Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I focus on my cereal, saying little, trying not to think about yesterday, the office, and the heat of our bodies mingling.
I imagine different designs for the headstone instead.
I drew up some sketches last night, which brought more thinking about the man.
But then I started to wonder. Does Silas really want me to tattoo him, or was that just us talking all panicked after what we’d done?
“Where are you floating off to, sis?”
I always laugh when he says that, ever since he first said it when he was seven or eight. It’s become a way for him to let me know he’s noticed my drifting away…something not everybody does.
“Just thinking about designs,” I tell him, which isn’t a total lie.
It’s not like I can say, I’m thinking about what Dad’s best friend did to me in his office…and what we would have done if Dad hadn’t interrupted us.
My entire body thrummed last night as I tried to sleep, thinking about Silas standing behind me with his massive manhood in his hand, stroking it heavily across my ass, inching closer.
“What’s happening, gang?” Dad says, walking into the kitchen and snatching toast off the plate in the middle of the table.
“We’re gossiping about Silas,” Mom says.
I almost scream.
Every time I hear his name, it takes me back to that meeting, to his hand suddenly on my sex, and all the while I’m wondering if it’s really happening.
“Let’s not get into that habit,” Dad replies.
We eat breakfast together, always, no matter how busy Dad is. Mom sits with her smoothie as I pick at my cereal, my thighs aching.
I tell myself it’s from self-given tattoos, but I know it’s a lie.
It’s the aftershock of what Silas and I did. It’s all the passion blazing through me.
“Are you going to send him your designs?” Dad asks.
After a moment, I realize he’s talking to me. The conversation has been flowing around me. It’s been easy to drift into the background, to sink into thoughts of Silas, the last thing I should be doing.
“Your door was open,” Dad goes on. “I saw them on your desk – the drawings. He’s mentioned the gravestone before. Or is it for somebody else?”
“They’re for him. But I don’t know if he’d like them. I asked him to send me some examples of what he’d like, but he didn’t, and…well, I got carried away.”
Mom, Jimmy, and Dad are all glaring at me. Or that’s what it feels like to me, as if they’re impatiently waiting for me to spit something out.
“I think they’re great, from what I saw,” Dad says. “I bet he’d like to take a look.”
“Yeah,” I say, knowing there’s no way for them to guess what happened.
But I feel like they somehow might.
“I’ll send them after breakfast. I need to scan them first. And anyway, he might hate them all. He might decide to go with somebody else. He’s probably just doing it as a favor to you.”
It all rushes out, anything to get me as far from the truth as possible.
He’s doing it because he wants us to get closer.
He’s doing it because he can’t stop thinking about me, just like I can’t stop thinking about him.
“I doubt it,” Dad says. “And whatever the case, this is a good experience for you. It will boost your profile. You can tell people you did a tattoo for Silas Stone.”
I’d rather tell people I’m married to Silas Stone, but I keep that to myself.
I send the designs before I can talk myself out of it.
I reason that I should send them now since I’ve told Dad I will because he might mention it to Silas. But even as I let this thought process run through me, I know it’s an excuse. It’s more like there’s this force inside of me, more than lust, pulling me closer.
I continue with my work, sitting at my desk window, working on a design for my first repeat client.
I’m so immersed in the drawing that I jolt out of a flow state when my cell phone buzzes loudly.
It’s a number I don’t recognize, but this is my business number for the time being, so I can’t afford to let it go to voicemail.
I get my professional voice ready…not that I have much of one. But I try.
“Hello.” His voice is husky, urgent the moment I answer. “Lauren?”
I savor the sound of him saying my name. I wonder if Silas’ voice is really husky, or just low, angry at me for contacting him.
But he didn’t have to call.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice as casual as I can.
“I got your designs. I’ve selected the third one.”
My body starts to tingle all over again, just like in the office, just like last night when I was trapped in memories of him, trapped in my fantasies. This is so much more intense than the crush ever could’ve been.