He looks like he’s had more than a few falls himself today. The dark jeans he’s wearing look a little damp, muddy patches at the knees, but his shirt clings wetly to him, covered in dirt and leaves.
I blink. He looks like he’s only just walked back in through the door.
Kit sighs, and I jolt as he lifts up my hand. His lips press directly across the pulse in my wrist, and Silas scowls, but he doesn’t say anything as Kit steps back.
“I’ll see you later,” Kit’s words are pointed as he lets go of my hand, and I nod timidly, shifting from foot to foot as Silas steps back.
I slip past him, careful to leave a distance between us, and pad to the center of the room as Kit and Silas have a hissed conversation at the door. When it slams shut, I jump a mile.
Silas stalks over to me, and I shrink back as he leans over me with a snarl.
“Where were you?” he snaps. His hands land on my shoulders. “FuckingChrist, Stasi. Something could have happened to you, you idiot. Running off through the fucking woods like that.”
I blink, taken off guard by the concern threaded through his words. “I thought you’d be angry.”
The color in his face deepens to almost purple. “Do I not lookfucking furious enoughto you?”
I take a step back, frowning. “Not… not really, no.”
I mean, he looks angry, but it’s not thecoldanger, the seething hatred that I’m almost used to seeing in his eyes. This is… worry. Worry like he wore when he carried me to his bed.
No, this anger is…heated.
He takes another step, crowding me until my back meets the wall. His head drops until our mouths are barely an inch apart, our harsh breathing mingling in the small amount of space that he allows me.
He glances down. Even our bodies are pressed together, the damp clothing doing nothing at all to stop the heat from his chest burning against me.
“Silas,” I breathe. I’m not sure why I say it, why it sounds like a fucking plea. But he watches me, and I suck in a breath as warm fingers slip around my wrists.
He pulls them up, slowly, until he’s pushing my hands up above my head and against the wall, my chest pushing out towards him. “W-what are you doing?”
“Do you even realize what you do to me, Anastasia?” he rasps. I blink, slowly, as his face drops. Shiver, as his dark stubble brushes against the delicate skin of my neck.
“You defy me,” his mouth brushes my ear, “at every fucking turn. You seem intent on fuckingtormentingme. And all I want to do is punish you for it.”
I wet my dry lips. “What would you call our present situation, exactly?”
When he pulls back and shakes his head, his lips brush against mine. I swallow, as one hand keeps my wrists above my head. The other slowly drops. Until he’s curling it around my throat, his touch soft as the brush of silk even as his fingers close to a loose grip.
“Not that kind of punishment,” he whispers into my mouth. “What I have in mind is much more… physical. Perhaps this one will actually get the message across.”
My knees actually shake, my body tilting until he presses back against me.
And fuck, I can feel him. Heavy, and hot, andhardagainst my stomach.
And something… swoops. Low in my stomach.
Something needy.Wanting.
As if my body wants the man in front of me, the Tate brother who holds me in his hands like treasure but watches me like I’m poison.
This… this will not solve anything. Because he’ll probably hate himself afterwards. And maybe I’ll hate myself, too. For giving in to this… this need.
But maybe I’ll regret it more if I don’t. If I push him away now, if I see that cold look come over his face again.
Yes, I would regret it.
So I whisper the words.
