Page 24 of Close Quarter
The things he wanted to do to that man--the things he needed to do...
No.
He would not turn into one of them. Not ever.
His unbridled lust, his uncontrolled desire for Rhys had nearly gotten him killed. The garden would have to do for a source of energy. A day ago it would have been more than enough. He could make it that far, crawl into a corner, and heal.
Seven soulless left. Already he was bloodied and poisoned, all because he couldn't keep his cock in his pants. Silas punched the wall. Pain radiated up his arm, and he regretted the move instantly.
Better for Silas to break his pledge to return to Rhys than entrap and use him as some damn battery or as a slave to desire.
Silas had been both, once.
He pushed himself off the wall. No, he'd rather die an honest death than become that which he most despised.
He took a shuddering breath and continued toward the garden. It would be enough. It had to be. He just had to stay out of the bar. Keep away from Rhys.
****
Rhys flipped through a coffee-table book on New York City that contained beautiful photographs of places that looked more real on glossy paper than they did in life. Battery Park, with pristine blue water in the background. The Brooklyn Bridge in golden light, with no cars.
Times Square, with not a drop of trash in sight.
He'd been to most of them, knew their true colors, the bits the photographers had cleverly edited out.
Had Silas been to New York before?
Probably, if he was as old as Rhys suspected.
Hell, he might have been there back before they built the skyscrapers. The thought of Silas dressed as a colonial in tight breaches and a long coat coiled heat in Rhys's belly.
He reached for his drink, his third this evening, thanks to Vasil. He'd been here two hours and had been through nearly every book in the scrawny bookcase. Most were like the book on New York, large and full of color photography. A few were dog-eared paperbacks, probably leftovers from past travelers--King, Patterson, Roberts.
Every single one he'd flipped through so far made him think of Silas in various costumes or in various states of undress.
He needed something to take his mind off the fae.
Fae.
The longer he sat, the more of an idiot he felt.
Would Silas even come back? He rubbed his forehead. Was any of this real? Was there truly danger, or had that been a convenient way to dump him? He could have gone to a movie. Or learned ballroom dance. Or smoked cigars and drunk brandy--whatever it was they did on cruises like this. Something more interesting than paging through picture books.
The memory of Silas's kiss intruded on his growing frustration, the pull of Silas's hands tangled in his hair, the taste of his cum. His cry of abandonment and pleasure.
Rhys sighed and pushed those thoughts from his mind. Flipped a page. Central Park. All that greenery. What would it be like to fuck there? Or in real woods? Naked, his back pressed into the dark earth, Silas holding Rhys's legs apart as he entered him.
The tightness in his belly spread down to his cock. Silas better return soon. He wasn't sure how much longer he could put his fantasies on hold. It was getting more difficult to hide his huge erection, even under the large book in his lap.
"Are these seats taken?"
Rhys nearly jumped out of his skin when the woman spoke. He hadn't noticed her approach.
For a moment, all he could do was stare up at her.
"N-no."
Her laugh was bell-like. "Oh, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. All the other tables are occupied. You seem like you might enjoy some company." She smiled, baring a flash of white between her immaculate ruby lips.
