Page 77 of Sky Song
She kneeled next to Lyle.
He was so different from her, with her human brown eyes and hairless skin and hair in that unfortunate color between brown and dirty blond.
She traced his tawny eyebrow, marveling at its perfectly curved subtle arch. He didn’t stir, and she took his hand, her fingers long and slender, her wrist narrow compared to Lyle’s brawny fists. Even the mutilated one was no less impressive. He was a big man, she came to realize. The extra layer of flesh concealed the size of his wide frame that, despite his average six-foot-two, seemed overwhelmingly powerful next to her.
Yet at this moment, he looked so lost. So defenseless.
“What happened to you?” she whispered, cupping his soft rounded cheek with her other hand. “My heart…”
He stirred then, and his wrecked hand came to rest on top of Cricket’s. He blinked, or tried to, the third eyelid slowto shrink back into its resting position in the corner of his eye. Giving up, he closed his eyes again. His nostrils fluttered as he drew air in. Lifting her hand toward his mouth he nuzzled her palm.
“I wish I could smell your skin.”
“You can’t smell?”
“Barely.”
Cricket’s heart pinched from this hoarse admission. He truly was broken.
“I never knew I could meet someone like you. I never knew someone like you existed.” He kissed each one of her fingers, every crease and every pad. “So strange yet so perfect…”
“I’m afraid.”
Ever so slowly, his eyes opened up, blinked, a sea of dead black. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m afraid you’ll break my heart.”
“Break your heart. What a funny saying. What does it mean?”
“Grief and endless yearning when we’re no longer together.”
He pulled her down and kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her nose. “I wish I could give you forever.”
“I’ll take whatever you can give.”
He kissed her lips, and he tasted sweet. He smelled sweet, too, a faintly cloying, baby-wipe smell. “I’m not a man for you.”
“Because you’re… sick?”
“I was never a man for you. More so before than now.”
“Lyle…” Whatever she was going to say, he kissed it away.
How could he not be a man for her?
She rubbed her face in his neck. What she really wanted was to take off her clothes and rub her body against his. All thatluscious downy softness over the expanse of tight skin. Oh, to touch his body freely, to explore and learn, to taste…
Her hands moved over his shoulders, tentative at first, then bolder. His shirt got in the way, and she tugged at the fastenings on the front to open them. He allowed it. No, he helped her, pulling the edges aside enough to bare his front, and her hands went to work. His smooth chest, his stomach. He had a navel, and Cricket traced it over and over like a responsible pupil learning an important lesson. Unable to resist, she slid down and pressed her mouth over it, licking in.
His skin contracted and rippled, his hands going into her hair and pulling her up gently. He made her straddle him, and cupped her bottom, pulling her toward him and then pushing her back, the beginning of a natural rhythm where she rubbed against his thigh in just the right way.
But not what she’d expect to be rubbing against.
“Lyle, can I ask you a question?”
“Your questions ruin precious moments,” he warned as he kneaded her behind in the most delicious fashion. She loved the feel of his hands on her.
She felt the heat rise to her face. “I was wondering…”
