I respond with a groan when I hear my name on her breath, pushing faster, deeper. “Say my name again,” I say, breathless.
“Silas,” she repeats, though I don’t think it’s because I asked. I think she’s as immersed in this as I am.
I’m the one giving her pleasure, the one possessing her at this moment, as much as she possesses me, and it feels so perfect it’s almost terrifying.
I can feel the moment Lauren Green orgasms as she tightens around me, almost milking me completely, allowing me to finish inside her.
I don’t usually moan when I’m having sex, but it seems I can’t keep my damn mouth shut. Not when Lauren is under me, taking my cum, stroking my back.
Not when Lauren is here.
I wake up to the sound of my stomach growling, the kind that demands attention. I glance to my right and see Lauren, curled up under my arm, warm, soft, peaceful. It growls again, but this time, it’s hers.
I check the clock—nine at night. No wonder we’re both starving; we haven’t eaten since that hot chocolate. I smile and gently stroke her leg. “Bunny,” I whisper, “are you hungry?”
She responds with a sleepy little sound, absolutely adorable, but her eyes stay closed. I can’t remember the last time I got out of bed with a smile this genuine. I prepare the only thing I know how to make: scrambled eggs with a bit of bacon on the side, just for me. And because it’s a special moment, I open a bottle of wine. Champagnefeels like overkill, though part of me wants to pop it to celebrate what this night means to me. But my inner voice steps in, telling me to cool it. Act calm, collected. If I push too hard, I might scare her off or worse, ruin everything. So I settle for the wine and a quiet moment, pretending I'm not one wrong move away from losing my mind over her. I hear movement behind me, and when I turn around, I see Lauren standing on the other side of the island, yawning and stretching her arms overhead. She's dressed in just the sweater she wore earlier today, her legs bare.
“What time is it?” she asks with a groggy voice as she sits on a stool and leans her elbows on the marble counter.
My feet instinctively draw me closer, as if an irresistible force pulls me into her orbit. I come up behind her, gently enveloping her in my arms, holding her in a long, tender embrace. The world falls away in the quiet, and in that silence, our connection speaks volumes.
“It’s nine-thirty,” I say, resting my mouth on her ear. “I’m making something that could be called dinner if you use your imagination.” I end with a kiss on her cheek.
She looks at me with hungry eyes, the question being whether it's hunger for food or for Silas.
Needless to say, I prefer the latter.
“Anything that lands in front of me is getting devoured,” she says confidently. “I don’t discriminate against food.”
“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” I reply, flipping the bacon as the sizzle drowns out half of her words.
Lauren dramatically opens her mouth wide, like she’s demanding a full explanation.
“Okay, remember the second time we talked in school? It was a Thursday. I was in the cafeteria with a tray stacked with food because I had practice that day. You were standing in line, and when I walked by, you gave my tray a look like I was carrying roadkill.”
Lauren immediately covers her face, fully embarrassed.
“And then you called me a serial killer for eating three different animals in one meal,” I add, watching her blush creep through her fingers and her ears turning crimson. “Do you remember what I saidto you?” I ask, casually pushing the bacon around like it’s the most serious task in the world.
“Yeah … you said, ‘Because of people like me, vegetarians are public enemy number one,’” she mutters, barely peeking through her fingers.
I grin. “Exactly. And now here you are, the self-proclaimed food diplomat.” Lauren serves herself a plate, adding a strip of bacon. I can't help but raise an eyebrow. “When did you stop being a vegetarian?”
“During college,” she says, nonchalant. “It was hard to stick to the budget. I lived on instant ramen until one day I had a blood pressure spike and ended up in the hospital.”
I freeze mid-bite, fork hovering in the air, as my eyebrows scrunch together in disapproval. The idea of Lauren in a hospital bed twists my stomach.
She notices. “It was just a few days, nothing serious,” she says quickly, like she’s trying to calm a wild animal. “After that, I started eating a bit more balanced, and everything was fine. Now that I can afford it, I try to avoid meat as much as possible.”
“Who took care of you?” I ask, still a little tense.
She gives a small, nostalgic smile. “Emma and my boyfriend at the time.”
I nod, shoving more food into my mouth to disguise the sudden flicker of irritation that surges through me.Why do I ask these things?
“He was sweet. We were together for a few years, but eventually, we went our separate ways.”
“Why?” I ask, pretending to be casual while making a mental note to document every single mistake that guy made for letting Lauren Green slip away.
