Page 21 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

"And if I choose it?"

"Then you will have it."

Just like that. She asked and he delivered.

Her eyes began to burn as his words penetrated. He was doing it for her, letting her have her moment with her past. And knowing him, it couldn't be easy. He was as territorial of her, if not more, as she was of him. He could've easily stood by her side, and she would've wanted him to, but his words made sense. Shadow Man was a much bigger entity and even without wanting it, it would've attracted their attention. He was giving up a lot for her.

"There's also an added element to it," he continued, his thigh comfortable just between her legs, muscular and strong and more than double the size of hers. While sex was nothing new to her, intimacy was. Holding another body close, looking into someone's eyes after letting them into her body with desire and consent, was a heady feeling, a different feeling, one that almost made her feel a little shy sometimes. He had seen the ugliest parts of her, and yet, it was in these moments that she felt the most vulnerable. And he fed off of it. She knew her emotions, her ability to feel so much, the entire range of it, was something he was hooked to, and she didn't mind one bit. Because she was hooked to his cool, calculated outlook on things, his lack of consciousness yet his ability to do the right thing, his ability to remain calm in crisis and control every conundrum. They were so different, she and him, and yet so complimentary.

"What?" she asked a little breathlessly, her nipples tightening with the stimulation. It was crazy how her body had trained itself to respond to the littlest stimuli for him, flooding itself with arousal and pooling with wetness to prepare to accommodate him, even if they weren't being sexual and just snuggling like they were right then.

"Some of them know the Blackthorne name or recognize me as the reclusive CEO of the Blackthorne Group."

His ability to remove himself from a part of his identity was impressive. The words hung between them, and Lyla blinked as she processed them.

"Who could?" She knew all about the group from the photos he had shown and explained to her. Tristan, her brother, and Morana, his girlfriend. Dante, their friend, and Amara, his wife. Alpha, Dante's half-brother, and Zephyr, his wife who was also the sister of Zenith, the real Morana, who had been Lyla's friend and was now dead. And Xander, who was almost adopted by Tristan and Morana.

It was complicated, understanding so many interpersonal dynamics and how they all operated. To someone who'd always been alone and hadn't had any friends, she didn't know how they all managed so many relationships with ease, but it wasn't something she was opposed to learning if need be.

"Who knows? Dante possibly," he told her. "I've seen him socially a few times during his father's reign. Maybe Amara. I attended a conference she'd been speaking at once a few years ago."

This was fascinating, this facade of his life she wanted to see more of too. It made her feel powerful seeing him fool everyone while being in on the truth with him.

"Did you know who she was or was it a coincidence?" Lyla asked, curious and invested in this side of his past that she didn't know about.

He played with her breast, almost mindlessly, as though it was a stress ball. "I knew who she was."

Lyla waited in silence, letting him decide if he wanted to share more. Thankfully, he did. His eyes sharpened on hers, and he began speaking again. "The conference had been about topics related to children. Special children, child behavior. Her presentation had been about child loss and coping mechanisms,especially for mothers. We spoke for a few minutes afterward. I was interested in the topic."

He didn't have to specify why. Lyla knew. Still, she asked. "When was this?"

"Six years ago."

Of course, it was. She wasn't even surprised. They had met six years ago and he had taken Xander under his care, and next thing, he had gone to attend a conference about children and child loss coping. Her stomach felt heavy as she realized the extent of things he'd silently done for her over the years, never once letting on what he'd been doing. Back then, she remembered so vividly, she'd just been wanting to see him again and have him bid on her so he could take her out of that hellhole. But in retrospect, she realized how shortsighted she had been, though she didn't blame herself. He had been playing the long game, keeping her safe, building her a home, raising her child and getting him to family, all the while working to take down the biggest, most dangerous organization in the world that had been in existence for longer than she knew. Just the extent of everything hit her all at once, making her heart race.

Before he could move, she tackled him, pressing a hard kiss to his lips, pouring the intensity of everything she was feeling, everything happening inside her into his lips, speaking to him in the oldest language that communicated everything words could say, and he reciprocated. His hand tightened possessively over her breast, the other on her jaw, guiding her mouth and giving her more intensity in return.

After a few minutes of just making out naked, he pulled away a few inches, his gaze searching hers, possibly for why she'd suddenly attacked him. He likely found whatever answer he was looking for, and an air of satisfaction enveloped them, buzzing around him, frolicking around her.

She returned back to their conversation, her curiosity still alight. "So, they've all met you?"

"Not all of them. Some as Blackthorne, some as Shadow Man," he replied, answering her question but not elaborating more on that.

The more Lyla learned about him, the more enamored she became with both sides of him. She'd seen him be the businessman, a sharp, dominant force of a man who cut deals and charmed people in a blink, a mask he wore with such ease she would never have suspected anything otherwise if she didn't know the man underneath. And she'd seen him be the Shadow Man, a lethal, dangerous, quiet personality that liked hiding more than being seen, that only saw people before killing them. And then she had seen him real, as he was right then.

"But only I have met Dainn." She loved that.

"And only you will,flamma," he promised. "I will become whatever I have to for everyone else. Not for you. For you, I am as I am, every damaged, deranged part of me."

She leaned forward and kissed him softly this time, both their lips sensitive from all the kisses they had shared but not caring. He plunged his hand into her hair, holding her still as he ravaged her mouth, a sound leaving him as their tongues danced that filled her with awe. They had learned this art together, kissing with this mix of sensuality and softness, of passion and possession, of deviance and devotion. Lyla had never known kisses could mean so many things, that mouths could move so beautifully in a dance against each other.

They broke free, and she brushed his hair back from his forehead, bringing her hand lower to his jaw where the shadow had darkened. The marks of them were tingling around her mouth, her breasts, her inner thighs, everywhere he had feasted on her.

"Will you miss me?"

He plucked at one of her nipples almost lazily, the action full of propriety, one she knew was mirrored in herself.

"No."

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