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For a moment, time seems suspended. The world outside and all its danger ceases to exist. There is only Cally and me and this connection we share that needs no words.
When I finish playing, silence settles around us. While I was performing, I got so carried away with the improvisational section that I stopped focusing on her. When my gaze meets hers, there’s no hiding that she’s still caught in the trance of my music, though the last chord was plucked long moments ago.
“That was beautiful,” she whispers, raw emotion lacing each word.
“Thanks,” I manage to rasp out before swallowing hard against the knot forming in my throat. The attraction that’s been simmering between us all day bursts into a rolling boil.
“Any other talents you’ve been hiding from me?” Her voice is low, almost breathless.
Is she trying to lighten the mood or segue into talk of sex? How am I supposed to talk with her when I’m in full-blown rut and I have no idea how to flirt?
The tension between us spikes—a current of electricity charging the air. My cheeks heat and blood rushes to my already hard cock. My mind races, searching for a witty response while my heart yearns for something deeper, more honest.
With a newfound boldness spurred by desire, I set my guitar down and move to kneel at the side of her chair.
“Only one way for you to find out if I have other hidden talents,” I say huskily before closing the distance between us and brushing my lips gently against hers.
Her hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer as she deepens the kiss. My antlers brush against the cushions above her head, creating a soft whisper against the silence. Her warm touch seeps into my bones, melting away any lingering reservations, as if her touch holds the power to heal my broken places.
I press myself closer, my fingertips capturing her chin as I take control of the kiss. My body, already in the throes of rut, responds instinctively to the magnetic pull between us. The urgent demands that have bombarded me all day surge through me with seismic force.
My hooves shift against the floor, the sensation grounding me, reminding me of my primal nature—although it would be hard to forget, considering my urges are ramping faster than a runaway freight train.
But I can’t lose control. I won’t allow it.
With great effort, I ease back, breaking the connection of our lips, though it feels as though I’m tearing myself in two. Our breathing intertwines, erratic and heavy, in the shared space between us.
She gazes up at me with potent desire. There’s an unspoken understanding that we’re teetering on the edge of a change we can’t return from.
“Dangerous territory,” I whisper breathlessly, my voice betraying the turmoil roiling within me.
Cally’s fingers trace patterns along my jawline, her brow furrowed in thought.
“I see you, Sylas, for who you truly are.” Her voice is laced with tenderness. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
She leans back, breaking the sensual spell we’d just woven, forcing me to consider her question. I want to blurt that I could kill her, then realize how ridiculous that thought is.
There isn’t an iota of my being that wants to harm her. Am I really thinking I could be so lost in my rut that I’d seriously hurt her? That’s insane. For the second time tonight, I’m struck with how damaging the scientists’ constant mind games were.
“The worst? I could push you to do something you don’t want.”
Because I’m serious, her scoff surprises me. Her little palm slides to my nape, and she cocks her head as she explains. “I think we both want the same thing, Sylas. You can’t force me into something I desire.”
I’ve fought hand-to-hand combat and have gone on black-ops missions. What is it about this conversation that seems more dangerous than that?
Leaning to place my lips at her ear, I say, “I want everything with you, Calliope Quinn. Every square inch of your skin, your taste on my tongue, your hair in my grip. All of it. I want to plunder you like a pirate.”
My blood feels hotter, like I’m about to boil from the inside out. “I want to slide inside you and I can’t promise I have the self-control to go slow. Do you understand that, Cally?” Before she can answer, I continue. “I can’t guarantee our first time together will reflect the tenderness I want to show you. Can’t promise it because my urges feel anything but tender.”
My brazen words have emboldened me somehow, so I pull back to observe her reaction as I continue.
“My hips want to pound into you. I want to rut and pant and bugle and take.” I ease to my feet and walk to where the rope we used last night is coiled in the corner. As I thrust it out to her, I say, “You should tie me up.”
When she doesn’t move immediately, I say, more forcefully, “Now.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cally
