Behind Your Back by Chelsea M. Cameron
“Keep me updated,” he says and I can tell he has other things to do.
“Will do. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, kid.” I smile and we hang up.
I don’t expect to hear from Sylas, but then he shows up at the coffee shop where we first met. It’s my preferred studying place, because you can’t have food or drinks in the library.
He just slips into the empty chair across from me, as if he does this all the time.
“Hello,” I say, a little wary.
“Hello,” he says. I wait for him to tell me what he’s doing here, but he doesn’t elaborate. I let myself look at him, but if I’m not careful, I’m going to fall into his eyes and completely lose myself. Again.
“Can I help you with something?”
“I wish we could talk like we used to,” he says after a long silence.
“You mean when we were both conning each other?” I say. He doesn’t wince, just shrugs one shoulder.
The silence takes over again and I decide to take a risk.
“I want to be honest with you now,” I say. “From here on out.”
His eyes narrow the tiniest bit and he studies me, looking for signs that I’m lying.
“And how do I know you’re going to be honest with me?” he says. I have a crazy idea, so I reach into my nose and flip my septum piercing down so he can see it. His eyes widen as I gaze back at him. His eyes flick down to my piercing and then back up.
“You don’t. You’re going to have to trust me.” He leans back and thinks about that for a moment.
“Don’t you expect me to be honest with you?” he says. He’s not mad, he’s not upset. Just… curious. Cautious. As if I’m playing another game. The irony that I’d lie to him about telling him the truth doesn’t escape either of us.
“In an ideal world. But you have to give trust to get it. I want to show you that I can be trustworthy and then we’ll go from there.” I can do that. I can be an open book with him. I can. I will.
“Why?” The corners of his mouth almost lift up in a smile.
“Why, what?”
“Why do you want to be honest with me?”
I lean forward, my forearms on the table. Time to lay it all out. I know if I don’t, I’m going to regret it. “Because I miss you, Sylas. I really do. I know we were both playing a part, but those moments we had were real. I know you felt it.” Just a tiny flicker of surprise is his only reaction.
“I felt it,” I say in a quiet voice. We’re in the middle of a crowded coffee shop, but everything else mutes and blurs around us. It’s all about him.
“What if that’s not enough?” Now he’s the one speaking quietly.
“What if it is?” I say.
I watch that statement hit him. We’re silent again for a while.
“You know I don’t believe in fate,” he says. I close my eyes and fight the urge to cry.
“It’s okay. I’ll believe enough for the both of us.”
“Do you want to take a walk?” he asks. A real smile curls his lips up and he stands, holding his hand out.
“Sure,” I say, and pack up my things. He takes my shoulder bag from me and slings it over his arm and holds my hand in the other.
We walk out of the coffee shop and down the street.
“How’s the tattoo?” he asks.
“Sore. But I think the itching stage is worse than the pain stage.” He nods.
“It absolutely is.”
I keep thinking he’s going to drop my hand, but he doesn’t.
“I don’t know how we go from here,” he admits.
“Me neither. I’ve never been in this particular situation before.” He probably hasn’t either. Not many people have, I’ll wager. I look at him in my peripheral vision.
He’s incredible. It makes me want to take him to the nearest hotel, strip him down and fuck him for days.
“So how is this going to work?” he asks.
“I have no idea. I guess… we just… take it from here. Neither of us trusts the other one, so we’re going to have to rebuild that from square one.” More than rebuild. Once trust is broken, it’s ten times harder to get it back to the way it was.
“You’re right, I don’t trust you,” he says.
“I don’t trust you either.”
He squeezes my and I turn to see he’s smiling.
“What’s that smile for?”
“You, being honest.”
I didn’t even mean it. The words came out of my mouth.
“We have to start somewhere,” I say, shrugging one shoulder.
“We do.”
Our steps are slow and anger the people walking behind us, but we don’t change our pace.
“I’m excited about seeing Lizzy this weekend,” I say, tired of the silence.
Sylas laughs softly.
“To say that she’s excited to see you is an understatement.”
“Really?” I hope she is. I want her to like me.
“Yeah. I hope you’re ready to get your ear talked off.”
“Absolutely.”
We lapse into silence again.
“I’m not going to apologize for what I did,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“For conning you. I’m not going to apologize. So you shouldn’t expect it.”
“I don’t,” I say, telling the truth. He stops walking and that makes me stop, since we’re still linked.
He turns me to face him and pulls me close under an awning for a little bakery.
“I believe you,” he says, and I like hearing that. I really do.
“Good.”
He opens his mouth to say something else and changes his mind.
“I’m going to kiss you now and then I’m going to take you back to your apartment and fuck you. I hope you didn’t have other plans.”
My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth and I can’t breathe for a second.
“N-no. I didn’t have other plans,” I stutter.
