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“It’s safe,” Sylas calls.
I’ve been so tense and terrified, I feel every muscle in my body slowly relax and stand down.
When I exit the bathroom, Sylas is putting the vanilla-soaked towel in the washer with the sheets. After he starts the machine, he turns to me, his happy smile drooping as he says, “You look terrible.”
“Of course I do. The whole time you were out there I was terrified your friend would come in to use the bathroom.”
Sylas laughs. Not a polite little chuckle, either, but a loud guffaw.
“Come in to use the bathroom? We’re splicers, Cally. If he needed to go, he would just whip it out and take a piss in the woods.” He tips his head, looking at me as though I’m an alien who just landed on Earth. He’s gobsmacked that I assumed someone would use the facilities rather than the great outdoors.
“So sue me. I thought he might have manners.”
“You mean humans don’t like to do it outdoors?”
Well, now that he mentions it, I think every guy I’ve ever gone hiking with didn’t hesitate to “water the bushes.”
“Whatever.” I shrug, then focus on the guitar dangling by its neck from his beefy fist. “Do you play?”
Other than when he smelled Grizz coming toward us this morning, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him this wary.
“Yeah?”
“Is that a question or an answer?”
“Yes. I play.” This time, he sounds more definitive.
“Will you play for me sometime?”
“Yes?”
“You sound unsure. Are you afraid I’ll make fun of you? Might I remind you that your jizz-laden sheets are churning in the washer even as we speak? I didn’t give you an ounce of shit about it. Do you think I’ll shame a male who’s trying to enjoy a hobby?”
“How many times in one day should I say that you always say the right thing? It’s your superpower—one of many. How about I play for you later? I thought we could take a trip to the swimmin’ hole.”
“I thought we should stay holed up here. What if one of the other guys wants to swim and finds us?”
“Perfect timing. The twenty males from the other side of the property—we call it Splicer Town—work their jobs during the day, so they would never be on this side of the property on a weekday. The rejects all have a videoconference with a therapist who is working with us on social skills. It will just be you, me, and the Tot.”
“The Tot?” Tater runs to me as I kneel and pat the tiled floor. “Are you the Tot now? Does my goodest boy have a new nickname?”
Tater doesn’t seem traumatized by the interaction with Sylas’s friend. He’s eased close to me, his ass in the air and his front paws reaching out to me as he wags his ropey tail. “The Tot. Is that like the Dude? Are you a cool dog now?”
“Cool? Of course the Tot is cool,” Sylas answers for the dog as though they’re best buddies and Sylas is now a canine interpreter. “That baby blue bandana is confirmation of his trendy status. He just keeps us around for street cred. You know, to hang with the little people when he’s not being tot-ally awesome.”
“Well, what are us little people going to wear at the swimmin’ hole?” On one hand, I’m not sure skinny dipping would be a terrible idea, especially after last night’s world-class kiss. On the other hand… rut without the ropes.
“Oh. I’ve never had to worry about that before.” Sylas looks deflated, then brightens. “But I could wear my shorts.” He motions toward his pants as though he’s Vanna White showing off the next letter on Wheel of Fortune.
As I debate whether to wear what I have on or just strip down to my underwear, Sylas’s eyes get that lit-from-within glow, and he husks, “I wouldn’t argue if you skinny dipped, though.”
This makes me wonder exactly what went into Sylas’s unique mix of DNA. At first, his flat teeth, vegetarian palate, and happy bushy tail make you think he’ll be a pushover.
But the mad scientists were breeding for supersoldiers. I doubt Sylas is all snips and snails and puppy dog tails—or elk tails for that matter. He certainly seems all predator now as his gaze flicks from my boobs to my crotch and back again. And the thick cock pulsing against his pants leaves no room for doubt just exactly what he’s thinking might happen after, or during, our swim.
“I’ll opt for t-shirt and cut-off jeans, thank you very much. I’m afraid the only skinny dipper today will be the Tot.”
“Not him either. He’s got his stylish blue bandana.”
