“Dad, it’s not that simple. I wish you wouldn’t do this. I don’t think it’s going to be as satisfying as you think it is.” I know it won’t, but that won’t stop him from doing it. I just hope he doesn’t regret having more blood on his hands.
“I’m not discussing this with you. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be out of town if you come by the house.” I’m sure he’s told my mother it’s a business trip of some sort. She won’t even notice he’s gone. She never does.
“Fine. But just think about what I said. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” I let out the world’s longest sigh and then my phone rings again, scaring the shit out of me.
It’s Lo. I know if I don’t answer, she’ll leave a long and rambling voicemail and I’d rather just figure out what she wants and get the conversation over with. I hate that she’s moved down my priority ladder. I told myself I wasn’t going to be one of those girls who ditches her friends for a man. This isn’t exactly like cancelling plans with her so I can go see my boyfriend’s new band play, but it’s still not good friend behavior.
“Hey, Lo. I can’t talk long,” I say right off the bat.
“Fine, fine. I just wanted to check in with you, seeing as how I haven’t heard from you in forever.” I did let her know Sylas and I are ah “back together.” She wasn’t too pleased and he’s not on her list of favorite people right now.
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s finals week and I’ve been doing nothing but studying.” And rescuing Sylas.
“Sure, sure. And I bet you’ve had some lovely breaks. Naked breaks.” If only.
“Lo,” I say in a warning voice.
“Fine, fine. I’ll get to the point. I knew you had finals coming up and I thought maybe you might want to take a break and have a drink with me. Away from your study partner.” I can’t say no to her without sounding like I’m blowing her off.
“I guess. When were you thinking?”
“Well, if it’s going to be a chore for you to hang out with your best friend, then never mind.” Why did I pick such a difficult woman to be my best friend? Why couldn’t I have befriended a shy girl who wouldn’t call me and demand I hang out with her when I’m in the middle of several crises?
“Lo, seriously. I’m exhausted and I still have to get through two more classes.” Including my drawing class, which is my least favorite. I still have to do my final project to get my portfolio ready. I’m not sure what I’m going to draw, but it’s supposed to be something I love, which is a rather broad category.
“Friday, five o’clock. That little hole-in-the wall that makes the good dirty martinis.” I agree I’ll be there and she lets me go.
I send Sylas a quick text asking how his day is and get a message back immediately.
I don’t know how to do nothing. It’s really hard.
It’s good to see him regaining his sense of humor. That’s something I love about him. He’s not the funniest guy at all times, but when he is, I can’t stop laughing. And when he’s dirty and funny… well. That hits me in all the right places.
I’m going to have to tell him Dad is going to Texas. I’m not sure how he’s going to take it, and there’s no way to drop that bomb gently. I ponder it as I get my fourth cup of coffee on the way to drawing.
My talents just don’t include drawing. No matter how many times I repeat the techniques I’m supposed to be using, my pictures never come out right. If I were better at the subject, then it might be a more relaxing class. I could lose myself in the process, the movement. But I can never get the drawing on the paper to match the drawing in my mind and it drives me crazy. I wouldn’t call myself a perfectionist by any stretch, but I do like things to be a certain way.
This day is no exception and I get so fed up I want to break my charcoal in half and throw it across the room. The vase we’ve been working on is uglier than sin and I wish someone would walk by and accidentally knock it off the stand in the middle of the room.
At last the professor tells us time is up and we all put our supplies away. As a result of who I am, I tend to keep to myself in classes. I don’t usually think about it, but as I pack up, I realize everyone is talking to someone else. There are small groups and pairs and trios all chatting about weekend plans and jobs and study sessions. I hurry out of the room and head to my next class.
It’s the same there. I sit alone and don’t talk to anyone. I’ve also cultivated an effective Resting Bitch Face that keeps a lot of people at bay. Even when someone talks to me, I make sure they never want to do it again.
I’ve been doing it so long, I stopped even thinking about why I do it.
As I leave another class where no one talks to me, I head to my car and briefly consider not going home. Or at least just… not going home right away. I drive around for a little while. I used to drive around all the time when I was younger. I got my license as soon as I could and of course Dad bought me a car. It was my refuge. My home away from home. Sometimes I’d even drive somewhere, park and sleep in the backseat. Mostly it was normal teenage rebellion, but it was also so I didn’t have to go home and listen to my mother pick apart every little flaw she perceived I had.
Feeling foolish for dredging up the past, I make the turn that will take me home. My Sylas is waiting.
He’s stretched out on the couch with Leo sleeping on his stomach when I walk through the door. The television is on some cooking show, the volume turned on low.
“Hey,” I say, and he looks up, a sleepy smile on his face. He’s wearing… sweats. Actual sweats. I didn’t even know he had them. The dark gray bottoms are baggy in places and tight in others and totally working for me.
“Hey, Redhead.”
I move his feet and sit down on the other end of the couch, replacing his feet in my lap.
“What did you do today?” I ask.
“This,” he says, gesturing to his current state. “I can’t remember the last time I did nothing. I didn’t even know I could do nothing without having my mind racing and plotting all the time.” I know how he feels. I have to force myself to slow down and smell the metaphorical roses. Both of us are high-strung individuals.
