“Nothing’s wrong,” he said.
“Yes.” I pulled the plastic wrap off the salad and the caprese, then got us plates and forks. “I made it.”
“It’s interesting to picture you standing here at the counter slicing chicken up and picking leaves of basil off the stem.”
I had a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge, and I poured us each a reasonably small glass.
“I don’t normally cook,” I admitted, “but I was trying to impress you.”
Silas laughed at me a little, then took the wine and raised his glass for a toast. “To me being impressed,” he offered.
I clinked the rim of my glass against his and took a drink of the wine.
“May I serve you?” I asked, setting the glass down on the counter.
He hummed thoughtfully. “I would have expected the other way around.”
“All things have a time and a place, Silas.”
He stared at me, licking his lips in a way that spoke of deep thought, not seduction, and then he swallowed hard and gave me a quick nod. I scooped some of the salad onto a plate for him, then a neat stack of mozzarella, tomato, and basil. I repeated it for my own plate and took the empty stool beside him.
“That’s as good a segue as any, I suppose,” I said, waiting for him to take a bite before continuing. “About what I would expect from you…in a relationship.”
Silas chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then used the side of his fork to cut off a piece of mozzarella. “I’m surprised you expect anything since you said you didn’t date.”
“My father was—and probably still is—a womanizer. My brothers and I all have different mothers, none of whom are still in our lives. I didn’t grow up with a healthy role model when it came to relationships, but just because I don’t date doesn’t mean I don’t know what I would want if I did.”
He took another bite, washing it down with a sip of wine.
“And what do you want, Marshall?”
Fuck, I loved the way he said my name. I liked hearing it more than I could ever imagine enjoying the sound of the wordSirrolling off his tongue. He managed to infuse far too much promise and threat into the two simple syllables.
“I want you to tell me what you need,” I said. “I want to know what kind of ache brings you out to Rapture looking for a man to take you over his knee and spank you until you can’t breathe.”
“It’s not just that,” he whispered.
“Tell me.”
“God.” Silas dropped his fork and covered his eyes with his fingertips. “This is embarrassing.”
“It shouldn’t be,” I reminded him.
“It’s nice to not disappoint someone for once,” he said, edgy, chasing the confession with the rest of his wine.
My finger twitched, and I rubbed it against the seam of my slacks to stop myself from reaching for him. The urge to touch Silas was so very tangible, but if I touched him, I would never want to stop, and I needed him to continue being honest, telling me what he wanted from me.
“You like being dominated because the expectations are clear,” I said, and he nodded. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? You like the pain.”
He tapped his temple. “It quiets everything down a bit.”
“But more than that?”
“It makes me hard,” Silas said.
“You know that would be enough, right?” I ate some salad, had some wine, and dropped my voice low. “Even if the other things didn’t come into play, wanting it because it made you hard would be enough.”
“I know,” he whispered.
