🔥 Hyperfixated on Him Bonus Content 🔥

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You found it! This is the exclusive bonus content hub for Hyperfixated on Him. As a huge thank you for reading Kieran and Cleo’s story, we’ve put together an extra-steamy scene that was too hot for retailers.

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✨ BONUS CHAPTER: The Swing ✨

A Hyperfixated on Him Exclusive
This scene takes place two weeks after the wedding.

CLEO

“We need to talk about the swing.”

Kieran looked up from his laptop, one eyebrow raised. They were sprawled on the couch in their living room—their living room, in their apartment, as married people—and Cleo still got a little thrill every time she thought about it.

“What about the swing?”

“We haven’t christened it yet.”

“We’ve christened plenty of things.”

“Not the swing.” She sat up, tucking her legs beneath her. “You built me a sensory swing, Kieran. A beautiful, perfect sensory swing in a room specifically designed for my brain. And in two weeks of marriage, we haven’t once had sex in it.”

“You’ve been using it for its intended purpose. Spinning. Decompressing. Reading.”

“Yes, and I appreciate that. But I distinctly remember saying we were going to christen every surface in that room.” She crawled across the couch toward him. “The swing is a surface.”

“The swing is a suspended fabric seat designed for gentle oscillation and proprioceptive input. It’s not structurally intended for—”

“Kieran.”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking about proprioceptive input and take me to the swing room.”

He closed his laptop.

KIERAN

He’d thought about this, actually.

In the weeks since he’d revealed the room, he’d found himself calculating weight distributions and attachment point tolerances. Reviewing the engineering specifications of the ceiling mount. Considering angles and positions and optimal configurations for… activities.

He was thorough. It was his nature.

“You’ve already figured out how to do this, haven’t you?” Cleo asked as he led her down the hall.

“I may have done some preliminary analysis.”

“Of course you have.” She laughed, that bright sound he’d never get tired of hearing. “Please tell me there’s a diagram.”

“There’s not a diagram.”

“Liar. There’s definitely a diagram.”

There was, in fact, a diagram. He wasn’t going to admit that.

He opened the door to the room—her room, their room—and the familiar burst of color washed over him. He’d gotten used to it now. More than used to it—he’d grown to love it. This space that was so thoroughly Cleo, existing inside his carefully ordered world.

The swing hung in the corner, gently swaying in the breeze from the cracked window. It was a cocoon-style design, wide enough to curl up in, suspended from a heavy-duty mount he’d personally tested to three times its rated capacity.

Just in case.

“So,” Cleo said, turning to face him with a wicked grin. “What’s the plan, Mr. Structural Engineer?”

“The plan is that you’re going to get in the swing.”

“And then?”

“And then I’m going to make you forget your own name.”

Her breath caught. He loved that—the way she responded to him, every time, like it was still new. Like he could still surprise her.

“That’s a bold claim.”

“I have calculations to back it up.”

She laughed and crossed to the swing, climbing in with the easy grace of someone who’d spent hours in this exact spot. She settled into the fabric, legs dangling, watching him with dark eyes.

“Well?” she said. “I’m waiting.”

He took his time walking toward her. Slow. Deliberate. Letting the anticipation build.

“First,” he said, stopping in front of the swing, “we need to establish some parameters.”

“Parameters?”

“Ground rules. For the experiment.”

“You’re calling this an experiment?”

“I’m calling it a thorough investigation of the swing’s potential applications.” He reached out and set the swing gently swaying. She rocked toward him, then away, then toward him again. “Rule one: you stay in the swing. No matter what.”

“What if I want to touch you?”

“You can touch me. But you don’t get out of the swing.” He stilled the motion with his hands on either side of the fabric, caging her in. “Rule two: you tell me if anything doesn’t feel good. Color system.”

“Green,” she said immediately. “Very, very green.”

“Rule three.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. “You come as many times as I decide. Not before. Not after. Exactly when I say.”

Her whole body shivered. “That’s… that’s a lot of rules.”

“I’m a thorough person.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He kissed her then—slow and deep, tasting the wine she’d had with dinner, feeling her melt into the fabric of the swing. She reached for him, her hands finding his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Hold on,” he murmured against her mouth. “This is going to be a long night.”

CLEO

He wasn’t kidding about the long night.

Kieran had clearly put significant thought into this—probably more thought than anyone had ever put into swing-related sex in the history of human sexuality. And Cleo was reaping the benefits.

