“Rae,” he breathes as though it’s a prayer, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow. “My Rae,” he murmurs nuzzling his cheek into the hollow between my neck and shoulder.
I tip his face back to look at him once more knowing that I shouldn’t want him to love me just as I shouldn’t still love him but I can’t help it. Love is beautiful on Sylas. It has been.
“I need you,” I whisper against his lips with my forehead pressed against his.
“You have me Rae. Always,” he says firmly. Without preamble he lifts us and moves us to his bedroom, depositing me on his soft bed. Sylas plants his feet at the foot of his bed and strips himself while never taking his intense gaze off me. His steel body climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. When he holds out his hand to me I place mine in his and he pulls me forward so I’m sitting up. The clothes I’m wearing including the bra and underwear covering me are gone in quick succession, joining Sy’s clothes on the floor. He crawls between my legs, his haunting stare remaining locked with mine. His approach forces me to lie back.
Leaning down to rest his weight on his elbows, Sy cages me, his big hands holding my face in place. His molten eyes roam over me, and when I think he’s going to open his mouth and say something, he doesn’t, he just keeps his eyes locked with mine as the swollen tip of his cock nudges forward, pushing against my wet center. I part my legs further for him, allowing the inside of my thighs to support his hips. The bulbous tip of his arousal parts my folds as his hips push forward just a little. My muscles inside clench and ache with yearning to have all of him. I buck my hips toward him, a silent plea to give me what I need. Sy’s lips are parted, his regard is tethered, studying my response to him, taking in whatever this is between us. With measured movement Sylas plows into my body, inch by inch. He makes his way into me, the thick shaft of his cock spreading me wide for him as he drives through my flesh until he’s fully seated in my depths. My muscles squeeze him, eliciting a pained groan from him.
The moment I feel his impressive length hit the bottom of me, without words his eyes communicate so much. I feel emotions between us mingle and deepen though neither of us utters a word. This moment with him feels significant and all the feelings I have locked in a closet, spring forward making me feel sensitive and exposed. A knot in my throat blossoms as emotion mists my eyes. A silent tear rolls from the corner of my eye and Sylas frowns slightly then catches my tear on his full lips. He can have it; it’s for him after all. He brings his tear-covered lips to mine, depositing a salty kiss against my mouth as he draws his cock out of me just to drive right back.
Sy drops tender kisses all over my jaw, cheeks and throat as he works both of us toward glorious release. I lock my ankles behind him and hook my arms around him, drawing him as close to me as possible. His heart pounds in his chest against mine, his breathing synchronizes with my own panting.
Since I’ve been here with Sylas, the energy between us has been desperate sexual tension from so much left unresolved and physical attraction denied for a decade. This moment feels different. This feels like leisurely, beautiful, unrushed lovemaking.
His fingers run over my ribs, down to my hip then back up where he tweaks one nipple making my body jerk beneath him. Bowing his head low he captures my other nipple in his mouth, grazing his teeth over the sensitive flesh then sucking deeply. A coil of pressure draws down in my belly, tingling and tightening. My breathing grows choppier, Sy’s brow furrows with deep concentration. We’re both so close. I can feel his girth thicken and harden further still. My body arches into him and I cry out his name as brilliant waves of pleasure rock my body over and over. Sylas growls, tossing his head back, the veins in his neck bulging, his muscular chest flexing as he spills himself inside me. He’s stunning and I soak up every detail, filing it away hoping I’ll always remember it.
The moon is high in the sky and we’re in Sy’s kitchen. I’m sitting on his countertop and Sy is leaning against the cabinets in front of me, showcasing his chiseled body wearing nothing but boxers. I’m nibbling on cheese and crackers, facing him, drinking in everything I can and I suspect he’s doing the same thing.
“How did you like college? Did you party like one of those out-of-control sorority girls?” He winks while grinning that lopsided grin. I shrug.
No. I was too broken over you!
“No. I was too busy with school.”
“How was it over there? In Afghanistan?” I’m well aware that asking him to open up about such a personal subject is one, hypocritical of me, and two, likely very difficult for him. Still, I am curious to hear about his experience overseas not just to know more about Sy but to maybe glean some insight about how it likely was for Teddy as well.
Sy takes a deep breath, his chest puffing up fully then deflating. I immediately regret asking him about his deployment to a war zone. “I mean, if you don’t want to discuss it I understand,” I add hurriedly.
“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s good to talk about it. It helps.” He chews up another bite of ham and pops an olive in his mouth then takes a long pull from his beer. “It was bizarre at first. Culture shock, you know? Sometimes it was so boring I felt like my brain would leak out of my ears and find a way home.” He chuckles making his broad chest shake. “But other times it was scary. Pure adrenaline pumping, survive or die scary shit. The enemy and the ally wear the same thing—behave the same way. It’s easy to become paranoid and stay that way.”
“What did you do to keep from going crazy?”
“Hey, who says I’m not?” he asks with a serious expression. My eyes dart to the side unsure of what to say. Sy grins and reaches out to tap his index finger on my nose. “Kidding, Snow. In our downtime we played cards a lot. Dominos if we had them handy. Clean laundry was high on the priority list so we took advantage of any chance we had to get it done.”
“How were the locals?”
“I didn’t care much for the adults, couldn’t trust them at all. The kids were different. The adults used the kids to do dirty work, sure, but these kids were just stuck in the middle of some screwed up shit, didn’t know any better, you know? I made it my mission to show them that the Americans were good, and we didn’t deserve to be blown up.” A distant look transforms his smile into a blank expression and I can tell his mind is right back in Afghanistan.
“Did you know kids over there love Pop-Tarts? They’re fanatics over them. Doesn’t matter the flavor. People from home sent me care packages full to hand out to the kids after I had relayed to Mom in a letter that the local kids would do anything—tell us anything—we wanted to know as long as we gave them the goods.” He laughs, but it’s a terribly sad sound. His eyes take on a wistful quality. “There was a little girl I used to see in the village nearby all the time. Tiny, little thing.” He shakes his head. “The interpreter said she was eleven years old, but she looked about six. Rail-thin. I always gave her extra food.” He pauses taking another healthy drink from his beer bottle.
“We were in a convoy just outside of Sangin, Afghanistan one day and we spotted this car stopped in the middle of the road about a football field away. Our Convoy Commander had us stay put to assess the situation.” Sy glances up at me but I keep my lips sealed, just nodding here and there.