Sylar
Chapter seven
The weight on my chest is warm, heavy, and breathing. I blink my eyes open to the dim morning light filtering through the cottage window. Cinder, the cute little magical foxly, is currently curled into a luxurious, sleeping ball right on top of my ribs, her soft fur twitching as she dreams.
I chuckle softly, but the sound startles her awake. Growling, as if she’s grumbling, Cinder flies out of the bedroom in a sleepy huff.
Once she’s out of the room, I try to shift, only to realize I can’t.
Down below, a heavy, muscled leg is hooked possessively over both of mine, pinning me to the mattress.
Memories of yesterday come to mind. I’d woken up to find Raylen’s hard length pressed firmly against me.
I was so shocked that my body instantly reacted to his, that when he woke up, I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep.
A part of me wished I were brave enough to join him when I heard him touching himself in the bath.
I look up. Raylen is still fast asleep, his face buried in the pillow just inches from my shoulder.
His lilac hair is a wild, silken mess, and his mouth is slightly parted.
He looks so entirely defenseless like this, stripped of his legendary archer persona.
My heart stumbles a beat when I remember the way we kissed last night. Goddess, that kiss.
I groan.
That’s the last thing I should be thinking about when I’m this fucking hard.
Maybe if I can escape, the way Raylen did yesterday, I can take care of my painfully hard cock in the washroom.
I carefully try to slide my legs out from beneath his, gently shifting.
His thigh presses against my hard length, and he wraps a strong, possessive arm over my chest. The movement grazes against my hard nipples. I gasp.
Fuck, that felt good. Really fucking good.
Raylen mumbles in his sleep, pressing closer against me.
He’s hard too, and when he starts grinding and thrusting against me, I feel like I’m losing my damn mind.
“Raylen,” I moan in a half whisper, my cock throbbing.
I’ve never been this turned on in my life.
Not the time I lost my virginity, or the time I dated that handsome elf while I was at university.
No, my body has never felt like this. Not once.
Raylen has somehow magically lit me up from the inside out.
His lips graze a sensitive spot on my neck. I whimper. Fucking whimper. I can’t help but thrust my cock against his thigh, anything to relieve the pressure.
Suddenly, Raylen stills, lips still pressed against my neck. “Oh, goddess,” he whispers, probably thinking I’m still asleep. He tries to climb off my body, but I decide to be brave. I wrap my arm around him, holding him against me.
“Please, Raylen. Don’t stop.”
Raylen freezes, a harsh, shocked breath whooshing out of him. Then, he slowly relaxes, practically melting against me. His lips begin trailing a light path of sensual kisses on my neck. My cock involuntarily throbs against his thigh. Again.
“Fucking hell, Sy. Is that for me?”
“Yes.” I nod eagerly, whimpering as I try to stay perfectly still, unsure of what to do next. I just grip the sheets in a tight grasp, hoping Raylen can suddenly read minds.
Goddess, I feel like a damn virgin all over again. But there’s something really fucking sexy about submitting to the confident man above me.
Raylen chuckles. “Is this what you like, Sy? You want me to keep going? You want me to play with your body until you’re begging to come?”
I slam my eyes shut, breathing harsh, ragged gasps. It probably wouldn’t take much for Raylen to coax a powerful orgasm from me. Who knew I would ever have a thing for dirty talk?
“Oh.” It’s the only word I can get to leave my mouth as I desperately start thrusting my hard cock against him. That’s until he shifts his body away.
“Oh, yes? Or is that an oh, no?” he teases, kissing a trail down my chest before sucking on each nipple.
“Yes. Yes, please. Ray. I’ve never felt like this before.”
He stills, his hand on my stomach, its agonizing descent down only halfway to my hard cock. No! Don’t stop. I whimper.
“Sy, look at me,” he says, sounding serious. I pry my eyes open to a concerned look on Raylen’s face. “Is this your first time?” He swallows hard. “Are you a virgin?”
“No. Fuck. But it feels like I am.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He sits up, still looking concerned. “Please explain, Sylar. I don’t want to hurt you or do anything that might push you away.”
Despite my angry cock, I swear, I fall just a little more for this beautiful, thoughtful elf.
Or damn, maybe I’ve been slowly falling for him for years.
“I’m not a virgin. It took me a really long time to figure out I needed to have some type of emotional connection with someone in order for my body to feel arousal toward that person.
