Page 87 of Made for Cyn

“Who the fuck did this?” he says harshly, and I come fully awake as he runs his fingers down my legs.

Shivering in the darkness, both at his gentle caress and the knowledge he’s touching me where John whipped me, I pull away, grateful he can’t see my back.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper, but he turns toward me and says fiercely, “Yes, it does.”

Closing my eyes, I beg and loathe myself for it, but there will be time enough for that tomorrow in the clear light of day. “Please, Cyn. Please, can you just . . . hold me?”

There’s an awkward pause where I’m afraid to open my eyes because I’m asking for more than he’s willing to give, feelings and all that, before there’s a shuffling sound, and he joins me in the bed.

Pulling me gently against his back, he says gruffly, “Sleep.”

???

It’s still dark out when I open my eyes. Cyn is breathing deeply beside me, and turning over, I trace my gaze over his features by the moon’s light, admiring his sexy smirk. His thin lips are opened on a breath and his brows smoothed into relaxed lines. My pulse thrums in my veins and I trace the lines of his chest, his tattoos stark in the dim light.

My fingers tingle and unable to resist, I run them down his arm, holding my breath for him to wake. But when he doesn’t stir, I continue, over his smooth pectorals, down his sexy abs, the ridges bumpy under my exploration before I reach his happy trail and feel his hair crisp under my fingertips.

His cock stiffens, growing at my touch, and I feel a sharp thrill until I remember who he was with last night and I drop my hand, moving away but I don’t get far.

My eyes fly to him when he grabs my fingers and I suck in a breath to find him staring at me with a fiery expression.

He folds his hand over mine and places it on his chest, inhaling deeply under my palm. Holding my breath, I watch as he guides my hand across his chest once more, over each pec, warm to my touch, down his abs, his stomach contracting deliciously before pausing at his happy trail.

My breath escapes in a low whoosh when he intertwines our fingers and wraps them around his dick jutting from his boxers. Without an ounce of shame, he strokes them and down evenly, the pulse on the underside, wicked against my palm.

I melt into the mattress, itchy and achy. And it’s so hot that I bite my lip to stifle a moan as he bucks into our hands and groans.

The slide is ever so fucking sweet and he tightens his hand around mine, strangling his length almost brutally, before thrusting rapidly.

“Oh,” I gasp when he growls, his chest heaving as he pants and arches desperately into the air.

His need is so beautiful that I glance at his face, spying his mouth pulled back in a grimace before he grunts and spills. The warm liquid splashes my hand, and it’s so hot that I spasm, pulsing down below.

But I clench my lips together, suppressing the needy moan because even if this was incredible, I still refuse to be the second this evening.

He collapses back to the bed, breathing deep and I pull away with a grimace, muttering, “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Why?” I can hear the fucking smirk in his tone.

“Because I don’t know where your dick has been,” I spit.

Chuckling, he turns over and pins me to the bed, “Jealous, beauty?”

“Ha! I would’ve been just fine if you hadn’t butted in!”

With a growl, he grabs my chin. “Don’t even joke. I was this close to beating the shit out of the fucker.”

“Why?” I bellow in his ear, bucking against him and ignoring the wildfire on my back. “You want to fuck Shelby while I wait in the wings?”

“You wouldn’t be in the wings if you’d just fucking admit what you want!”

“What?” I scream, nose to nose with him.

“Fuck,” he says, collapsing onto the mattress.

“Yeah, fuck,” I say, stepping from the bed and grabbing up his shirt, where I wipe his mess with a vicious smirk.

Sighing, he steps from the bed and pulls me up, saying in a low growl, “You’re mine. I don’t share. If you want to call it a relationship, go for it.”

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