Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Silva
The mischief in Wylder’s gaze made Silva grin. “Working for you, is it?”
“You’re working for me,” Wylder said before kissing him again and swiping his tongue along the seam of Silva’s lips to get inside.
Silva hummed. “That’s a persuasive argument.”
It was Wylder’s turn to grin—cheeky and unashamed. “I thought so.”
Silva nudged him back by the shoulders. “You better finish making that bed then.”
As soon as Wylder stepped back, Silva reached for the button of his jeans. Wylder stopped moving, so Silva did too, hand stilled with his jeans still firmly in place.
“Fuck, that’s not fair,” Wylder said, taking another step back without turning, trying to keep his eyes fixed on Silva.
“Better watch where you’re going.” Silva chuckled when Wylder bumped into one of the side tables.
“You’re the worst.”
“I suppose I could be, but you’ll never find out if you keep stalling.”
“Stalling.” Wylder growled and got right back in Silva’s space. “One, you’re torturing me, and you know it. Two, it’s you. There’s no way you’ll be anything less than perfect.”
Closing the distance between their faces, Silva pressed a tiny kiss to his lips. “Make the bed.”
With a huff, Wylder did as he was told. Silva waited until he was done to finish unfastening his jeans. Wylder’s gaze was all dark heat as he bent to unlace his boots. He kicked those off and pushed the rest of his garments down and off, kicking the bundle aside once he’d stood back up.
The cut on his stomach was completely closed now. A bright red line was all that was left, and it was fading fast.
Wylder let out a low curse. “Look at you.” He stepped forward, fingers lightly tracing over Silva’s upper thighs and leaving gooseflesh in his wake. “Knew you’d be perfect all over.”
“I think you mean pale.”
Wylder smiled. “Pale perfection.” He leaned in, running his lips across Silva’s brow, his cheekbone, before finally taking his lips in a heated kiss.
He pulled Silva close, Wylder’s fully clothed body pressed against the length of his.
His own hardness was matched by the ridge he could feel grazing him through the rough denim of Wylder’s jeans.
“Shit.” Wylder broke away with a gasp, reaching down to grip Silva’s length and give him several firm strokes.
Letting out a shaky breath, Silva pulled Wylder’s shirt up until he had to release Silva to get it over his head. Before he could reach for Wylder’s pants, Wylder was back in his space, lips seeking his and hands running down Silva’s back until he’d fully cupped his ass.
A low growl rumbled in Wyld’s throat.
Silva smiled into their next kiss. The brush of Wylder’s bare chest against his made his head spin.
“Get your pants off before I make a mess on them.”
“Yes, sir.” Wylder reached down, opened his pants, and nearly tripped, trying to pull them and his shoes off at the same time. “Shit!” He laughed and took a step back, dropping to sit on the bed.
Silva chuckled, too. “Probably safer.”
As soon as Wylder was bare, Silva stepped between his legs and dropped to his knees.
“Fuck,” Wylder gasped, getting a hand in Silva’s hair and kissing him deeply.
“What do you want?” Silva couldn’t decide where to put his hands and mouth first. He’d had numerous lovers over the years.
Mostly men, but some women, as well. He’d never felt this way before.
Nearly unhinged with the need to get closer, feel more.
He wanted every inch of Wylder under his hands, under his tongue.
“I don’t care.” Wylder cupped his face, lips brushing Silva’s as he spoke. “Just touch me.”
Silva got his hand around the thick length of Wylder, stroking up and swallowing the moan the movement earned him.
He wanted every noise. Pulling back, he kept his hand working while he explored Wylder’s neck and chest. The dip of his clavicle.
The peak of his nipples. He was firm and sculpted everywhere, tan skin stretching over hard-earned muscle.
Making his way lower, he dipped down and sucked the head of Wylder’s cock into his mouth. The broken moan that got him made his own cock throb.
“Come on,” Wylder said, hands on Silva’s shoulders. “Get up here. I want to touch you, too.”
Silva kept up his ministrations for a couple more minutes, reluctant to give up the salty tang of Wylder’s pleasure.
When he pulled off, Wylder got his hands under Silva’s arms and lifted him off the floor, scooting back and pulling Silva with him.
Silva landed on top of him, blanketing Wylder completely.
“If you wanted me on top of you, you could have just asked.” Silva smiled, kissing Wylder and rocking his hips.
“You were moving too slow.”
“So sorry,” Silva whispered, finding a rhythm. Their cocks were caught in the press of their bodies, gliding together and against the skin of their hips.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” Wylder said, breath hitching.
Silva grabbed his hands, threaded their fingers together, bracing them on the bed, and continued to drive against Wylder over and over.
Wylder squeezed his eyes shut. A moment later, he froze beneath Silva, mouth open and head thrown back. A high whine escaped his throat as his cock kicked between them, painting Silva’s cock and belly.
“Fuck,” Silva groaned, still thrusting, working Wylder through his orgasm and chasing his own.
Wylder pulled one of his hands from Silva’s and reached down, getting his fist around Silva’s swollen length and giving him a tunnel to fuck into.
It only took a few more thrusts before he emptied himself into Wylder’s hand, pleasure zinging through him.
He collapsed where he was. Wylder’s arms were around him instantly, holding him close while he pressed gentle kisses to Silva’s face and hair.
Once they’d caught their breath and cleaned up, the night was quiet around them.
The only sound was the whooshing of the ceiling fan overhead and Wylder’s steady breathing against him.
Silva let himself drift, dozing easily despite where they were and the challenges still ahead.
When Wylder tensed, he felt it immediately.
“Will you tell me what happened to my mother?” Wylder asked quietly.
Silva let out a slow breath. “Sigurd didn’t?”
Wylder shook his head, hair tickling Silva’s jaw. “Just the overview. He doesn’t like talking about it.”
“That’s fair, I suppose.” Silva ran a hand up and down Wylder’s bare back.
“We were in the thick of the fight. Lenette, Sigurd, and I were fighting off Ansel and his crew. Kerak was holding the Hunt at bay, and your mom was working the spell to seal the door. To do that, she had to activate it from the other side. There was supposed to be time for her to do that and step back through, but…”
“She got stuck on that side.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think—” Wylder pulled back, propping himself up to look Silva in the face. In the dim light from the window, Silva could still make out the exact shade of his eyes. “Could she be?”
“Alive?”
Wylder nodded.
“If we hadn’t just stopped the Hunter from reaching this realm, I’d say maybe. She could survive in the Fae realm with allies, but with the Hunter as an enemy? No, I don’t think so.”
Wylder was quiet for a few minutes before he said, “You still haven’t told me what Alban meant about the Hunter.”
Honestly, Silva had been trying not to think about it. “The Hunter is the leader of the Wild Hunt. The only way for the Hunter to change is for someone to kill the current one. That hasn’t happened for a long time.”
“Until now, apparently.”
“Yes.” Silva rolled to his side, tucking a hand under his head to look at Wylder more easily.
“Couldn’t that be a good thing? I mean, what if this new Hunter has a different agenda?”
“It’s possible, but the old was the devil I knew.” Silva shook his head. “With how ramped up the Hunt’s groupies have been, I have a hard time thinking the new Hunter has less interest in this realm.”
“True.” Wylder leaned down, pressing a kiss against Silva’s lips. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”
Silva hummed and kissed him again. “Let’s get some sleep. We need to get back to Solston first thing in the morning. The others need to know we’re not fighting the same enemy as last time.”