Hot liquid spilled down my throat, and my thoughts centered on the mystery person with a personal vendetta for having me captured. I’d made a lot of enemies through the years and my time with Ares, but most of those men were dead and long gone. People who wished my death were loose ends that were dealt with. I didn’t fancy living my life looking over my shoulder, and in my line of work, the only good enemy was a dead one.
Soft breaths from the bed behind me had me twisting around, my eyes falling on one enemy in particular who was still very much alive. Silas slept soundly, one arm above his head and a white blanket low on his hips, giving me a perfect view of his large, muscled upper body. His handsome face was relaxed, with no trace of having served as my own personal chair merely three hours ago. With my mouth hovering over the rim of my mug, I couldn’t help smiling at the memory of the torturous pleasure Silas had brought me last night. But with soul-shattering orgasms came a host of problems and confusion.
What had I gotten myself into?
“Should I be worried that you’re planning my death over there?” Silas’s voice was mirthful, but thick with sleep.
“Of course. Why else would I be up at this ungodly hour if not trying out which pillow to best smother you with?”
He laughed as he sat up and advanced on me with predatory intent, and the pit of my stomach warmed with anticipation. I turned back toward the window and closed my eyes, knowing his arms would be around me in the next heartbeat.
What are you doing?I asked myself.
And, as predicted, I was nestled in the cradle of his arms, instinctively leaning into his embrace…like a masochistic idiot.
“The only way I’ll let you suffocate me is with your pussy on my face, love.” He dipped his head, lips pressing against my neck. “I can’t think of a better way to die.”
“Luckily for you, my knowledge is endless in that department.”
I allowed myself several moments to bask in whatever fucked-up game of house we were playing. But I knew the real world and all its problems were waiting outside these walls—a world where the idea of me and him was impossible. Where I’d put my own life up for collateral in exchange for his; there was no way around that. Once the oath was cast, there existed no currency to unbind one’s soul from that contract besides blood or that of a loved one’s sacrifice. I wouldn’t give my life for Silas or exchange my father’s for his.
Fucking him was one thing, but this handsy show of affection couldn’t continue. He couldn’t get comfortable because I had no choice.
His death was inevitable.
Silas slid a hand down the length of my arm and over the hot mug, taking the cup and placing it on the windowsill. He twisted me around and crushed me to his chest, hands clasped at the small of my back. I wasn’t one to be dominated and treated like some inexperienced damsel who needed direction in the bedroom. Still, I let him take the reins for the moment, admittedly enjoying being pampered with affection.
“You’re overthinking, and I hope we’re past all that,” he whispered against my cheek.
“Past what? My needing to kill you? You think because you gave me a couple of orgasms, we’re now friends? Lovers?”
“A couple? I saw you come apart more than a couple of times.” His lips brushed back and forth along my skin. “The way you screamed my name… I know what every inch of your skin looks like.” He reached between us, fingers gliding slowly over my still-swollen clit. “What you taste like. That has to count for something.”
Rising to my toes, I looped my arms behind his neck and gripped his hair, making him flinch. “You spit in my goddamn mouth.”
He laughed outright. “To be fair, you spit in my face—twice.” Silas grabbed a bare ass cheek in each hand and hoisted me onto his waist. “I won’t do it again. Unless you want me to.”
Cocky bastard. He was so sure that what happened between us would happen again.
“Come back to bed,” he murmured, kissing behind my ear, making my whole body shudder.
Hell, maybe he was right. Maybe just one more time.
Silas walked us to the bed and let himself fall over the mattress, taking me with him so that I straddled his torso. Instead of pulling me toward him like I’d expected, his eyes found mine as he used his thumb to caress the skin below the scar he’d given me—the one I’d asked for.
He didn’t say anything for a long while, simply feathering over the wound, his gaze now beyond me. And those fleeting feelings of shame began to creep in.
“Don’t do that,” he said, stilling.
“Do what?”
“That. Whatever it is you’re thinking.”
I put my hand over his. “Oh, you’re a mind reader now?”
He let out a small laugh, the humor not quite reaching his eyes. “No, but even your shoulders turned pink.”
“You think I’m embarrassed? That I regret asking you to do that?”