“Feel good?” I ask, starting to rub his feet.
“Oh, that definitely feels good,” he says, his eyes closing. “How was school?”
“Fine. Same old, same old. Lo called and she wants me to go out with her on Friday night for drinks. I couldn’t see a way out of it.” Even if I gave her an excuse, like I was sick or something, she’d just show up here and make me prove it.
“That’s fine. You deserve a break from everything.” So does he. Maybe the two of us could go away together after I’m done with finals. It would be complicated to plan, but we could make it work.
“There’s something I have to tell you and I don’t want to tell you, because I’m scared of how you’re going to react.” He’s still so fragile emotionally, and this could reverse all the progress we’ve made since I found him in the hotel room.
He opens his eyes and I see the worry on written on his forehead. I reach out and take his hands, hoping that if he holds onto me, he’ll stay with me.
“Before I tell you, I want you to breathe with me.” I do the slow breathing technique and wait until he’s nice and calm.
“Dad is going to Texas.” I don’t need to say anything other than that. He knows what that means. His fingers clench onto mine so hard that the joints crack and it hurts. I fight the need to tell him to let go. I can take the pain.
He bites his bottom lip between his teeth and a little bit of blood runs down his chin.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though it’s a stupid question. I need to keep him talking.
“No,” he says, his tongue darting out to lick the little spot of blood. I’m glad he didn’t bite right through his lip.
“Talk to me,” I say. His grip loosens, but I can see that he’s starting to withdraw into his head. “Talk to me, Sylas. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
/> He lets out a lungful of air.
“I’m feeling like I’m a failure. That I’m a stupid little boy and I’ve betrayed my mother and Lizzy and I’m going to hate myself for the rest of my life because I didn’t have enough balls to put a bullet in the brain of a monster.” I keep my reaction neutral, but my heart aches for him. No one should feel that way. No one. But at least he’s letting it out and telling me and not holding it inside.
“And what would have happened if you had killed him?” I ask.
“He’d be dead and I’d be free. My mother would be avenged and I could go on with my life. I could plan. I could be with you without thinking about him. I could be the man you need me to be.” I start rubbing his fingers. His hands are so cold.
“You’re not a failure, Sylas. Your mother wouldn’t want you hurting yourself like this. She would want you to live and let yourself be happy.” He can’t be happy if he doesn’t allow himself the opportunity.
“What if I don’t know how to be happy?” I’m happy that he seems to be okay and dealing well with the news. For now.
“You’ll figure it out. I have complete faith in you. Are you hungry? I could order some food. Or we could go take a walk. Or a drive.”
He sits up and Leo stretches out and then jumps to the floor.
“You don’t have to do this, Saige. You don’t have to treat me like a piece of glass.” Is he mad at me?
“I’m not. I just asked you if you wanted something to eat.” He yawns and fiddles with the drawstring on his pants. His shirt is white and so thin I can see the ink of his tattoos bleeding through the fabric. It’s painfully sexy.
“You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.” I reach out and rub his shoulder.
“Hey, it’s okay. I understand.” I go to the drawer in my kitchen where I keep the takeout menus. I fan them out and walk back over to him.
“Pick one,” I say. He looks up and grabs for the Greek place. Score. I’ve been craving spanakopita. I ask him what he wants and then make the call to order before going to my closet and putting on my own sweats. I’m not sure Sylas has seen me in them yet either.
When I walk back out with my hair down and my makeup off (except for my red lipstick because I know how much he loves it), his eyes widen.
“See something you like?” I ask. It probably isn’t appropriate to flirt with him like this when he’s dealing with so much, but I think we could use a little time out from the intensity of dealing with everything.
“Little bit,” he says. “Just a little bit.” His stare is like a physical touch. Everywhere he looks heats up and I want to dive across the room and throw myself at him.
This is not the time for me to be horny and needy. I stop walking toward him and make a turn to the kitchen, pretending I’m getting a drink or something. I hear him get up from the couch and walk up behind me.
His warm lips touch my neck. The t-shirt I’m wearing is all stretched out in the neck and drapes over one shoulder and leaves the other bare.
I lean back and mold my body to his. He wants me, that’s for sure. He’s getting hard against my ass and I fight the urge to rub myself against him and make it better.
“We shouldn’t,” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound very convincing. His lips suckle on the spot where my pulse pounds in my neck.
“Probably not,” he says, but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. His hands drift up and own my sides and then around to lift my shirt up and graze across my stomach. My resistance is crumbling and I can’t think of any of the reasons we shouldn’t do this. Only why we should.
I slowly turn in his arms, putting my arms up so he can lift the shirt over my head.
“I feel like it’s been forever and it’s been less than three days,” he says as he reveals the fact that I’m not wearing a bra and that I changed out my simple nipple bars for ones with little red stones. His pupils dilate and he brushes his thumbs across them.
“You like?” I ask.
