“You’re adorable when you need something from me.” I try not to blush and fail.

“Stop it. Will you do it or not?”

“Absolutely. How do you want me?” Now I’m the one shoving his shoulder.

“You’re the worst.”

“I try.”

Sylas decides that he wants to “pose” for me right after dinner. I was hoping to put it off until the very last minute, but he’s eager to be my model for some reason.

“You don’t have to get completely naked,” I say as he strips down and lays on the bed as I try to get the lighting right and find the best angle to put my chair.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. This is so that the next time you have a male model, you think of me instead.” I move one of the lamps and snort.

“Well, the class is over and I’m not taking another one anytime soon.” He props himself up, resting his chin in his hands and batting his eyelashes at me.

“Good. That means that I’m your last subject and the last is the most important.” He’s so full of himself.

“Yes, yes,” I say, sitting in my chair and trying to figure out how I want him to lie down.

“Okay, can you get on your stomach, but more up toward the pillows?” He does as I ask and then it takes a few more adjustments to get him just right. It’s a sexy pose that shows his entire back, including the dimples above his ass and all his beautiful tattoos. His face is out of the picture, but his back is breathtaking enough as is.

I sit down in my chair and grab my charcoal pencil and start a rough sketch.

“Am I allowed to talk to you while you do this?” he asks. I glance up from my sketch.

“As long as you don’t move,” I say.

“I’ll do my best. I’ve never been a model before.” I narrow my eyes and give him a look.

“Stay. Still.”

“Yes, Redhead.” He closes his eyes and relaxes as I finish the rough outline. It’s going to take forever to do the intricate designs of his tattoos, so I’m going to need him to sit again for me tomorrow night. But as long as I get the basics, that should be good for now.

“You look beautiful when you concentrate,” he says and I realize he’s staring at me. I stick my tongue out at him.

“And you’re annoying when you’re talking. I think I’m going to revise my rule to no talking while I’m working.” He heaves a heavy sigh, as if I’m being difficult.

“Fine. Then I’ll sing.”

He hums a few bars and then starts singing low. I recognize the song immediately. It’s one he told me was his favorite. “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor. I wonder if his mother used to sing it to him when he was young.

Sylas’ voice so unbelievable, I’m distracted completely from drawing. It simultaneously gives me chills and warms me inside. By the time he gets to the end, I’ve completely forgotten what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Saige?” he says. I blink and remember I’m supposed to be drawing him. Oops.

“Sorry. Just… got lost for a moment. You’re a very good singer, you know.”

He shrugs one shoulder and then apologizes for moving.

“I’m nothing special. My mother had the magical voice. She could have been a star if she wanted to.”

“I bet,” I say. He’s silent for a little while as I start adding the outlines to some of his bigger tattoos.

“You can keep singing. If you want,” I say and he looks up again.

“Okay.”

He sings for the next hour as I sketch. I think he’s going to get tired of it, but as soon as one song fades, he launches into another. He definitely needs to sing more. As in, all the time. Every day. I might use some of my recording equipment so I can have it with me always. That would mean going back to my parents’ house to get it. No, I’m not going to do that.

My eyes start to itch and I’m not focusing anymore.

“That’s enough, I think,” I say, blowing off the excess charcoal and then putting a protective sheet over it so it won’t get smudged before I close my sketchbook.

“Can I move now?” he asks.

“Uh-huh,” I say and he rolls on his back. I think he’s going to get up, but then he does something else. He runs one hand down his stomach. Slowly. I look up to his eyes and see he’s watching me as he touches himself.

I’ve never seen Sylas touch himself like this in front of me. He grips himself and I watch as he gets hard. I’m instantly so turned on, I almost throw the sketchbook on the floor.

“Do you like what I’m doing?” he asks, moving his hand up and down his cock.

“Uh-huh,” I say. I sound like an idiot.

“Do you want me to continue?” he asks, his eyes full of blue fire.

“Yes,” I say, my voice raspy. I’m stuck to my chair, unable to move. He strokes up and down and his eyelids shutter in pleasure. He moans and arches his back. I’ve never seen anything so erotically beautiful.

His hand moves faster, up and down, up and down, with a little bit of a twist. I’m completely mesmerized. It doesn’t take long before his back bows off the bed, his head thrown back and a part-grunt-part-growl escaping his lips as he climaxes onto his stomach.

“Fuck,” he says, his eyes opening. They’re drowsy and sweet. He smiles at me.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yes,” I say. My mouth is dry.

“Show me. Show me how much you enjoyed it.” I know exactly what he’s asking. Now I’m the one running my hand over my stomach and below the waistband of my pants.

“No. Take them off. I want to see you when you touch yourself,” he says. Now he’s the one with the rough voice.

I get up and strip off my bottoms and sit back down on the chair, propping one of my legs up. I’m giving him a full show, but I want to. I’ve never felt sexier than when Sylas is watching me.

I lick my fingers and move them lower, rubbing them just above my clit. I have a routine that’s guaranteed to get me off when I’m alone. It’s going to take even less time with him watching me. I’m close already.

“Fuck, Saige. You’re making me hard again,” he says. My head rolls back and I move my hand faster, pressing harder and harder on my center.

Just a little more…

“Oh God,” I moan, throwing my head back as my body throbs with the orgasm. It goes on so long, I can barely stay in the chair. When it’s over, I nearly melt to the floor in a puddle of post-orgasmic bliss.

I open my eyes to find Sylas working himself again. We could go like this all night long. He comes again and then runs his hand through the cum on his stomach.

“I should probably shower,” he says. “Join me?”

I do, and I come two more times before I fall into bed.

I’m almost glad now when I wake sweating and shaking and crying. It means that another piece of the puzzle is given to me from my own mind. I have to endure the pain to get another bit. A sacrifice for my secret.

I assemble the parts, but they still don’t make a whole. There isn’t a complete picture. There’s only the trunk, my small hand releasing the trunk, blood on a linoleum floor and now scratches on my arms and legs from a prickly bush. Little slashes of red all over my pale skin. I repeat everything in my head so I don’t forget it. I’m still worried that they’ll vanish from my brain if I don’t work hard to remember them.

“Maybe… Maybe you’d want to talk to my therapist? I hate the way that sounds, but it might help,” Sylas says. I know it might, but I don’t want to share this with someone. Not even a professional. I want to be the one to unlock the secrets of my own brain.

“I’ll think about it,” I say as I get up to take yet another shower and rinse off the sweat. This has become my nightly routine and I don’t see it changing anytime soon. Not until I can figure out this entire nightmare and what it means.

Twenty-Four

Over the next few days I finish the drawing of Sylas, which actually turns out okay. He declares that I’m a brilliant artist and I just tell him he’s biased. I slog my way through the rest of my finals. Sylas is usually gone during the day, but he doesn’t tell me what he’s doing. I figure he’s earned the right to keep a little bit of mystery and since he seems happy when he comes home, I don’t bug him to tell me about it.