Chapter 14 Silas
SILAS
“You shouldn’t run off like that,” I say, my lips brushing the crest of Evie’s ear as she sets the empty whiskey glass on the counter. It’s her third of the evening, the effects of the alcohol already visible in the way her supple body moves to the thrumming music of my club.
I love watching the way her spine stiffens, the way her breath catches when she realizes I’ve followed her off the dance floor. Someone had to. She’s lucky I don’t bend her over my knee and slap her ass until her porcelain skin glows red from my touch.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Evie retorts with a slight hiccup, spinning around to glare up at me.
Her body looks divine in the clothes I picked out for her. She probably thinks Tempest chose them, but the thought of anyone else dressing her, of imagining her skin and breasts and body wrapped in fabric is enough to have me seeing green.
When Evie reappeared in the kitchen thirty minutes later with her hair down, dressed in the clothes I bought, glowing with a look of excited determination in her eyes, my demon practically purred.
Mine.
The red lace top is modest enough with short sleeves and dark buttons down the front.
The black miniskirt flares just right, giving Evie the freedom she needs to move without the entire club seeing her perfect ass.
She’d normally find it too short, but the black heeled boots and thigh-high stockings leave only a sliver of exposed thigh.
I press my palms against the bar, caging her in as I lean down. “Would you like me to be?”
Evie swallows, her eyes dipping to my mouth. “What?”
“Would you like me to be in control, little fox?” My lips twitch as I run my nose up the length of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent.
Fuck, how I’ve been craving her. Needing another taste. She shivers as my tongue lashes out, my lips closing around the fluttering pulse along the curve of her collarbone.
“You could pretend you’re a good girl who had her choice taken away.”
“Why would I want that?” Her voice is breathy as she arches into me, her nipples hardening through the fabric as they brush my chest.
“Because then you wouldn’t have to admit how much you liked kissing me.” A small whimper escapes her, and I smile against her jaw, nipping the sensitive skin. I shift closer, one arm braced on the bar, the other trailing up her trembling thighs.
“If I forced you,” I whisper, “you could pretend you don’t dream about my hands on you. About my lips exploring every inch of your skin. Like a fresh canvas brought to life beneath my brush.”
“Can I see them?” she asks.
My hand stills.
She bites her lip, cheeks flushing. “I saw some of your paintings. They’re yours, right? I thought it was Tempest’s room, but the snake on the door matches the one on your throat…”
“You looked through my room?”
“No.” She winces. “Well, I mean… I guess technically yes.”
People move around us, drinks and drugs exchanged freely, but I’m focused on her. On how she’s looking at me. Nobody sees my paintings. I sometimes paint at the house, but once they’re done, I lock them away in my studio, entombed in the dark.
It’s an explosion of demons, how I wash my hands of all the blood I’ve shed.
They’re grotesque. Haunting. Confessions spilled in color and shadow, but Evie is watching me, her thighs parted, gooseflesh pricking her arms while my fingers trace invisible designs over her inner thigh.
She’s waiting, wanting to know more… about me.
“I liked them. Your paintings,” she clarifies.
My heart hammers against my chest as warmth rushes through my veins. The urge to share those secret parts of myself—the pieces that even my brothers don’t know—is more dangerous than any weapon. And yet, my hand moves higher, spreading her legs wider.
“People will see,” she hisses, her fingers gripping my arm, pupils blown wide in those big brown eyes.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Evie? Everyone watching while I ruin you.”
“No,” she says, but she tilts her hips up.
“Liar,” I whisper, leaning down to taste her lips as my fingers continue their ascent.
She whimpers against my mouth, and my cock goes hard at the needy sound. Fuck, I want her. I want to taste and touch and claim. I want to know she needs me just as badly as I crave her.
My knuckles drag across her underwear, her wetness already soaking the fabric.
“Look how wet you are for me,” I growl, slipping my fingers beneath to rub teasing strokes along her pussy.
“Do you want me here, little fox?” Her breathing is ragged as I circle that small spot that has her legs trembling.
“I would get on my knees for you, Evie. Spreading you wide on this bar as I feasted on this sweet little cunt. All you have to do is ask.”
Evie’s cheeks flush, shame washing across her face as she shoves me back. The flash of lights catch on the inside of her forearm and I freeze.
“You’re disgusting,” she spits. It takes a moment, but whatever she sees on my face must terrify her, because she flinches, trying to hide her arm when she realizes what I’m staring at.
“What the fuck are those?” I grab her wrist before she can pull way, twisting gently to expose the thin, raised pink scars.
My stomach twists and I have an overwhelming urge to destroy everything.
To pour gasoline over the world, strike a match, and watch it burn because what kind of fucked-up reality makes someone like her—a person who’s met each of my asshole moments with nothing but kindness and her own subtle strength—feel like this is the only option?
“Nothing,” Evie breathes, face pale even in the club’s dim light. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I growl, low and lethal, but my grip is gentle as my fingers brush the deepest cut.
“Really,” she says, swallowing. “I’m fine.”
I shoot her a warning glare, then raise her arm and kiss the scarred skin, wishing to the hell that bore me that I could erase her pain with something as simple as a kiss.
“Give your pain to me, little fox.” The dark flecks in her honey-colored eyes burn with tears as I lick along each scar, reverent in my attention. “The darkness and I are well acquainted. I don’t fear it.”
Another slow lap along the blue veins in her wrist. Evie’s chest heaves, body shaking as I lower her hand, but I don’t let go.
I can’t.
I won’t stop touching her. Not when she’s staring up at me like she’s trying to see what’s underneath.
Her gaze drops to my mouth as I lick my lips and it’s like she’s peering beneath my harsh scales, wading through the poison pumping through my veins, and reaching past the armor.
Evie is the sharp scrape of vines sprouting in the chambers of my heart, embedding their barbs in my soul—and fuck if I don’t love the prick of thorns.
“Never again,” I breathe, my words nearly swallowed by the pounding music and roar of the crowd.
But I keep her here, suspended with me in a world all our own.
The pads of my thumbs brush over the places I just kissed, feeling the raised, healing wounds.
Evie shivers, her eyes locking on mine. With a deep breath, her chin dips.