soft scent of soap from our shower this morning still there, blended with his natural musk. I swiped at him with my tongue, Cyrus’s body nearly convulsing.

“Yes, Crow. Yes. Please.”

Hands on each of his cheeks, I kept him open and took what I wanted—his hole with my tongue. I loved eating him out, loved the raw need of it, loved pushing my tongue past his rim and fucking him with it to help get him ready for my cock.

Cyrus pushed back against my face, more of the waterfall pleas and wants spilling from him. I sucked his balls, then went back to his hole, feasting on this perfect, tight ring he offered me so freely.

Reaching between his legs, I stroked his cock, slick with the precum he leaked. His body shook, cock swelling like he was about to unleash, so I pulled back, wanting to draw this out. I wanted to fuck him all day, to never stop fucking him.

“Make me come, baby. Please, I need it.”

“No,” I managed to get out. I wasn’t ready yet, wanted to keep making him chase his bliss but not give it to him until I decided it was time.

I went at his ass again, flicking it with my tongue, softening it for my cock, stroking his erection and bringing him right to that edge before pulling off, again and again and again.

Cyrus fell to the bed, stomach against the mattress, arms and legs seemingly trembling with too much pleasure to hold him up.

I didn’t stop, devouring him with my tongue, pushing my finger inside him. Biting and sucking. Journeying up his back again to give him my marks there too, on his neck, his shoulder. Cyrus’s hands fisted in the pillow, needy pleas filling the air.

I fumbled getting the lube from the nightstand, slicked my fingers, and pushed two inside his body. “My hole.”

He pushed back against me. “Yes. Yours. Always yours.”

His ass hugged my fingers, stretching and opening for me, getting prepared to take my cock. We were made for this, our bodies made to fit together in this most primal way.

I pushed a third inside him, stretching his pretty, pink rim, then flicking it again with my tongue, pressing it around my fingers so I could taste him. I wanted to consume him, to let him consume me, until we were one.

My dick begged, throbbed and pulsed to be inside him. Pushing onto my knees, I pumped lube into my hand and slicked my cock. Cyrus was still on his belly, head to the side, and… Look at me, little lamb. I need to see your eyes when I take you.

That was the ultimate possession, to see him, to look at him while we came together in this way. But more than possession, I wanted him to see how I felt, to know that there was nothing I wouldn’t give him, that he deserved more than he’d ever had, and I was the man who would give it to him.

“Turn,” I said gently.

“Crow?” He looked at me over his shoulder.

“I need… I need to see you.” Because this wasn’t just for him. This was for me as well. One of the last steps I needed to take, one more thing I would own, take it back from all the things that happened to me in the past.

“Yes. God yes. I need that too.”

My heart broke, knowing this was something he craved that I’d yet to give him. “I’m sorry.”

Cyrus rolled to his back, looking up at me with the naked love he gave me so freely. “No. Don’t be. I didn’t want it until you were ready.”

I nodded, then leaned down and took his mouth. Everything had felt fast and frenzied until now, but the kiss slowed things down—the initial taste of him, his tongue in my mouth, mine in his. The way our lips played together, our tongues telling each other secrets that would only belong to us.

I pushed Cyrus’s legs open more, hooked them with my arms. He reached for me, holding the base of my cock as he pressed the crown to his rim. Our gazes held fast, firm. The world could fall apart around us, and we wouldn’t be able to look away from each other. I slowly, so slowly, pressed inside him.

A drop of moisture fell to his face, a stray tear of mine sneaking out. Crying wasn’t something I’d done much of, and never because something was so beautiful, so perfect.

His mouth parted, a slight exhale as I was buried to the hilt. His body squeezed me, molded to me, but I didn’t move, just stayed inside him, looking down at this man who’d changed my world.

“You are my sun too. My life was darkness until you gave me your light.”

“Crow.” His voice broke on my name, and he reached for me, tangled his hand in my hair, resting it on the back of my head.

“I…I love you,” I told him, then kissed his tearstained lips. I pulled my hips back, then thrust into him again.

We alternated between kissing and fucking and looking at each other. When he smiled, I couldn’t help but taste it, but I just wanted to see him, wanted to watch the pleasure slide across his face, see the love in his eyes as he gave himself to me.

Every time I thought one of us would come, I slowed again, dragging this out so he hopefully never had to leave this bed.

His body was so hot, so tight and soft as his insides dragged along my cock with each slow plunge inside him. It was perfect. It was everything, but somehow still not enough. I flipped us, holding on to Cyrus so I stayed inside him until I was on my back and he straddled me.

I’d never done it like this before, never given control to anyone to ride me, but I wanted to share that with Cyrus. Wanted him to know how much I trusted him.

“Mine,” he said, using the word I associated so often with him. Cyrus knew what this was, knew that while I’d told him before that I belonged to him too, that now I was giving myself completely, willingly, needed to be his.

He didn’t take his gaze away from me. He was so beautiful, every inch of his skin. I pressed my finger to the bruise my mouth had left on his neck, and he gasped, arched closer and rode me harder. His hot, tight body rose and lowered on me, enveloped me, as Cyrus took what he needed from me—this time, me being the one to give to him.

His pretty cock was long and hard between us. I stroked it, watched him move, this moment breathing more life into my body than I’d ever had before him.

“Fuck me. I need you to fuck me hard, Crow.”

I growled, hand on the back of his head and tugging him down to my mouth. I pushed my tongue inside while I fucked up and into him. I tasted his words, tasted his love as we lost ourselves to the punishing strokes of my body plunging into his. My balls were tight, full, body thrumming with need. I pulled his head back, saw the strained tendons in his neck, knew he was trying to make this last as much as I was.

Cyrus’s eyes were screwed shut, and no, that wouldn’t do. “Look at me, little lamb. Look me in the eyes while you come on my cock and take what’s yours.”

His body shuddered, his eyes opened, his nails digging into my pecs while he bounced on me, rode me hard, fell apart with my name on his tongue as his ass spasmed around me, cock twitching and load spurting on his stomach and mine.

I let loose, growled out loud, my own release following right behind his as I filled his body with my cum.

Tugging him down, we kissed and kissed and kissed until my dick softened and fell out of him. I laid him beside me, pushed his sweaty hair from his forehead.

“Say it again,” Cyrus asked.

“I love you.”

He smiled, replied, “I love you too,” then drifted off to sleep.

I watched him, unable to rest, unable to look away.

I love you.

You’re mine.

And I wanted to share her with him, wanted her memory to go on the way Cyrus let his mom live on in him. I wanted to take that last step, to give myself to him completely.

Quietly, I sneaked from the bed, went to the safe, and unlocked it. I held the journal to my chest, remembering her smile, acknowledging what she gave up for me, trying to help me break free.

Cyrus was just stirring as I entered the room again. “Crow?”

I sat beside him and handed him the book.

“What is this?”

“My mom…it’s how I knew what happened. I finished it, wrote what happened to her and some of what happened to me. It…will hurt, but if you want…I want to share that with you.”

“Yes. Thank you. I…”

“Shh.” I kissed his lips. “Stay. I can’t…” I couldn’t watch.

“Okay.” He nodded.

I grabbed clothes and slipped from the room.