Fuck. I scramble back and swipe at my lips. My eyes fasten on her face, her flushed expression, the hard breaths she's taking. Fuck me.
"Silas..." she starts, reaching for me.
Yeah, that's not gonna happen. I've already crossed so many lines. I bound to my feet, moving so fast I nearly knock her over. "I need a shower."
The look of perfect surprise on her face nearly does me in.
I'm in the bathroom before she can respond. I lock the door and turn the water on full blast. My hands shake as I strip off my clothes. I'm so hard it hurts. My cock strains as I climb in the shower. Precum beads at the tip. I grip myself with my good hand and jerk my cock, a man on a mission. I'm not gentle. I'm not patient. Before I do something truly stupid, I need this handled.
The first stroke makes me hiss. I lean against the shower wall and let the water run over my back, giving in to what I've been fighting all day. I think about Scout's hands on me and imagine them moving lower. I think about her mouth, how she tasted when I kissed her, and how she'd taste everywhere else. I imagine the moment she parts her thighs and begs me to fuck her.
My hand moves faster and rougher.
"Scout," I groan. I don't care if she hears through the thin door. I'm too far gone to care about anything except thepicture in my head. I imagine her on her knees, looking up at me with those eyes, taking me in her mouth. Or lying on the bed, begging me to touch her.
That's it. The image pushes me over the edge. I come hard with her name on my lips, my whole body shuddering with the force of it. Good, some release. But not the same as touching her.
Reality comes back fast. Shame and want and frustration twist together. I stay under the water until it cools and I can think again. When I finally step out and wrap a towel around my waist, I can't look at her. She's sitting on the bed with her phone. Her cheeks are flushed, her hands shaking.
She heard. She knows. She clears her throat.
"The ferry's running again," she says. Her voice sounds raw. "The owner came up and let us know."
"Oh." I must sound disappointed. "That's good."
She purses her lips. "Silas..."
"Just..." I pull my shirt over my head. It's still damp but I can't bring myself to care. "Let's forget this happened."
Scout stares at me for a long beat. "Do you want to forget it?"
"Yeah." The lie hits hard, but it's necessary. This thing between us can't happen. I won't let it happen. I grab my bag and head for the door. I need distance before I lose whatever control I have left. "We'll leave in five minutes."
She doesn't argue. She only nods with a hurt look in her eyes.
We pack in silence. I steel myself as I scoop her up, then carry her to the car. It's silent as we drive to the ferry. I did this. I fucked it up.
She lays her seat back and closes her eyes. I get out, pacing over to the ferry's bow. Looking out, I tell myself thisis for the best. We can go back to normal, to professional distance and careful boundaries.
But I can still feel her against my chest. I can still hear her breathing shift when I touched her. I can still taste her.
The storm isn't over. It's getting worse, building inside me with nowhere to go except toward sure disaster.
Chapter Nineteen
Silas
While we were on Vashon Island, Coach texted me a third time, demanding a date for my appointment with the sports therapist. A therapist is just going to dig into my past and drag up a bunch of memories that are better off forgotten. I already know that my childhood was screwed up. My mom was all the Huxley boys’ agents for years, stole a bunch of money from all of us, then disappeared. If it weren’t for Mom blackmailing Hunter to get more money, I doubt that I’d have ever heard from her again.
So yeah, I have some issues. And while I’m perfectly content to hold my feelings in until the end of time and die repressed, Coach Cross is going to lose his shit if he has to ask me again when my appointment is.
I finally text Dr. Sable's number late at night, explaining who I am and that I need to schedule an appointment. Scheduling sounds better than actually seeing a shrink, somehow. I've never been so glad to put my phone on silent and head to bed.
Hell, maybe Dr. Sable doesn't even get texts on that number. A guy can hope, right?
Unfortunately, when I wake up, there is a text waiting for me.
Dr. Sable
