“I was distressed and concerned for my life. I’m definitely not built for violent encounters.”
All true.
Yet entirely incomplete.
I wasdistressedbecause watching Silas kill turned me on. Seeing him drenched in that man’s blood made me want to put my tongue down his throat.
I wasconcerned for my lifefor all of three seconds until I realized the bad guys had no chance of getting one over on Silas. He would do whatever it took to get me home safe.
And while I am certainly notbuilt for violence, Silas most assuredly is. There’s an artistry, a potent madness to the way he kills. Last night, with bullets flying overhead and Sy’s brilliant madness on full display, my nipples hardened to the point of chafing.
Which led to a rabbit trail about nipple play and gentle sucking and whether or not Sy enjoys that sort of thing.
Silas drove last night, so this morning, I spend the ride into Austin sitting next to him while trying not to think about all the ways I want toconsumehim. Drink him down, fill him up, drive him insane with my hands. Mouth.Cock. Rough. Soft. Forcing him to come over and over until he’s begging me to stop. To continue. To fuck himhard.
God, I am so fucked in the head.
Worse, I don’t know if I care.
I manage to keep my hands to myself on the ride home and spend the day mostly in my room catching up on sleep and reading my favorite smut.
Saturday night, Hedy texts me.
Hedy: Have you completed Sy’s one-on-one?
Sorry, Aunt Hedy. I haven’t done that yet because I want to turn him out in the worst way.
Also, impatient much?
I don’t say that. Mostly because I’m beginning to realize Hedy is sensitive about her lack of formal clinical training. She’s a profiler, not a therapist. Given the fact that she’s been capably running mental support in Wimberley for over two decades, who am I to judge her approach?
Me: No. I’ve got that planned for tomorrow morning.
Hedy: Awesome. Let me know how it goes.
My alarm goes off at six forty-five, and I curse the promise I made last night. Thankfully, Sy’s an early riser, even on Sundays, and something tells me he won’t mind an unannounced visit if it’s me.
I make my way downstairs before the rest of the Wildlings are up.Let’s try to have a modicum of self-respect, shall we?
“Hey, Oak,” Silas says, opening the door to his dark apartment.He squints at the low light and pats his collar, where he usually keeps his tactical sunglasses.
Jesus, he’s perfect.
How did I not see that before?
Why did it take watching him kill for me to finally react appropriately to this level of hot?
Also, does he not understand how easy it is to read his expression, even with the minimal light coming in from the hallway? His eyes are practically glued to my mouth, and his slack jaw reads like the filthiest smut available.
Fuck. Me.
I was already struggling with the thought of keeping things professional. This is impossible.
“Hey, Sy,” I say, lowering my already deep voice to the basement. “May I come in?”
“Uh, sure,” he says, letting me into the cave-like entryway.
I’m subtle as I crowd him, tapping my fingers to my throat. “Would you mind terribly getting a glass of water for me?”
