I frown at his term of endearment, but only because I like it so much. His fingers dig into my scalp and my eyes flutter closed on their own volition. He knows what he’s doing and I can’t help but let him. All the fight got drained from me in the sauna of Mississippi. When he’s done, he gently tilts my head back and rinses the shampoo from my hair. He’s being incredibly sweet. Too sweet. My brain is yelling at me to push him away. I don’t, of course, and I tell myself it’s because I’m too tired from our not-run.
Silas spins me around and pushes down on my shoulders. With extreme might, I open my eyes as my ass lands on a tile step built into the corner of the shower. The cool tiles againstmy skin are bliss. Silas, holding my gaze, drops to his knees and wedges his shoulders between my thighs. His arms snake around my legs so his hands can grip my hips. My ass is pulled forward, my body barely balancing on the edge of the step. Silas dips his head to my pussy and dives in like a starving man, lips and teeth and chin.
My shoulders fall backward to the tile wall, my head tilted up to the ceiling. I shout something unintelligible to the heavens as he zeroes in on my clit and flicks it repeatedly with his tongue. Stars dot my vision. The man knows his way around a woman’s body, which at forty years of age, is a relief. He swipes his tongue up and down and then he’s back to flicking. His chin gets in on the next repetition, a harder, scrapier slide against flesh that’s been hot and bothered all day.
My head feels like it’s floating away from my body, from exhaustion or pleasure, I can’t be sure. Silas lets out some kind of guttural hum from between my legs, like he’s enjoying feasting on me. Knowing he likes what he’s doing to me somehow takes all that pleasure and amplifies it tenfold. One of his hands releases my hip and joins in on the action. Thick fingers slid inside me and I tighten around him immediately.
“Silas!” I shout, voice echoing off the tile and over the sound of the cascading water.
His rhythm increases until everything in me is wound so tightly I’m sure to break. I garble his name once more and then toss my head back on an orgasm so strong I lose feeling in my extremities. Waves of pleasure break over me, curling around my insides and nestling in my chest, right behind my pounding heart.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” I chant, eyes still squeezed shut.
Silas places a final kiss to my abused flesh and gently pulls his fingers out of me. I jolt, eyes flying open at the foreign feeling that’s left after the orgasm slowly fades. He grins at me, hairsoaked through and face flushed. I like that face. Very much. Too much.
Alarm bells clang annoyingly.
I find my voice, the words unplanned and not well thought out. “I do not, under any circumstances, want to catch feelings.”
His grin falters and I want to punch myself in the face for making him lose even a tiny bit of joy. But it had to be said. He seems to collect himself, his hands coming to rest on the step on either side of my hips, putting his handsome face in mine.
“It’s okay to accept a kind gesture, storm cloud. Be confident enough in yourself to be soft. I won’t hurt you.”
And then he climbs to his feet, rinses us both off, and grabs a towel to dry us off. When he’s got me wrapped up in a fluffy towel, he runs his fingers through my wet hair to get it off my face.
“Let’s get you dressed in one of my T-shirts and then I’ll make you dinner.”
Fuck. Still so damn sweet. Too sweet. I should leave. I really should.
He lifts an eyebrow, as if daring me to stay.
I glare at him. And take the leap.
“Thank you,” I growl.
His boisterous laugh carries us into his bedroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Silas
Betsy has gottenunder my skin in the best way.
I’m finding myself a bit obsessed with her, if I’m being honest.
Of course, I’ll never tell her that. She’d gut me, laugh while she did it, and then flip off my corpse.
In the days after our not-run, I focus on the boutique and our busy schedule ahead, but I also ruminate on what I can do to soften up the little hellion I’ve both employed and continue to give orgasms to. She’s all sharp angles and even sharper tongue. I know her absent father and cheating ex-boyfriend are the ones to blame, but short of tracking them down and punching them in the face, I have to find a way to make things right for Betsy. On behalf of all men, I can’t let her continue to walk this earth thinking all men are assholes.
The idea comes to me one afternoon in the boutique. Betsy is helping a woman in the fitting room. I’m staring out the front window of the shop as Birdie walks out of Heaven Sent Flowers. An older gentleman in a light blue seersucker suit holds thedoor for her, tips his hat, then heads inside. Birdie’s lined face positively beams as she walks down the sidewalk to her car, even after the man’s long gone.
Aha!
I need to lean into everything Mama taught me. God rest her soul.
I need to woo Betsy Mae with all the Southern-gentleman charm I have in my body. Born and raised here in Heaven, Mississippi, I’ve got a lot of charm.
She’ll fuckin’ hate it.
