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)
He’s got no idea my panties are all sticky from what just happened.
It was like a flashing burst of lust, happening so quickly I was still struggling to believe it was real when it came to an end.
I can’t believe I even had the courage to pull down my pants and show him my tattoos…but my need was way fiercer than my nerves.
I remember looking over my shoulder at his huge manhood, so massive his large hand didn’t even cover half of it, his swollen end glistening with precome.
I told him to be gentle, but I didn’t tell him why.
I can’t believe I was going to do that.
But was I? Could I?
Then Silas changed, his tone getting harsh when he told me this never happened.
We’re going to bury it. Ignore it.
But I can’t forget the feeling of his tongue rubbing up and down my sex.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been talking his head off about your tattooing,” Dad says, seeming so carefree I want to cry, to hug him.
Silas is right, even if what he said hurts. We have to act as though what we just did never happened.
We have to act as though we don’t want to do it again.
But it’s not even like we did it. It was more like we were animals, uncaged, unchained, feral.
Dad’s looking at me as though expecting an answer.
I fumble. I just spit it out, even if Silas might not feel the same anymore.
“We were talking about a tattoo for Silas.”
“Oh.”
Dad looks at Silas. I can tell what Dad’s thinking.
Not in a mean way, but he’s basically wondering why Silas would pick me, a relative newbie when he has so many choices.
“Yeah,” Silas says, nodding, his voice as tight and mean as when he told me that what we did – what I can still feel reverberating through me – never happened.
“For the anniversary of…of my dad’s death,” he says after a pause. “Would you be okay with that?”
I know why Silas suddenly asks the question, with so much weight and significance buried in there. He remembers kneeling behind me mere minutes ago, his hands greedily moving over my ass and making me tingle all over as he slid his tongue inside me.
But it didn’t happen. I have to fight it.
What if Dad ever found out?
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dad says, laughing softly. “If you think you’re up to the challenge, Lauren, I say go for it.”
“We’ll arrange a date then,” I say, glancing at Silas.
He’s standing with his shirt looking crumpled, his hair wild, and his lips glistening from when he was between my thighs.
He’s still got my wetness on his lips like he doesn’t want to erase what we did, even if he says otherwise.
“That sounds good,” Silas replies stiffly.
“But I’ll understand if you don’t want to,” I say. “I mean, if you want to cancel, it’s fine. I won’t be mad.”
My words are rushing out, making me sound dorky. It’s like we’ve reverted back to who we were before that sudden infusion of lust before he feasted on my sex like it belonged to him.
And it does.
Always.
Except it can’t.
Ever.
The reason it can’t – Dad – claps. “Right then. Did you still want to have lunch, Lauren?”
“Definitely,” I say, way too eagerly, as if I’m making up for something.
Which I am.
“Want to join us, Silas?”
“No,” Silas says gruffly, not returning my gaze, his jaw tight. “I’ve got work to do.”
Dad shrugs, then raises his eyebrow at me. We leave the office together.
I ignore the instincts telling me to rush back and demand to know if he meant what he said or if he really wants to go forward with the tattooing.
But if we do, we both know what we’re doing.
We’re tempting each other to collapse into confusing heat again, to let go of rational thought and turn into hungry animals.
He doesn’t know how much it would mean to me truly being together. Maybe he just sees it as physical.
But no, he said…nothing happened.
He sees it as nothing.
“Maybe he’s annoyed about the conversation we had,” Dad says, stroking his close-cropped beard as we wait for our coffees.
I lean back in my seat, gripping my knees so hard it hurts. But it’s better to focus on that physical sensation than the one nestled deep inside of me, the one calling me back endlessly to what Silas and I did in his office.
Was it real?
I’m honestly starting to doubt it.
It seems so unlikely.
“Does he care that much about posting on social media?” I ask.
“He’s not wrong,” Dad replies. “Our brand is what has kept us going all these years. But this new deal creates financial instability, but our CEO is in constant danger or perceived danger. Silas knows what he’s doing…but not all shareholders understand that.”
I think of the videos I’ve watched of Silas leaping from planes or surging down mountainsides on his skis, the closeup shots of his face…he had that same look earlier, when he was behind me, the similar savage concentration as he held his manhood in his hand.