His smile softens, and in an instant, the teasing fades. He steps closer, pulling me into his arms, trapping me in that way only Silascan. “I don’t want you to go. Stay with me.” His voice is low, and before I can say anything, he kisses me—deeply, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, like there’s no tomorrow.
And I melt, caught in his pull, unable to deny what he’s asking for, even as I know this is just the beginning of something I may never be able to control.
Silas
Laughing during stressful moments? Yeah, that’s me—childish, immature, and so typically Silas Walker.
Before I even realized it, I asked Lauren to move in with me. One day. We’ve been together for just one day, and I already dropped that on her. So, what’s next? What am I going to do in a month? Propose? And in a year? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it.
God, I’m such an idiot.
The sun’s long gone, and the coffee table is a graveyard of takeoutcontainers, empty cans, and random wrappers. We’re halfway through our second movie of the day, and neither of us has a clue what it’s about because, well, I can’t keep my hands off her.
Lauren awakens things in me I didn’t even know existed. She always has. We’ve always belonged to each other. And now, after all these years, we finally can be. And during all those years we were apart, she was always there, lingering in the back of my mind like a quiet presence that never fully faded. When I first embraced the idea of Wabi-Sabi, the beauty of imperfection, it was because of her. I found a strange comfort in the cracks, the flaws, and the worn-out edges of life because they reminded me of Lauren. A crack in a piece of pottery makes it unique. A flaw in the wood brings character. Weathered stone tells a story. Imperfection brings absolute beauty to my eyes, and somehow, I think I always knew Lauren existed in that same world of imperfect perfection. Even when she was far away, she was close—always close. That’s Lauren. That’s why she fits so effortlessly into my home, my life, my entire philosophy. She’s the missing piece in this imperfect, incomplete life of mine. She always has been.
Luca was right. I’ve always been in love with her. And I was a complete fool to focus on the wrong feelings for so long. But I think there’s still time. Time to make things right, to finally tell her what she’s always meant to me.
To make her mine—and to be hers.
In the morning, I work quietly from bed, my laptop balanced on my legs, my body relaxed and bare. She sleeps beside me, her back uncovered, her blonde hair fanning out across the pillow—herpillow now.
I can’t help but reach out, running a finger gently down her spine, tracing the soft curve of her skin with mine, committing every inch to memory. There’s a new kind of happiness inside me, one that comes with the realization of just how lucky I am to have her here. When shebegins to stir, waking up slowly, I watch her stretch, her movements languid and unhurried. And when she turns to smile at me, I can’t help but feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
“Good morning,” I whisper. I set my laptop on the floor and crawl toward her, pulling us both under the sheets.
“Why are you working?” she protests. “It's the holidays.”
“I needed to keep my hands busy so I wouldn’t wake you up again, but I guess I failed.”
The past few nights, I've woken up with an erection strong enough to topple pyramids. I need to bury myself in her to calm down, to soothe the urge, and remind my body that Lauren is still here. But she spent the whole day yawning because I didn’t let her rest. I felt bad and, above all, selfish, even though I always made up for it with orgasms after enduring this insatiable man. How could I ever get enough of her?
“Who said I don’t want to be woken up?” There’s a smile in her voice.
“You should have said so earlier, woman!” I cover our bodies completely and claim hers again.
For the next three days, Lauren Green is completely mine. We shop together, our conversations light and easy. I make her laugh more times than I thought possible, her laughter becoming a sound I want to hear every day. We make love, and sometimes, we lose ourselves in passion—on the marble countertop, in the shower, on the guest bed, on the couch, and even up against the window as the sun sets.
U2 playing softly in the background. Lauren settles into my heart, slipping into place like she was always meant to be there, and I do everything I can to make sure she feels the same. Every look, every touch, every moment with her feels like I’m trying to show her just how deeply she belongs here with me.
But on December thirtieth, almost a week later, I take her back to her apartment. She insists—claims her clothes are no longer wearable and jokes that staying naked all day isn’t a viable option, though I’m not entirely convinced.
When we reach her door, I stop, hesitating on the threshold. I know if I step inside, I won’t be able to leave, won’t be able to stop myself from wanting her all over again.
I kiss her lips gently, lingering for just a second before whispering, “Don't get too attached to this place,” a soft warning hidden in my words.
“Sure, Silas.” She laughs, her eyes darting away from mine, clearly uncomfortable with the intensity in my voice.
“I'll pick you up tomorrow.”
Tomorrow is the company’s New Year’s Eve party. I plan to make an appearance, just enough for the CEO to be seen. But as soon as the clock strikes midnight, I’ll be out of there, racing back to bring her home. Back to my kingdom, where I’ll tie her to my bed and remind her where she belongs.
I spend the day pushing myself to the limit at the gym, trying to burn off this restless energy, but before I know it, my phone is in my hand. Like some lovesick puppy, I find myself texting her.
Silas W:
I'll pick you up at seven.
I wait, watching the screen like it might give me answers. Her reply finally pops up.
