Page 3 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Three

CYRUS

Ahh, chapter sixteen, my favorite. “There she is. The way her perfect auburn hair curls around her frame, hanging over her petite shoulders. It’s sending me into overdrive.

She’s even better than my brother mentioned,” I read aloud in anticipation, my tone low and slowed, knowing exactly what lies ahead.

I’m reading… well, trying to read the paperback proof of my latest novel In The Shadows , double checking that everything is ready for its launch, however concentration is now proving to be very difficult given that my length is painfully firm, pressed hard against my zipper.

Release day is only a week away, and I need to focus on the finer details. My agent needs my approval to print by first light, but the need to have a few moments with my hand on my shaft is overriding my every damn thought.

Come on, Stone. Focus. You have a deadline to beat, not your cock.

Arousal nudges at me as I continue reading.

“This girl has the body of a nympho. And she’s all fucking mine .

Overhearing her and my brother talking about a fantasy of hers was all I needed to swing into action.

I want you to fuck me in my sleep while you wear a mask , were her exact words to him.

My stupid twin doesn’t have the balls to commit to it.

But I do. And I’m going to enjoy fucking her tight little heaven until she screams every name under the sun. ”

Jesus Christ.

My cock strains against my pants even more.

Why does the idea of doing something so wrong do what it’s doing to me right now?

I’m not a freak. I’m not a criminal like the people in my books.

I couldn’t screw a woman while she’s asleep.

That’s not me—I’m just a nerd that publishes silly little fictitious stories. I can’t have an erection over this…

So why do I?

I think for a moment, dwelling on my dastardly thoughts.

Okay, maybe I am slightly curious about what it would feel like in reality rather than in writing.

Adjusting my suit pants, my length bursts free, relieving the tension.

“No, damnit, I need to keep reading. I’ve wasted enough time,” I scold myself, clearing my throat.

“I can’t wait to see how she tastes once I get to her. My palm reaches for her window and?—”

My cell chimes, interrupting my read. It’s one in the morning, why the hell is my agent calling me at this hour?

I’m just getting to the good part. I slide off my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration, then swipe the green tab to the right.

“This had better be good,” I grunt down the phone, trying to hide the fact that my dick is pulsating and my breath is more than slightly needy.

“I thought I’d check on you, make sure you weren’t slacking off. This is going to be another bestseller, bigger, even. I can feel it. The big one!” Quinn, my publishing agent, cheers.

“I am very well aware,” I snicker. “There’s many reasons why books like mine sell so well. This one especially.”

“Oh…?” he questions down the line. The silly old goat has no idea. He’s just here for the money.

“Mmm, women go bananas over these books.” Dark romance.

“They don’t want straight up boring, cliché love stories with gentle, romantic sex.

They want books where they get fucked . Raw and hard, Quinn,” I say, almost a little too eagerly.

The thought of being with a woman in a way that wasn’t just making love did something to me.

Making love is all I’ve ever known. I’m a big guy standing over six feet tall and weighing in at 242 pounds, I tend to scare off a lot of…

potential dates. Not that I have time to date these days, not with my career.

And when women do find the courage to talk to me they seem to only want one thing—either to brag to the internet that they slept with a bestselling author or for my money.

But that’s not who I am. Call me old fashioned, but I want the emotional connection. Not just a wham, bam, thank you ma’am.

I want love.

I want to fuck the woman I love , and then spend the rest of my days worshiping the ground she walks on for simply letting me.

I want the kind of love where she trusts she can surrender to her deepest darkest desires with me, so that I can fulfill them while spending eternity shining the light for her path.

I want to be the reason she prays for salvation, but the God she needs to conquer her demons.

Is that so hard to ask for?

Yes .

Women like that simply don’t exist.

What I say next, I have to do with a straight face so that I don’t breathe too heavily down the line.

“They want smut that is straight up insanity. They want possession. Obsession. Somnophilia, breathe play, primal play, biting, and all things bondage. All with dangerous psychopaths who have a degree in criminal history, tattoos, masks and degradation kinks. They want to be wanted and in danger all at the same time. They want to be desired. Needed. ”

Just like the book I’m writing in between doing edits for this one.

It’ll be bigger and better than In The Shadows.

I shrug out of the chair, choosing to pace the floor to distract myself before my agent hears how much I’m aching to fist my cock. I shouldn’t have answered the phone while I’m like this.

This is too much.

“You say it as if they want all… that in real life,” his tone is both concerned and curious all in one.

“No. It’s just a fantasy, old man.” Well it’s certainly one of mine. “Just a silly fantasy, that’s why it’s called fiction. It’s a pleasure to write what I write, because I know one way or another I’m making a woman smile and kick her legs with glee. Making them blush, one shade of pink at a time.”

“With all that un-romantic romance that they all love, how are you single, then?”

“I…” I freeze for a beat, chewing on the question. Because I’m a big career focused goofball who doesn’t have time to hold a conversation with a woman much less ask her for her number. “I guess you could say I’m ‘ in a relationship with my career’. ”

“Good. More time for writing me bestsellers, and making me rich.”

Ahh, typical Quinn. “Mhhm, you got it.”

“Anyway, have that tick of approval in my inbox by seven, and don’t forget we have the launch in Canmore at 6 P.M. this Friday.”

“Will do.” I hang up and take a resounding breath in and back out like I had been holding it the entire phone call, then fix myself a martini with a cold glass from the bar fridge in my office, finishing it off with three succulent olives on the probe, and tossing an extra onto my tongue.

My mouth salivates instantly at its saltiness. Delicious, I groan, then throw back the contents of my drink to wash down the fruit.

