It’s not like I’d want Silas to be my mate, anyway.
Oh, the lies I keep telling myself.
“He’s busy with Paige, the baby, and other tasks as my second.”
“Did they give him a name?” I ask, making myself another cup of coffee. Honestly, it’s very mature of me to not complain that he stole mine. Go me.
“Ryden,” he says. “Ryden Walker.”
I glance back at him with a furrowed brow. “I thought you said Jonas found his family. He didn’t take their surname?”
“No,” he says simply, and I turn back to the coffeemaker. I’m just as protective of Iris and Ember.
Fuck. He’s just struck the second nail.
Unfortunately for me there are a series of events that have me feeling a particular way about my dearest husband. Feelings that I shouldn’t be having when I haven’t made a decision about my wolf, my coven, or literally anything.
The only clear decision I’ve made in the recent days is that my husband is fucking hot.
I’m sitting on the porch, it’s nearly twilight and the air around me smells like fall as the harsh sun slowly slips away. But it’s not the fading sun against the red maple and black willow trees that are catching my attention.
No, not even close.
It’s my shirtless husband raising an axe behind his head and easily slicing wood that has my full attention. Sweat beads are trickling down his muscular back and I have the abhorrent thought that I would eagerly lick it if he’d let me.
I’ve never looked at a man the same I do as Silas, let alone have such illicit thoughts. I’m truly not sure what to do with all of this energy.
When he lifts the axe and cuts through the wood, I realize I have to stop watching him, that I’m actually getting physically worked up. Part of me wonders if this is his own way of letting out frustration over our situation. It feels like the spell is getting stronger, like we aren’t giving it what it wants. Which I worry is because our marriage isn’t consummated.
His stack of wood is large and I figure if I get some of this tension out, maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here basically degrading the man into a sex symbol.
Though, I imagine masturbating to your husband, who’s not really your husband, is no better.
Yet, I find myself with a cracked nightstand drawer and a vibrator down my panties. The visuals I come up with are more than enough to have me nearly coming instantly.
Me wrapping my arms around his waist and grazing my fingertips along his rippled abdomen before going further and grabbing what I’m imagining is a very large cock.
In my fantasy, I’m confident as I stroke him outside of his pants. A low moan rips through his throat before he turns around and cups my jaw before leaning down and kissing me. His massive arm wraps around my middle as he hefts me up to deepen the kiss before carrying me to the porch and into the back of the house.
We’re ravenous for it, knocking all the candles and trinkets on the dining room table before he’s sitting me on the edge and ripping my dress in half. I’m panting in the fantasy and on my bed as I move the vibrator to the right spot.
The noise that falls out of me is obscene, and I come before I can picture him touching me, my back arches off my bed and I squeeze my eyes shut as my release hits me.
It’s decent, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. I curse, walking to the bathroom and washing the toy before leaving it on the counter to dry.
This is all so fucked up. I shouldn’t be incorporating Silas into my masturbation material, let alone getting off on it before he even slides his hand below my collarbone.
When I go back to the kitchen, I use this energy to make some more sweet tea, along with another batch of muffins. But unfortunately, I don’t really need to do much when magic handles most of the legwork.
So I just stand by the window, getting my fill of Silas chopping wood, but he’s already making his way back into the house. In an effort not to look awkward, I look exceptionallyawkward as he comes through the backdoor and his eyes pan directly to me.
A smirk takes over his face and I clear my throat.
“What are you working on out there?” I ask.
“Not as important as what you’re working on in here,” he says slyly.
No fucking way. Can this shifter scent what I just did? Oh, Hecate, does he know I just masturbated after watching him cut wood?