“Very much,” he breathes as he gets to his knees. His mouth is almost at nipple level and he takes one in his mouth. The bolt of desire that shoots through me makes my knees tremble. At this rate, he’s going to take me right here on the kitchen floor. I’m amenable to that.
Every other thought leaves my head as he moves to show my other nipple the same attention and then slowly unties the bow that is keeping my pants up. I always end up naked before he even takes his shirt off. One of these days, I’m going to have the upper hand in that department.
I slide down to the floor, my back against the lower cabinets.
“Shirt. Off. Now.” He gives me the kind of smile that makes me think of wicked things and dirty words and dark desires whispered in the dark.
“As my lady commands,” he says, stripping his shirt off. I love his skin. I love the colors and patterns and secrets hidden in the multitude of his tattoos. I never thought I would go for someone with this much ink, but I can’t imagine him without them. His tattoos are as big a part of him as his beautiful eyes and his smile and his ability to render me speechless with just a look.
“Make me forget about it,” he says, pushing his sweats down and then kicking them off. “There’s too much in my head.” I bring his face to mine and kiss his lips to stop him from talking. I put everything into it, using my tongue and hands to wipe his mind clear of anything but me and our bodies coming together. He moans as I put my hands on him, stroking him up and down. He lays me slowly on my back on the floor, and I shiver a little as my hot skin meets the coolness of the tiles. His mouth leaves mine and starts its ascent down my body, kissing and biting and nipping and leaving the mark of his teeth on my pale skin. I love how he always leaves evidence of being with me. And he never seems to mind when I get carried away and bite him back.
Sexually, things have always been easy with us. We’re on exactly the same level, like the same things and our bodies come together in ways that make both of us come so hard that sometimes I’m afraid it’s going to kill me.
It’s all the other things that are challenges. Trust. Secrets. My father. So many other things, but when we come together like this, I know we’re right. This is right. He’s right.
“I want to devour you,” he says, licking into my bellybutton.
“Go ahead,” I say, my back arching up to get closer to his mouth. I want him to devour me, destroy me, dissolve me. Because then I’ll be a part of him and we’ll never be apart.
That’s my last coherent thought before he kisses my hipbone and then moves closer and closer to where I need him to be. He licks me once and my legs start to shake. I’m already so close to climaxing.
Of course, that’s when the doorbell rings.
“What is that?” I say. Sylas puts his chin on my stomach and smiles.
“Doorbell. That’s the food. I’m going to get it, but when I get back, I’m going to eat you before anything else.” I’m panting and so close to orgasm that it actually hurts. In my head, I beg Sylas to hurry up. There are voices and then Sylas laughs. I hope he put pants on. He comes back with several bags and sets them on the counter and smiles down at me.
“This is a nice vantage point,” he says, taking his pants off again.
“Get down here and finish what you started,” I say, reaching out to him to bring him back to me.
“Yes, Redhead,” he says and moments later, I come hard, my voice filling the apartment. I’ve always been loud, and I think Sylas likes that.
“Shhh, the neighbors might hear,” he says, tapping my mouth with one finger. “I’ve got something else you can do with that lovely mouth.” I peel my back off the floor and slide down to take him in my mouth. Now he’s the one moaning, his arms holding him up above me. I think he’s going to come in my mouth, but at the last minute he pulls out with a pop and moves so he can enter me. I wrap my legs around him and hold on for dear life. This is not going to be one of those gentle times and I don’t want it to be.
I brace
myself against the cabinets so I don’t slide across the floor. This isn’t the first time we’ve fucked on this floor. In fact, I’m pretty sure we’ve fucked on every single surface of this apartment.
I come hard a second time and then he growls and joins me. We’re both sticky with sweat. He gives me one little kiss and then gets to his feet, pulling me up with him. Cum slides down the inside of my leg and I grab a paper towel to clean up before heading to the bathroom and doing a more thorough job. When I come back, he’s got his sweat bottoms on and is putting the food out on the coffee table.
I throw my clothes back on.
“It’s a damn shame to cover you up,” he says. I’m surprised he’s so calm and playful. It’s good, but it worries me. I hope he’s not shoving things aside that will come back to hurt him later.
“Well, I’m not eating hot food naked for your benefit,” I say, sitting on the couch and grabbing one of the plates.
“Maybe you should. You might like it.” I roll my eyes and load up with spanakopita and tzatziki and pita bread and souvlaki. There’s also baklava for dessert. I’m absolutely starving. I’ve been pretty much living on coffee today.
I start talking about my classes and the other things I did with my day. I’m trying to avoid any touchy subjects like my father or his or his episodes.
He tells me about the different shows he watched.
“I had no idea there were so many reality shows about so many terrible people,” he says and I laugh.
“I know, right? Just when I think there are enough of them, they come out with another one. There’s no shortage of awful people that are willing to be on television, apparently.” He wipes his mouth and dishes out a few more skewers of souvlaki.
“It was nice, to do nothing,” he says.
“Good. I’m glad you had a good day.” He nods and continues eating. I want to ask him if he’s talked to his boys, or if he’s had any contact with Cash, but that seems like the kind of thing I shouldn’t bring up right now.
So many conversational pits to fall into.