He fell into his own climax panting and trembling, Micah’s name on his tongue. As the fog of his orgasm faded away, he felt shame at his own weakness, that the sheer memory of the other man had compelled him to an act of such desperation.
He knew nothing about Micah. Nothing other than the curves and edges of his body. He knew nothing of his story, who he was, how he had come to be in Tartarus. And for that, he was even more ashamed. Micah was nothing more than a body to him, a fantasy. It wasn’t right. The next time he saw Micah, he would know more about him. He would know everything if he could.
Behind the closed door, Eden changed into a fresh uniform. The black fabric hugged his muscles tightly, exposing the upward slant from his waist to his broad chest and the sinewy muscles of his back. Black boots were drawn and tied up to his knees. And around his hip, he holstered a thin black revolver. He looked every inch a soldier, a lieutenant, an officer of the Elysian Police. But still, the nagging inside his mind worried with persistence.
Lieutenant Eden Voss. Was this truly who he was meant to be?
A knock at the door interrupted Eden’s solitude. “Voss? You in there?”
When Eden opened the door, Captain Green’s massive form loomed in the doorway like a ghostly skeleton. The bags under his eyes had deepened in the mere hour or so that they had been apart, and the look on his face was one of hurried anticipation. He looked terrified.
“It’s the president! He’s here.”
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