But even then, my feelings… my body… no one has ever—” I stop the confession from fully spilling out, but it’s already too late.
Raylen’s eyes widen with shock as the realization dawns on his face.
His eyes darken as he slowly pulls the sheet downward.
My angry red cock is thick and leaking precum.
It somehow escaped through the slit in my sleep trousers.
Raylen’s hand continues its slow path downward, dragging the pretty pendant on his bracelet against my skin.
He wraps his strong, yet slim fingers around my erection, stroking slowly. I moan, the feel of him better than anyone I’ve ever been with before. They were nothing compared to him. Silly dalliances that didn’t last. Never meaningful. Never…this.
His strokes pick up the pace, and I feel like I’m high on lust. Floaty and about to come, all while never wanting it to end. “Did you mean what you said? When I asked if this was all for me?”
“Yes,” I repeat desperately. “Only for you.”
Those words cause him to snap. His lips slam against mine, frantically trying to devour me.
To unravel me with his lips, tongue, and mouth.
He’s climbing over me again, thrusting his hard cock against my thigh while stroking me in a punishing, dizzying rhythm.
I want to beg him to never stop, but his lips are still on mine, working magic on my body.
Then, my whole body locks up as my back arches. Raylen never stops. He just keeps thrusting, kissing, and stroking. Faster and faster until I scream against his lips as he milks an intense orgasm out of me.
I feel like I’m floating and spinning as Raylen shoves his own pants down around his thighs. I’m vaguely aware of the way he gathers my cum and uses it to stroke his own cock, all the while chanting my name over and over again. Like I’m something worth cherishing.
An hour later, we’re navigating the outer edges of the market square for breakfast, opting for the ease of the street stalls over cooking.
The air is crisp, carrying the rich scents of roasting hazelnuts and sweet fried dough.
We walk side-by-side, ducking under the colorful awnings as we munch on hot, honey-drizzled flatbreads.
“I still cannot fathom the sheer absurdity of the high estates,” I mutter between bites, watching a wealthy elven lord across the way criticize a merchant’s silk selection. “The way they treat courtship like a mere transaction. It makes me entirely cynical about the concept of marriage.”
Raylen swallows his food, tracking my gaze before turning his bright lilac eyes to me. “What do you have against marriage, Sy?”
“It isn’t the institution of marriage itself,” I clarify, an innocent, offhand comment slipping past my defenses before I can calculate the weight of it.
“It’s that I actually want to experience romance.
I don’t want to just tie my property and family titles together with someone in a legal contract.
I want the real thing. I want hand-holding.
I want kisses under the stars. I want secret, quiet touches, and…
” I hesitate, my voice dropping to a vulnerable murmur. “And a year of proper courting.”
“A year!” Raylen barks out a sudden laugh, his smile splitting wide, bright, and utterly teasing in the morning sun. “Is that all, my dear elf?”
Embarrassment hits me like a physical, powerful wave, and my face instantly flames hot.
Fuck. I knew my romantic, structured heart would sound ridiculous to a rogue archer.
All my emotions from the last two days slam into me all at once.
All the panic, all the revelations, the feelings—both positive and negative.
Everything washes over me, making me feel suddenly exposed and raw.
“Damn it. I knew you’d be like this,” I snap, pivoting on my heel to storm off before he can truly see just how mortified I am.
“Whoa, there! Hold on. Hold on!” Raylen moves quickly, his large hand clamping firmly around my wrist, halting my retreat. He steps into my path, his teasing smile completely vanishing, replaced by a fierce, entirely serious expression. “Like what, Sy?”
I can’t meet his eyes. I stare fixedly at the pendant on his bracelet instead. “Making fun of me. Laughing at what I want.”
“Laughing at what you want? Never,” Raylen whispers, his voice dropping into that low, resonant register that sends a shiver straight down my spine. “It’s sweet.”
My brow furrows. “What is?”
“That you’re a secret romantic,” he murmurs, his lips twitching with the ghost of a soft, genuine smile.
I blush even harder, the tips of my ears burning so intensely I’m certain they’re glowing beneath my hood.
Before I can formulate a sharp, defensive retort, a nearby news-crier commands our attention. Raylen steps forward and tosses a copper coin to the young elf, snatching a copy of today’s broadsheet.
We both look down, and the air leaves my lungs.