He started by undressing her, still in the swing. Her shirt first, pulled over her head while she lifted her arms, leaving her in just her bra. Then her pants, which required some creative maneuvering—he knelt in front of her, sliding them down her legs, pressing kisses to each inch of skin he revealed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, looking up at her from his position on the floor. “Have I mentioned that lately?”

“You could mention it more.”

“You’re beautiful.” He kissed her knee. “You’re stunning.” Her thigh. “You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known.” The crease where her hip met her leg.

“Kieran—”

“And you’re going to be very, very patient tonight.”

Before she could respond, he set the swing moving again—a gentle push that sent her swaying away from him. She drifted back, and he pushed her away again, establishing a rhythm.

“What are you—”

“Shh.” He caught the swing on the next pass, holding her still. “Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then close your eyes.”

She did.

The darkness made everything more intense. She could feel the fabric cradling her body, the slight sway of the swing, the cool air against her exposed skin. She could hear his footsteps as he moved around her, circling like a predator.

“I’ve thought about this,” he said, his voice coming from somewhere behind her. “Extensively.”

“I figured.”

“The swing allows for certain… possibilities. Angles that wouldn’t be achievable otherwise. Access points that are typically difficult to reach.”

“You’re making it sound very clinical.”

“I’m building anticipation.”

“It’s working.”

His hands landed on her shoulders, warm and firm. He began to massage, working out the tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding. She groaned, her head falling back.

“Good?”

“So good. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t stop. His hands moved lower, tracing her spine, finding knots she’d accumulated from weeks of wedding stress. He worked each one loose with patient precision, and by the time he reached the small of her back, she was practically boneless.

“You’re so relaxed,” he observed. “That’s going to make this easier.”

“Make what easier?”

Instead of answering, he set the swing swinging again. But this time, when she drifted toward him, he caught her hips and held her in place.

And then his mouth was on her.

KIERAN

The angle was perfect.

With Cleo suspended in the swing, her hips at exactly the right height, he could kneel in front of her and access her completely. No awkward positioning. No strain on either of their bodies. Just perfect, unimpeded access to exactly where he wanted to be.

He started slow, tracing her through the thin fabric of her underwear. She was already wet—he could feel it, could smell her arousal, and it made something primal stir in his chest.

“Kieran, please—”

“Patience.”

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down slowly, revealing her inch by inch. She was trembling now, her hands gripping the edges of the swing, her eyes still closed like he’d asked.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured. “Every time. Like it’s always new.”

“It always feels new. With you, everything feels—oh—”

He’d leaned in and pressed his mouth to her center, and whatever she’d been about to say dissolved into a moan.

He took his time. Explored her with his tongue, finding the spots that made her gasp and the spots that made her whimper. He used the motion of the swing to his advantage, letting her rock into his mouth, controlling the rhythm with his hands on her hips.

“Kieran—I’m going to—”

“Not yet.”

He pulled back, and she made a sound of desperate frustration.

“You said—you said when you decide—”

“And I haven’t decided yet.” He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. “We’ve barely started.”

“I’m going to die.”

“You’re not going to die. You’re going to be patient, and you’re going to trust me, and you’re going to have the most intense orgasm of your life.” He pushed the swing gently, setting her swaying again. “But not yet.”

“You’re a sadist.”

“I’m thorough. There’s a difference.”

He stood, and she made a small sound of protest at the loss of contact. But then she heard him undressing—his shirt hitting the floor, his belt buckle jangling, the rustle of fabric—and her breath caught all over again.

“Can I open my eyes?”

“Not yet.”

“Kieran—”

“Soon. I promise.”

He moved behind her, running his hands down her arms, feeling goosebumps rise in his wake. He unclasped her bra and slid it off, leaving her completely bare in the swing.

“Beautiful,” he said again. “Absolutely beautiful.”

He set the swing moving with a different rhythm now—wider swings, longer arcs. She drifted away from him and then back, away and back, the motion hypnotic.

And then, on one of her passes, he stepped into the swing with her.

CLEO

Her eyes flew open.

Kieran was climbing into the swing, straddling the fabric, positioning himself behind her in a move that should have been impossible but somehow wasn’t. The swing groaned slightly but held, and then he was there—his chest against her back, his legs on either side of hers, his arms wrapping around her.

“How—”

“The mount is rated for four hundred pounds. We’re well within tolerance.”

“That’s not what I—I mean how is this—”

“Shh.” His mouth found her neck, and she stopped trying to form sentences.

He pulled her back against him, settling her into the curve of his body. She could feel him now—hard against her lower back, hot and insistent. His hands roamed her front, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples into aching peaks.

“The advantage of this position,” he said conversationally, like he was explaining a structural concept, “is access.”

