forty-one | viola
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1939
Sylas unravels parts of me I never knew were knotted. His fingers on my skin burn me with all-consuming, incapacitating desire. I look down at his hand and sigh. His thumb rubs slow, lazy circles on my inner wrist. “Tell me to leave.”
Faint light from the stars outside spills through the tall windows, basking Sylas in an ethereal glow that makes me question whether he is human. I should do what he asks. Tell him to leave, keep him away from the inevitable heartbreak of my death. But looking at him, sitting on the edge of the chair, the light casting shadows on the lean muscles of his chest, I allow myself to be selfish.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I breathe out.
With a groan, he tugs me forward, and I brace a knee to the right of his legs. His gaze darkens, and he trails a finger up my thigh, sliding his handunderneath my shirt. Maybe it’s the constant threat of death, or maybe it’s just pure, unbridled lust, but I want him to rip it off.
He helps my other knee up, so I’m caging him with my body. My shirt rides up farther, and my bare skin sits against the soft linen of his pants— I should have asked Lyria to grab me some new clothes. When he realizes, his eyes flare with a primal need, his fingers digging deeper into my waist.
I hold his face, brushing my thumbs over his cheekbones. I never want to forget the flecks of amber in his gray eyes nor how they look at me, like he is my disciple and I am his God.
Not just this life, he’d said. All of them.
All of them… My breaths are shallow, my pulse rising. I am in love with him. By Death, I am in love with him. It almost feels painful to admit, because we are a tragedy, like the Gods let me taste the sweet nectar of life before lacing it with poison.
“Are you sure?” His unfairly beautiful mouth parts.
“I’ve never been surer of anything.” I bury my hands in his hair, and he kisses down my neck. I need him to give in. I need him to take the whole of me, make me forget that my days are numbered. Ineedhim.
“Viola, I will stop whenever you want…”
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, my heart thrumming at the rhythm of his kisses on my neck, the insatiable hunger in my lower belly only intensifying.
His hands slide up my chest, caressing the sides of my breasts. His smooth palm on my skin lights a fire inside me, threatening to ravage every thing in its path. He takes his time, exploring my body with his hands, his thumbs grazing over my nipples as his lips kiss my throat, my neck, my collarbone.
“Viola,” he groans against my throat. Pressing my hands on his chest, I move against him. His hands go still and a pained sigh leaves his lips. If this is a battle of wills, I’ve just won.
He slams his mouth against mine, breathing life into me, and my body shudders with pleasure. Our kiss is full of hopeless surrender, of whispered apologies and unspoken vows. His lips take mine, tugging, teasing, biting. It’s nothing like I’ve experienced before. It screamsDon’t leave meandThis is our last timeat once. We’re a tangle of tongues and lips, ragged breaths and quiet moans. I can taste the sharpness of mint, the softness of the vanilla; above all, I can taste how easy it will be for him to destroy me.
He glides his hands between my thighs, meeting my eyes with a question.I kiss him again, nodding against his lips. His fingers move against me, slow and gentle against the throbbing, then ever so carefully, he slides a finger in, curling it as his thumb rolls over my most sensitive spot. Heat flushes across my chest, and I don’t know who I am anymore. He smiles as he finds his rhythm, steady and urgent, soft and demanding.
My heart is racing, my body coiled with a mix of euphoria and despair. I wanted him to make me forget, but Gods, he’s ruining me, his touch burning away the ones before him, permanently etching himself on my soul. I bury my head in the crook of his neck in complete surrender, but his fingers slow.
The next moment, he is standing, lifting me with him, his solid grip on my thighs. My legs wrap around his waist, and I press my body against him, agonizing over how long it takes to walk to his bed. He kisses me the whole way there, as if a moment away from my lips would kill him. I think it would kill me.
He settles me in bed, my legs still wrapped tight around his waist, and he brings his mouth back to mine, his tongue parting my lips with delicate purpose. I don’t want to wait anymore; I need him all over me. I slow down my kisses and arch my hips against him, and he growls against my mouth. “We can stop…”
My ragged breaths hold my tongue. He is thinking about stopping, when I’m thinking about him inside me.
“Say the word…” He bites my earlobe, trails kisses along my jaw, my neck, pausing right above my collarbone. “Viola, talk to me,” he grunts, rising over me, his arms caging me in.
“Sylas.” His name is a breath I cannot hold, not when he’s worshipping every inch of my body and making me feel things I never knew I could feel. “Please.”
His gaze climbs from my lips to my eyes, and he swallows, searching my face for hesitation he won’t find. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted before. He lets out a long, ragged sigh, and I smirk.
“May I?” He straightens, leaning against the side of the bed, and tugs on my shirt.
Pushing myself up on my elbows, he helps me slide the fabric over my arms and neck. My chest rises and falls, my breath uneven. I am naked in front of him, my soul bare, trusting him with the most vulnerable parts of me.
“Gods, you’re beautiful.” He takes in a sharp breath, his cheeks blushing. His hand gently nudges my legs off him. “You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs as he bends, kissing between my breasts, his palms cupping them, his fingers gently squeezing my nipples. Pleasure ripples through me, and I let out a silent gasp.
“You’re everything,” he whispers as his mouth moves lower. He kisses above my belly button, then lower and lower. He pulls back, and I bite down a moan.
“Don’t even think about stopping right now…”