“Good,” he says, and then his lips descend on mine.
I feel like I haven’t kissed him in years, and it’s only been days. His kiss is both familiar and overwhelming. I always think I’m going to get used to kissing Sylas, but I never do. Each time I’m astonished by the touch of his mouth on mine.
He kisses me tentatively at first. He’s holding back and I’m having none of it. I get up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. It’s times like this I wish he had longer hair that I could grab and hold onto. Maybe he’ll grow it out if I asked him to. He’d look even more attractive with long hair. Maybe too attractive. He’s already a walking sex bomb.
I’m the first one to open my mouth, and my tongue tries to invade his. He puts up a bit of a fight, but the more I try, the more his resolve crumbles. And then I’m in, stroking his delicious tongue with mine. He yanks me up against my chest and I’m pressed hard against him. I can’t breathe, but I don’t care. Sylas always tastes like mint and fresh rainwater. Cool and burning at the same time.
Abruptly, he breaks the kiss and I’m left gasping and clinging to him because my legs can no longer support me. My lipstick is smeared on his mouth and I love it. I love that I leave my mark on him whenever we’re together.
“Your place. Now,” he growls at me, his voice tight with need. My body throbs in response. I need him. Immediately.
“Where’s your car?” I ask, but his only answer is to start dragging me back down the street. I’m seriously hoping he’s towing me in the direction of his car. Otherwise, I’m going to jump him in the middle of the street in broad daylight.
Finally, I see the BMW and breathe a sigh of relief. He yanks the door open and nearly throws me in. I scramble and he gets behind the wheel, cursing at the traffic that won’t let him in. He creeps out and a Good Samaritan pauses to let him pull out.
Sylas drives as fast as he possibly can to my place and it must be fate because there’s a space right near my front door. He parks and is ou
Clothes hit the floor and I know we’re not going to even make it to the living room couch. I don’t remember how I got naked, but I am and Sylas lifts me up as I wrap my legs around his waist. His hands dig into my ass, his tongue ravages my mouth and his eyes burn into mine.
There is no preamble. No warm-up.
Before I know it’s happened, he’s thrusting into me, my back banging up against the door. I let out a loud cry as he pulls out and slams into me again. This is another one of our encounters that’s going to leave bruises.
The door hitting my newly healing tattoo adds a little spice of pain, but I don’t tell him to stop. Even if he could.
Sylas is determined. He’s going to have me and I’m going to let him. I hold on for my life as he pounds into me with everything he’s got. This is both a reunion and a statement.
My climax comes so hard and so fast, I end up biting into his collarbone as I come, shattering into brilliant pieces all around him. He moves faster and faster until I hear him groan and feel him come inside me.
Shit. No condom again.
We’re both trembling and dripping with sweat. My back is on fire and my limbs are made of rubber. Sylas ducks his head and leans it on my neck and sets me down slowly. I keep my arms around his neck since I’m pretty sure my legs wouldn’t support me right now.
His cum runs down my leg, but neither of us moves.
“Do you love me?” he asks, his voice raspy. My head snaps up, looking into his blue eyes.
“What?” I must have heard him wrong.
“Do you love me?” I open my mouth to answer, but I can’t. I’ve promised to be honest with him. I definitely cannot tell him that I love him. That it was real when I said it. Not part of our game. I didn’t mean for it to happen.
I’m about to break the first new promise I made to him.
“I don’t know,” I say, lying through my teeth.
Six
I can’t tell if he believes me or not, but he walks backward, taking me with him as we make our way to the couch. We’re lucky neither of us trips over our discarded clothing.
He sets me down on the couch and then goes to grab his pants, sliding them on without his boxer briefs before grabbing my clothes and handing them to me. I take them and go to the bathroom to clean myself up before I get dressed again.
I put my panties, jeans and shirt on, but leave the bra off.
He sits down next to me again, and props his elbows on his knees as he leans forward. I mirror his stance.
“What are you thinking about?” He’s in one of his deep silences. The kind that means he’s far away and it’ll be a job to bring him back to me.
He turns his head slowly.
“I don’t know what to do with you, Saige. I really don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, but I have no idea why I’m apologizing.
He lets out a long breath.
“But I can’t seem to get you out of my head. I think about you all the time. You drive me crazy.” Then he knows the feeling.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he says again, shaking his head.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” I say and he finally cracks a smile.
I lean over and bump his shoulder with mine. He does the same and soon we’re attacking each other in a different way. Sylas is tickling me into submission.
“Stop! Sylas, stop!” I say, laughing so hard I can’t breathe.
“Never,” he says, somehow finding my very worst spots right under my ribs and on the bottoms of my feet. He lets up when I’m completely out of breath.
“I missed you,” he says.
“You saw me yesterday,” I say.
“I know. It doesn’t mean I can’t miss you.”