His hand slid down her stomach, between her thighs. Fingers found her clit, circling slowly.

“Additionally, the swing’s natural motion can be utilized for—”

“Kieran, I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking and start fucking me—”

He thrust into her.

The angle was—God, the angle was incredible. The swing supported them both, allowed for a depth and position that shouldn’t have been possible. She felt him everywhere, filling her completely, his chest pressed to her back and his hands still working her front.

“Oh my God.”

“Good?”

“So good. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

He didn’t stop.

He used the swing’s motion to set a rhythm, pulling back as it swayed forward and thrusting deep as it returned. Every stroke hit exactly the right spot, and his fingers on her clit kept a counterpoint tempo that was driving her steadily insane.

“I thought about this,” he said, his voice rough in her ear. “So many times. Imagined exactly how you’d feel. How you’d sound.” He thrust deeper, and she cried out. “The reality is better. It’s always better with you.”

“Kieran—I need—please let me—”

“Not yet.”

“I can’t—I can’t hold on—”

“You can.” He slowed his rhythm, keeping her right at the edge. “You’re so strong, Cleo. So perfect. You can take more.”

She was sobbing now—actual tears streaming down her face because the pleasure was too intense, the denial too cruel, the love too overwhelming.

“Please,” she begged. “Please, please, please—”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come. I need to come. Kieran, please—”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Since the war room, since the bathroom, since—fuck—since the first time you looked at me like I mattered—”

“You’ve always mattered.” His rhythm picked up, harder now, faster. “You’ve always been everything. My chaos. My heart. My home.”

“Kieran—”

“Come for me, Cleo. Now.”

She shattered.

The orgasm ripped through her like wildfire, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She was vaguely aware that she was screaming, that her body was convulsing, that Kieran was following her over the edge with a groan that sounded like it came from the depths of his soul.

The swing rocked wildly beneath them, fabric straining, mount creaking, neither of them caring about anything except each other.

When she finally came back to earth, she was slumped against his chest, both of them still in the swing, panting like they’d run a marathon.

“Holy shit,” she managed.

“Indeed.”

“That was…”

“Yes.”

“We’re doing that again.”

“Frequently.”

She laughed, a weak, breathless sound, and tilted her head back to look at him. His hair was a mess, his face flushed, his eyes soft with love and satisfaction.

“I told you the swing was a surface,” she said.

“You were correct. I stand corrected.”

“You’re not standing. You’re slumped in a sex swing with your wife.”

“A valid point.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She snuggled deeper into his arms. “Can we stay here for a while?”

“As long as you want.”

“Forever?”

“Forever works for me.”

They stayed in the swing as the night deepened around them, wrapped in each other, gently swaying, perfectly content.

Outside, the city hummed with its endless energy.

Inside, two people who’d found each other against all odds held on tight and didn’t let go.

🎁 BONUS: The Spreadsheet

Later that night, after they’d migrated to the bed and recovered enough brain cells to function, Cleo finally got her hands on the infamous spreadsheet.

“Oh my God,” she said, scrolling through his laptop. “Kieran. There are tabs.”

“Organizational tabs are essential for complex planning documents.”

“There’s a tab called ‘Potential Children: Names and Timing Analysis.'”

“Forward planning is—”

“You have a pros and cons list for the name ‘Sophia’!”

“It’s a popular name. There would be multiple Sophias in any given classroom, which could cause confusion—”

“And a tab called ‘Optimal Pet Acquisition Timeline.'”

“Studies show that introducing a pet during certain life stages—”

“Kieran.” She set down the laptop and climbed into his lap. “You wonderful, ridiculous, impossibly thorough man.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the highest compliment.” She kissed him softly. “You planned our whole life. In a spreadsheet.”

“I planned potential scenarios. The actual decisions would be made jointly, with full input from—”

She kissed him again, deeper this time.

“I want it all,” she said against his mouth. “The kids, the pets, the optimal timeline. I want every scenario you’ve planned.”

“Even the one where we adopt a senior dog before the children arrive to teach them responsibility?”

“Especially that one.”

He smiled—that real, full smile that still made her heart skip.

“Then we should probably get started,” he said. “The timeline suggests beginning the pet acquisition process within the next eighteen months.”

“Is that your way of saying you want to adopt a dog?”

“It’s my way of saying I want to build a life with you. Every chaotic, wonderful, thoroughly planned piece of it.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” She rested her forehead against his. “I really, really do.”

Outside, the first light of dawn was beginning to paint the sky.

Inside, two people started planning their forever.

Together.

THE END (for real this time)

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Rowan Black

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