If the hiss he releases is any indication, Sy is decidedly less stressed out at the moment. His hands clench on his thighs, itching to grab my face, my hair, and fuck my mouth. I reach for his hands and guide them to my face. Without hesitation he drifts his palms over my jaw, inching around to the nape of my neck where his fingers thread into my hair. Muscles in Sy’s jaw flex, his hips push forward slightly and he guides my mouth onto his cock while he presses his hips forward, meeting me half way. My lips part and the wide tip of him pushes into my mouth. I swipe my tongue over his flesh, tasting his salty essence. The look on his face is that of a hurricane in a bottle. Wild and powerful and utterly entrancing. I lick and suck and take in as much of Sy as I can. He fucks my mouth with abandon. Minutes or eternity—I’m not sure which, and I don’t care either because Sy breathes every syllable of my name like a sacred prayer as his pleasure bursts from him. I take him in, reveling at the moment, stowing mental snapshots in my mind where I can revisit them long after I have left him.
I went down on Sylas several times when we dated in high school but it was tentative and exploratory, lacking all traces of skill I now possess. Skill that age and experience has gifted me with. It’s more than that though. Going down on him, feeling his solid flesh fill my mouth, tasting his skin, smelling the unique scent of his body, it’s the most erotic thing I can think of and I am incredibly turned on by it all. The evidence of it coats my panties. I stand between his legs, lazily stroking my fingers through his wavy deep brown hair. He tugs the hem of my shirt, encouraging me to sit and I do. I straddle his lap and hold his handsome face in my hands and kiss him deeply while subtly pressing my hips forward against him. He groans into my mouth and tightens his arms around me as he lifts me and begins maneuvering us toward his bedroom.
Time passes in his home that is silent save for the sound of us making up for lost time, rediscovering each other and in some ways, meeting for the first time. We aren’t kids anymore. We’re fully grown adults with a decade of history to catch up on and a period of estrangement to build a bridge across. Sy makes love to me in that way lovers do when they’re sorting out all the details about their partner, leisurely and unrushed.
Wrapped in a towel with my hair tied up in a ponytail I step out of Sy’s bathroom to find him staring at my cellphone on his kitchen table. His attention lifts to me and he holds my phone out to me.
“Uh, this fellow Preston must really need to get ahold of you. Been blowin’ up your phone for ten minutes straight.”
“Oh. Thank you.” I take the phone from his hand and answer the call.
“Preston,” I greet.
“I got your email. Are you seriously asking for my help or is this your idea of getting my attention?”
“I emailed you regarding this charity because it’s a good image boost and the charity could use several benefactors with deep pockets. I detailed the perks in the email I sent. Is your camp interested?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you. Will you see me again?” He has lowered the pitch of his voice to sound seductive and I can’t help but think if he bites on the offer I sent his way, it will be conditional. He can fuck right off with that nonsense.
“Careful now,” I warn.
“Retract your claws, Potter. You can’t blame me for trying, can you?”
“Perhaps not but that’s one thing, this is another,” I say as delicately as I can, knowing Sylas is listening to my side of this conversation. The word awkward flashes in blinking yellow marquee lights in the forefront of my mind.
“I’m on board but I need to clear it with Senator Holiday. He may not want to appear too closely associated to something you’ve got your precious little hands in. Touchy times on the trail, you know.”
“Don’t I know it. I’ll count on a return email no matter your camp’s decision.”
“Sure. I heard you were out of town. When will you be back?”
I hum. He’s fishing for another hookup and at this moment in Sylas’s company, my body still humming with the aftershocks of his ministrations, the idea of hooking up with Preston is about as appealing as jury duty. “As you said, touchy times on the trail. Not wise to over associate parties. Cable news jockeys are blood thirsty as of late.”
“Yes, well, Election Day is less than two months away. The dust will settle and we can all relax, enjoy ourselves a little more,” he says in a way I’m sure he believes sounds seductive but to my ears it mostly sounds slimy.
“Yes it is. Talk soon.” I hang up and toss my phone down into my bag and look up at Sy who is leaning one muscular shoulder against the doorjamb.
“Who’s Preston?” he asks in a voice I can tell he’s forcing. It’s an attempt to sound aloof, but he’s not fooling me and I’m not saying a thing about Preston other than the fact that he’s in the same industry as me.
“A colleague,” I answer smoothly. Sy’s eyes squint just the tiniest bit and he gives a nondescript noise of acknowledgment before his expression returns to that unflappable smoothness that is signature Sylas Broussard.
“Ready?”
“What’s going through that head of yours?” I ask as I continue working on the event from my phone while sitting next to Sy in his truck. I compose several more emails to a variety of other people I think would be interested in donating to Sylas’s nonprofit. I reach out to several political strategists currently on campaigns, full and part time, and dangle the opportunity to make a showy PR moment by coaxing their candidate into sponsoring BCF. I’ve sweetened the deal by guaranteeing photo ops, media citations and publicly listing them as a premier benefactor of Buzzsaw should they want any of those perks. Sy glances over at me.
“Not a lot. As a rule, I keep things pretty cleared out upstairs,” he jokes tapping his finger against his temple.
“Liar,” I huff.
“I’m just enjoying having you with me, happy to have help with BCF. That’s all,” he says softly, reaching across the console to rest his hand on my thigh.
“What’s that dreamy little look?” I question him smiling fully. He’s being weird.
“I have hope…” he states but doesn’t elaborate on that. Meantime my heart tumbles over itself in my chest.
“For BCF?” I ask looking out the window.
“Yeah, for BCF.” Sy doesn’t answer right away but when he does it lacks sincerity.
Building on what my gut tells me is a lie I add, “I’ll do anything I can to help. I love what you do and I want to see you and Dale keep it going. I like Dale,” I smile genuinely.
“He wasn’t great at first, but he’s putting in the work to get there.”
“So why did you hire Dale if you knew he was an alcoholic?”
Sylas cocks his head in thought. “He made a mistake.” Sy’s bulky shoulders lift then fall. “People make mistakes and there’s no avoiding it. It’s a human condition, and that’s okay. Doesn’t matter that a mistake was made, doesn’t even matter what the mistake was. It only matters what a person does after they did it. That tells me all I need to know.”
“And what did Dale do after he made that mistake?”