“You’re right,” I say. He lowers his body onto mine. I can’t help but smile up at him. It’s impossible not to smile when he’s like this. Sylas can be dark sometimes, and I love that, but when he’s fun and playful is just as addictive. Maybe it’s just… Sylas.
“I really missed you, Saige,” he says, brushing my hair back from my face.
Even though we just fucked up against the door, he takes me again, slowly this time. I don’t bother asking about the condom. It’s sort of a moot point now. I have an IUD and I know he gets tested regularly. I know because I’ve seen his medical records. One of the perks of being my father’s daughter.
He goes so slow that I feel each and every inch of him as he penetrates me. This is also a statement. That he wants me, and not just for sex. Because this isn’t fucking. It’s so much more than a penis entering a vagina. So much more than two people sweating together and sharing a moment.
I love him so much that it makes me want to cry again.
I climax again and throw my head back. Just as he follows me he dips his head to my neck and growls something. I think he said “I love you” but I’m not sure.
I’m not really sure about anything anymore.
Sylas doesn’t stay the night with me. A strange silence settles over us after we finish the second time and I know that this time he’s too far-gone in his head for me to bring back.
“I’m going to go,” he says after he gets completely dressed again. I’m still lying naked on the couch. I’m also mourning the loss of his nudity. I wish I could keep a naked version of him in my closet and pull him out to just to stare at whenever I want.
“Okay,” I say, not getting up. I’m satiated and boneless, but empty at the same time.
He looks down at me as if he’s not sure how exactly to proceed. A kiss? A hug? A pat on the head?
He finally decides on just a nod and then he’s out the door.
I lay there on the couch for a while as my body cools from his touch. I know I’ve got bruises and marks and he definitely does. We can’t seem to be together without leaving something behind on the other person.
I finally get up and take a shower, even though I don’t want to. I like having the smell of him on my skin.
My tattoo burns in the hot water, but I don’t care. I should have asked Sylas to rub some lotion on it, since it’s nearly impossible for me to reach the area myself.
It’s early still, but I need to sleep. I crawl into bed straight from my shower, naked and wet. I roll myself in the blankets and try to think about anything but Sylas and how in the hell he’s ever going to trust me.
I’m back to my regular routine the next day. Well, as regular as my routine ever is. While I’ve been working on Sylas, my time has been spent in school and basically waiting around on him. Popping into his “work” for lunch, texting him, following his movements. It’s been a nice break from working for Dad. He’d have me do everything from surveillance to hacking to a little B and E. It took me a while to figure out that other little girls didn’t practice safe cracking with their daddies on the weekends.
I never told anyone. Even though I wanted to blab to my classmates and friends what cool and secret things I could do, I never told because I knew how important it was. My mother never knew. Still doesn’t. Dad and I cover for each other and I’m pretty sure if she walked in on us hacking into someone’s computer, she’d just look the other way.
But now a lot of my work is done with Sylas and I can throw my focus back into school. I really do want to work with art. That wasn’t a lie. It took me a while to actually tell Dad that was what I wanted to pursue. It didn’t go over very well at first. Of course he wants me to take up his mantle or cape, or whatever, and carry on his legacy.
But I don’t want to.
Realizing I’m going to be late if I don’t get my shit together, I throw on some clothes, grab my bag and dash down the stairs. At least for the next few hours all I have to think about is cubism, forced perspective and shading.
I don’t hear a word from
I would love to be honest with him. More than anything. But my secrets don’t just belong to me. They belong to Dad, and they’re not mine to share. Not mine to give.
My anticipation for seeing Lizzy ramps up over the week and by Friday night I’m so nervous I can barely sleep. I know I’ve met her before, but this time I will really be spending time with her as my sister. My half-sister, but still. The only sister I have. The only sister I’ll ever have.
I’m ready hours early and sitting on the couch, my knees twitching as I wait for Sylas.
Finally, about five minutes before nine, he sends me a text message saying that he’s downstairs. I bolt down the stairs and slow enough that I don’t look like I’m rushing. I don’t want him to know how much this means to me.
Yet again, he doesn’t open the door for me. I know my cheeks are flushed and I’m breathing a little heavily.
“Hey,” I say, not looking at him.
“Hey. You ready to go?” he asks, like I haven’t been ready forever.
“Yeah,” I say. I watch him nod out of the corner of my eye and then he’s pulling away from the curb and we’re on our way.
In silence.
I’m going to see my sister.
“It’s going to take us a while to get there,” he says a few minutes later. “I needed to keep her close, but not too close.” I nod and stare out the window. I wonder if he’s regretting what happened earlier in the week. The talk and the sex and the agreement to try and move things forward. We haven’t spoken about it since; almost like it didn’t happen.
I can’t stand the silence, so I reach over and turn on the radio, flipping to the classic rock station. Words dance behind my lips, begging to come out.