“You don’t have to.”
“I know, Marshall.”
“I told Hunter we’d discuss it on Friday.”
“Then let’s talk then,” Finn said. “I’ve got to get going but didn’t want to not answer when you called.”
Something tightened in the middle of my chest at the casual way he let that confession settle between us.
“Right. Hey, Finn?”
“Yeah?”
I swallowed hard. “Love you.”
“Oh, God.” He groaned playfully. “That boyfriend of yours has made you soft.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughed in my ear until he was out of breath, then a quiet, “Love you back.”
The call disconnected in my ear, and I dropped my phone onto the desk and went limp. With my legs splayed out and my arms hanging over the armrests, I stared up at the ceiling feeling out of my element for the first time in a very long time. It was okay, I reminded myself. I was allowed. There were so many things going on at home and at work, it was perfectly acceptable for me to feel a little burnt out and exhausted over the weight of it all.
There was a light to be found in all of it.
A relief.
And that lived in the small spaces between Silas and me. When he was on his knees or on his back, in the throes of submission, and I stood strong and sure in my dominance. Being with Silas wasn’t work at all—it was a reward. It was salvation.
And, suddenly, the responsibilities of the day melted away into nothing I wanted anything to do with. I wanted to go home, find Silas on my couch, and go to my knees in front of him in thanks for the life he’d already started to build around me. Maybe that was too much, too soon, or maybe it was too little, too late. Maybe it was not enough or just the right amount, I wasn’t certain.
I was invested.
I was in love.
I closed everything up for the day and made my way home, not knowing if he would be there or at his place with Lincoln. Pulling up and finding his car in my driveway was like Christmas morning, and it took all my restraint to not run through the house calling after him.
He was easy enough to find.
All I had to do was follow the sound of whatever early 2000’s punk band he had playing from his phone. It was on my nightstand, and Silas was in my bed, legs crossed at the ankle and a book propped open on his lap. He also had his laptop beside him, wearing not much more than a pair of underwear, and the sight of him there stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Are you busy?” I asked.
He looked up, startled, and then pleased.
So fucking pleased.
“I was reading through some stuff before I start with Cory on Monday.”
I undid the top button on my shirt and stalked toward him.
“Monday?” I asked.
“I was going to tell you when you got home.”
I crawled onto the foot of the bed, closed the space between us. Silas moved his book and his computer out of the way to make room for me between his legs. He looked like a king there beneath me, or more like a spoiled prince, ready to be pampered.
“We need to celebrate,” I said, dipping down and kissing his hip.
