Hysterian unbuttoned his jacket. He shrugged out of it, folded it over his arm, and placed it on the small table next to the bed. Returning, sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots.
It was such a simple act, done by such a strange man. A Cyborg, no less. Alexa curled onto her side to watch him more comfortably.
Excitement filled her, wondering if Hysterian was going to take off all his clothes, if he was going to be so vulnerable with her. Would he be just as stunning under his uniform?
Would there be scars?
He stopped after his boots.
Alexa rolled her tongue before she offered comfort or encouragement. He needed neither, especially from her. She had scars she didn’t want him to see either.
Hysterian turned toward her, placing his hand on the bed on the other side of her body, leaning above. She rolled onto her back.
“You never need to fear me, Alexa,” he said. “I would have you come to me, not run from me. Whatever happened in your past, whatever’s been done to you, I will fucking fix it.” His words were spoken with conviction and without anger. He was being sincere.
It broke her heart. “You can’t.”
“Let me try?”
She shuddered, unable to tell him what he wanted to hear. He would know it was a lie. She nodded instead.
Some of the strain left him.
He turned away and rested his elbows on his knees, inhaling deeply. She stared at his back and wished she knew what he was thinking.
He didn’t stay there long, grabbing something off the nightstand next to the bed instead. In quick movements, he pulled off his gloves and slid on another pair. A thinner pair. She couldn’t get a good look, but she assumed it had something to do with his skin. When he was done and his other gloves were folded neatly atop his jacket, he faced her.
This wasn’t the Cyborg she’d come to know. Gone was his craze, the anger at the brink, ready to be unleashed, and instead was a man. A man who…was nervous?
“Hysterian,” she whispered, reaching out and taking his hand, squeezing it. He tensed but didn’t pull away. “Convince me?” She had no idea what else to say, what she could say to a being like him.
But saying nothing seemed wrong.
Hysterian took her hands and pushed her back onto the bed, climbing atop her. “Whatever you do, Alexa,” his voice turned rough, “do not touch my skin, okay?”
One touch: bliss or death.
“Okay.” Easy enough. She pressed her fingers against his and he gripped hers back.
“Good. Keep your hands above your head. You drop them? This ends.”
What was she supposed to say to that?
Was it that easy to get him to go away?
“Okay,” she agreed.
He released her, and she kept her hands where he placed them. Heart thrumming, he slid down her body and took hold of her feet again. He peeled off her socks and kneaded her soles. The sensation of his new gloves was strange, but not unwelcome. They felt like skin, but without the natural satiny feel of it and only a hint of heat.
He rubbed her soles, her arches, and tickled and traced her ankles. Laziness coursed through her veins as she succumbed to his ministrations. His hands slid from her feet and under the hems of her pants, exploring, reaching up. He slipped them out and kneaded her arches again, like he was reassuring her he would go slow.
Slow was not like him.
“I need…” she started to say before she stopped herself.
His hands paused. “Need what?”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. “More. I need more.” He was going to make her say it anyway.