Still heated from the last page I was reading, I waltz downstairs with my book, wasting no time tearing off my clothes that were too restricting, tossing them somewhere on the floor across the living room.

I dim the lights and take a seat on my sofa, right by the crackling fireplace.

My still firm length thuds against my abdomen, and when I grasp it in my fist the glisten of pre-cum helps me glide over it effortlessly.

I stroke slowly down my length, pulling back up effortlessly. My body reacts to the immediate pleasure, feeling the goosebumps dancing on my skin. I roll my head backwards over the chair with a tight lip.

“Fuck.” I push down again slowly, pulling back up with the same rhythm but my grip is firmer than the last . This is too good .

With my free hand, I flick through the pages back to the scene that I got cut off from: where the main male character in the book breaks into his twin’s girlfriend’s house and sneaks into her room while she sleeps.

Just like she wanted. Sure, what he’s about to do to her is a crime, but she asked for it. Okay, maybe to his brother, but still…

It’s all consensual.

Kind of.

There she lies, naked and unconscious in her puddle of desire for the inconspicuous masked man who she would assume was her boyfriend when she wakes up. He brings her to climax again, and again, and again until she’s completely wasted, and satisfied in all of the ways she needed.

That’s it. That’s what I want. To fulfill a woman’s every desire is all I can dream of, even if they’re slightly sinister like this.

Serving a woman to the best of my ability would be a dream come true.

Whatever she would ask of me I would do.

Cook for her, bathe her, brush her hair, give her a basketful of orgasms—even if it meant being unable to climax myself.

If she asked me to chase her down into the deepest, darkest forest, I would.

If she begged me to claim her in public I would…

for her . Hell, I'd marry her every Sunday after reading the newspaper together if she asked me.

To find a woman to love like that is a gift.

But to worship the ground she walks on is a pleasure.

Adrenaline spikes through my veins and I make fast movements from the tip to the base of my shaft then slower, softer movements to edge myself to oblivion.

Sweat coats my body as I work myself like this for a few minutes or hours, even, putting all of my focus on rolling my thumb over the glossy head to lubricate my strokes, then letting the heat and pleasure radiate across my body.

So close.

My chest works hard to capture my breaths as they come in as fast as they go.

I imagine myself wearing a disguise, covering my face with a mask and finding my girl—if I had one—peacefully sleeping in my bed, where I would pull the covers aside to reveal her haven for me to devour with my tongue, tasting every bit of her like my life depended on it.

I imagine her gloss to taste like sacred nectar. Sweet, yet savory.

That’s definitely what I want.

I pick up the tempo and with each stroke the pressure builds down low, my balls tightening with need.

“Oh fuck,” I groan. When my body reacts I become rigid as hot ropes of cum spill from the tip of my length onto my stomach, chest and hand.

My eyes roll back into my head as the creamy white liquid continues to stream in abundance.

When I finally catch my breath, I clean myself up with a quick steamy shower, locate my tossed clothes and decide to finish reading what’s left in my office before I get a nagging call again.

A subtle ding of an email notification from my Macbook wakes me. I’d fallen asleep on my desk. The things I do to meet a deadline . I lift my head and the signal of a sore body hits me. Ouch. That’ll teach me.

I open the letter icon on my screen, it’s a reply from Quinn—two actually, one from earlier and one just now.

—————————

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 12/1/25

Time: 5.03 A.M

Subject: In The Shadows Acceptance

Thank you for the confirmation. I’ll have copies printed and expressed to my desk, ready for this launch.

—————————

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 12/1/25

Time: 10.27 A.M

Subject: Big News

Stone!! Get your finest brine and olives ready, it’s going to be a big one next week. The media will be there, broadcasters and whoever else. Tickets have already sold out, they were gone in less than 9 mins. 200 tickets, Stone!

This could be the ladder climb we’re dreaming of! If this book hits USA Today, the next book will pull us up to the New York Times, so keep writing!

On another note, just keeping you in the loop, we’re going to need more hands on deck now, so I’m expanding the team.

Graham’s leaving us soon, so I’ll need another editor, maybe even two…

one for you and another for everyone else.

I’ll put up an ad online at some stage next week for a personal assistant so you can stay home and focus on work, maybe someone who can do some odd jobs so you can lock in, but I’ll leave deciding who to hire to you since they’ll be living with you.

This is our go big or go home, Cyrus. Let’s get that six figure bank roll!

Regards,

Quinn.

—————————

Words fail to form as I make sure I read the email right. 200 tickets for the book launch, yep got that part. Media presence, yep, cool no worries. Graham leaving, yep, sure. Easy. And?—

An employee.

A live-in… employee.

I’m sorry, what?

I rub my forehead, not that it helps with the overwhelming sensations flooding my brain. Tugging my hands behind my head with a triumphant blow of air, I flop back in my chair. This is crazy. Someone will live in my house?

My house.

I’ve been alone since my father died a couple years back, it’s not been the same without him, or my grandfather.

I’m where I am today because of pop. He wrote three hundred books in his time, and damn he would be proud of me if he saw me now.

He left my dad the manor before he passed, and now passed down to me.

After a moment of sitting in silence, staring at my screen, doubt settles in. What if I don’t like their cooking? What if they have dirty habits? What if they use all the hot water? What if?—

It’s for a bestselling title, Stone… let’s do this.

—————————

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 12/1/25

Time: 10.34 A.M

Subject: Big News

I’m in. Let’s fucking do this, and do it good.

—————————

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 12/1/25

Time: 10.35 A.M

Subject: Big News

See you Friday.

Well done, Stone.

Quinn.