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She set the wine aside and reached out a hand to him. When he came to her, she tugged, and he understood. He dropped to his knees before her. She kept looking at him a long time, giving weight to the drawn-out moment. Their hands were in a knot together. She traced his cheek and jaw, then put her fingers on his lips. He remained utterly still, feeling the command for it in her touch.
Be still, until I give you life. Until I order you to live, to move, to serve my desires.Poetic stuff he’d never say aloud to anyone. He had told her riding put his head in that kind of space, but so did she.
Sound isn’t significant. Words can be merely words.He’d read that in the materials from the hearing center. A summary of something said by a philosopher who’d lived a few hundred years ago, but he’d struck a chord in Tiger’s present.
While he missed the hell out of hearing so many things, he understood what the passage meant. Words couldn’t convey the things that mattered the most. Those things were beyond that. It was her hand on his face, the look in her eyes, the closeness of her body, their surroundings, a place he felt at home, as he was touched by the woman…who was his home. The home he’d wanted all his life. That he’d missed ever since the last time his mother touched his face.
Not that he’d sought his mother in a Mistress. But what had been so cruelly wrested from him so young was a connection forged in the act of creation itself. In a love that could be tested, wounded, broken…but never destroyed.
Skye leaned in and pressed her mouth to his brow, to his nose, his cheeks and jaw, moving to his throat and back to his lips. Holding his throat in her feminine hand to keep him still, she sipped, tasted and nibbled. His hands had landed on the arms of her chair as she scooted forward, her knees pressed to either side of him.
Someone was playing GooGoo Dolls.Past is never far… Did you lose yourself somewhere out there… Grew up way too fast… Nothing to believe… I won’t tell them your name.
She knew him. Who he was. And he knew her. As she drew him in, he slid his arm around her back, his other hand cupping her head.
She eased back to fish in that small crossbody purse she wore for her phone. When she produced the dark marker she also usually had with her, she turned his arm over and wrote on the smooth side of his forearm.
Fuck me like there is no tomorrow. Fuck me like tonight will last an eternity. That is my command.
She capped the marker and her dark eyes captured him, a sorceress bringing him into her service, now and forever. He rose, drawing her up with him, and turned to the tent. He held the flap for her, pausing to cast a gaze toward the heavens. Stars dotted the sky with the sliver of a moon.
It felt like a night with that kind of magic to it. A night thatcouldlast forever, and yet be the perfect night to be the last night on earth.
He gave her everything she wanted. When he was done, she was curled in his arms. She gave him a triple tap that told him she was pleased. A tap to his head, to his heart, a playful one to his spent, damp cock, lying against his thigh.
Stand down, soldier. At ease.
He was content as she drifted off to sleep. How easily she managed it told him the camp sounds were dying down as the hour grew late. A massive difference from the rally campsites where people partied and drank through the night. To sleep at one of those, a person had to be wearing industrial ear plugs or be conditioned to sleep through anything, like a soldier in a war zone.
Or be a deaf person.
He did miss the sounds of the rally, keenly enough the thought had jagged edges, pushing into his chest and throat. Fuck, he missed hearing anything.
He expected it got easier as time went on. If he could accept that it wasn’t coming back, would that help? Like when you knew a family member really was dead and gone.
Yeah, like that got easier. How long had it taken him to wake in the morning and not expect to find his mother in the kitchen? Hear her voice in his dreams and realize she wasn’t calling him to get up?
That kind of acceptance was difficult, and the longing for it to be otherwise could play cruel tricks.
Apparently, the desire to hear again had the same problem.
He woke about four in the morning. The vibration through the cot and tent walls told him someone had started up a bike for an early morning ride or departure.
Shit, that guy needs to check on that valve rattle. They’re either loose or out of adjustment.
He stilled, his arm around Skye tightening. She shifted, but didn’t wake, her breathing even against his chest. He was surprised, but she was a deep sleeper. Probably because she didn’t sleep much, so when she did, she went to the bottom of the ocean for it.
In contrast, he was abruptly wide awake, infused with an urgency that had him gingerly sliding out of their pushed-together cots. He adjusted the blanket around her before he ducked out of the tent opening.
Two rows over, a bike was leaving the park. He could still hear what he thought he’d heard in his head, and it seemed to match the bike’s rhythm, its movement.
But he could be doing that, making it fit. The sound was drifting out of his mind, like smoke. Or the way a forest absorbed a bird call, here then gone.
His hand went into a tight fist against the side of his trailer as he tried to grab for it, but all he got for his trouble was a warning pounding in his temples, aided by the thundering of his heart in his throat.
A staticky white noise was buzzing around in his head that hadn’t been there when he’d gone to sleep. That was new, butthe headache meant he was trying too hard to hear something he might not have heard at all. Like his mother’s voice, it was probably something he’d registered in his dreams, in a place where things so familiar to him could be picked up at subconscious levels.
Because Tiger had lost his hearing after a lifetime of having it, the doc had told him he’d have “auditory sensations” in his dreams. It had happened a few times, and man, it sucked. Hearing things in his sleep and then waking to tomb silence, realizing it was only a dream, hooked his gut like a damn chain hoist.