The headline of the prominent gossip rag screams in bold, ink-black text: A ROYAL MASQUERADE PROPOSAL?
The article below details wild rumors of an unnamed noble playboy hunting for a specific redheaded female, planning to publicly ambush her with a courtship proposal at the grand masquerade dance in just a few days.
“Talia,” I choke out, a cold panic seizing my chest. “Raylen, it’s her. It has to be.”
“We need to find them,” Raylen says grimly.
Embarrassment forgotten, we spend the next several hours in a frantic, exhausting loop, combing through every corner of the market, checking every fabric stall and pastry vendor, just like we did yesterday, but our sisters are entirely ghosting us in the crowds.
As the sun continues to climb high into the sky, a heavy, grumbling frustration settles over me.
Raylen slows his pace, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at me.
“Sy… if we don’t find them before the dance, there’s only one way to ensure we get inside that estate to stop him.
” He takes a breath. “Go to the masquerade with me. As my date.”
I freeze in the middle of the cobblestone street. My heart hammers against my ribs. “Like, like a fake date? To get through the guards?”
Raylen steps closer, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising to look deeply into my eyes. “Who says anything needs to be fake?”
The raw honesty in his tone leaves me completely paralyzed. Who says anything needs to be fake? My mind frantically tries to process the implication, the terrifying hope of it, but my ingrained defenses slam shut. I need time. I need to think.
“I-I need to think about it, Raylen,” I whisper quietly.
I look away, but I don’t miss the sudden, sharp flash of hurt that crosses his features before he masks it behind a neutral expression.
The sight of it twinges like a knife in my chest, but I’m too overwhelmed to fix it.
“I need some air,” I mutter. “Let’s separate to cover more ground for the sisters. We will meet back here in two hours.”
Raylen nods tightly. “Two hours, Sy.”
The two hours fly by in a blur of fruitless searching and agonizing internal debate. As the deadline approaches, I make my way back to our designated meeting point near the grand fountain. I haven’t found a single trace of Talia or Isolde, and my anxiety is reaching a boiling point.
Then, I spot Raylen.
He is standing near the stone edge of the fountain, but he isn’t alone.
He is deep in conversation with a strikingly handsome elven man.
I am too far away to make out the words over the roar of the water, but I distinctly hear the stranger’s name drift over the crowd when a passing merchant greets him. Oleander.
Oleander is lean, casually dressed, and smiles at Raylen with a familiar, fluid grace.
Raylen leans in close to listen to him, and a sudden, toxic green wave of hot jealousy floods my veins, completely catching me off guard.
My jaw tightens so hard it aches. Who is this elf? Why is Raylen looking at him like that?
Before I can process the ugly, possessive heat flaring in my chest, Oleander bids farewell, slipping away into the crowd.
But Raylen doesn’t stay alone for long. Within seconds, a small swarm of wealthy, glittering suitors realizes the famous Archer of Moonscliffe is there and vulnerable.
They descend upon him like vultures, fluttering their fans, laughing too loudly, and aggressively flirting.
I see the subtle tension enter Raylen’s shoulders. I see how uncomfortable he is beneath the suffocating attention.
And suddenly, the walls I’ve spent a decade building simply crumble to ash.
I storm across the cobblestones, my long strides cutting through the crowd like a blade. I don’t care about decorum. I don’t care about my grumpy disposition. I push past a stunned debutante, step directly into Raylen’s personal space, and lock my eyes onto his.
“My answer is yes,” I say, my voice ringing clear and authoritative over the chatter of the suitors.
Raylen blinks, stunned for a fraction of a second, before a brilliant, breathtakingly wide smile breaks across his face.
Without a single word, he reaches into his tunic and pulls out a heavy, intricately carved silver necklace—his signature piece, the very emblem of his house and craft.
Before I can draw breath, he steps closer, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck as he loops the chain over my head, settling the heavy silver directly against my chest.
A collective, sharp gasp ripples through the surrounding crowd of elves. It is a silent, undeniable, and devastatingly public claim.
Standing there under the heat of the afternoon sun, the heavy silver cooling against my skin, my heart pounds erratically.
I don’t know if this claim is a tactical ruse for the crowd or if it’s real.
But as I look into Raylen’s triumphant lilac eyes, I realize with terrifying certainty that I have never wanted anything more in my entire life.