28. 28 – Stasi #2
I feel… open. Exposed, as he stares down at me, his eyes tracing my slit. Taking in the wetness there. And I gasp as his finger traces a single line, barely brushing me.
“No,” he says roughly. “I want you to watch me, Anastasia. And I want you to hold yourself open.”
My eyes dart to his in shock. “What?”
He takes my hand in his, pushes it down to brush over my curls. “You heard me. Spread yourself for me. And count.”
I feel lightheaded as I reach down, spreading my lips to his gaze. It warms in approval. “Good girl. Now count.”
I barely have chance to draw in a fortifying breath before his hand draws back and slaps against my pussy.
Hard.
When I cry out at the sting, his other hand moves into my hair, tilting my face towards him. I stare up at him, gasping. “I said, count .”
“One,” I choke out.
“Again,” he orders.
The slap rings out, and I suck in a breath. “ Two .”
Silas pauses, and I moan as his fingers circle my clit. “How are you finding your punishment?”
“Brutal,” I gasp, and he smirks down at me, breathing hard.
“Good. Again.”
By the fifth, I’m sobbing. Even the sound is obscene, wet and loud as Silas continues his work. I don’t know if I’m about to cry or about to climax at the feel of his hands on me. My abdomen is clenching, hard, and my head throws back when another slap lands.
“Steady,” he murmurs. His hand caresses the back of my head. “Taking it so fucking well, Anastasia.”
“ Asshole ,” I hiss when he does it again without warning, and he tugs my hair back in response. “Don’t forget to count.”
The eighth slap makes me clench, my body seeking something more. His hands on me aren’t enough, and I buck my hips in frustration. “Silas, please .”
“Do you want to come on my fingers, Stasi?” His voice is low and rough as he traces his fingers around where I need him to be. “If I fuck you with my hand, will you clench around me?”
“Try it,” I force out with a gasp, “and find out.”
He tuts, and I lift up my hips as he delivers another hit, right over my clit. My vision goes hazy, orbs of light dancing around me as I try to shift. “Nine.”
“One more.” It sounds more like a threat than a promise. I can barely breathe, the oxygen squeezing into my lungs not enough as Silas lifts up his hand and slaps it directly over my clit. In almost the same moment, his hand dips, two fingers pushing into me and curling .
I twist around his touch as the ripples of ecstasy overtake me. “Ten. God .”
“Not God,” he pulls out his hand and flicks my oversensitive clit. “ Silas . Say my name when my fingers are buried in your cunt, Anastasia.”
“Silas.” It’s a sob as he continues his assault, his fingers twisting and stretching inside me. I feel impossibly full, and a hazy thought works through my head. “ Silas —,”
He pushes in further, and my body jerks at the small pinch of pain.
Silas is looking down at my pussy, at his hand buried inside me, and I try to breathe, try to relax. He pulls his fingers out, moving to rub my swollen clit.
“There.” His voice is so smug, so fucking Silas, that I don’t know whether I want to kiss him or slap him across the back of the head. “Such a good fucking girl, taking your punishment.”
His eyes rake across my face, dropping down my body.
And I watch, as his expression changes. A crease appears between his eyes. And then… something else.
He lifts his fingers into the air, and we both stare.
At the smear of red.
Shit.
My whole face heats, and I keep my eyes away from his as I feel him turn to look at me. His legs tense beneath me. “Anastasia.”
Nope. Not having that conversation.
Pursing my lips, I silently debate the possibility of just getting up and running out of the room. He might not catch me.
But he probably would. My legs feel like jelly.
Sighing, I lift my eyes to his. “Yes?”
He stares at me. Slowly, he holds his hand up. “Care to explain?”
“Explain what, exactly?”
Explain that I never had a hope in hell of meeting someone else with my mother and Ella in charge?
Or explain that I never wanted to meet anyone else anyway?
Neither of the two options sound particularly appealing, so I opt to just stay quiet, trying not to squirm as Silas rubs the blood between his fingers. His eyes narrow as he glances back down. “You’ve never had sex.”
I clamp my mouth closed. At this stage, the seventh circle of hell couldn’t persuade me to talk to him about this. He doesn’t look like he’s giving up, though, and after a minute I unclamp my lips enough to sigh. “This is really none of your business.”
His other hand tightens on my leg, gripping it. “Like hell it isn’t. You should have told me. Before .”
Before he fucked me with his fingers like we were going for a damn world record?
“I can’t remember an appropriate moment for me to volunteer that information. Not that you’re entitled to it, in any case.”
Awkwardly, I struggle to sit up, but he snares me with a hand around my waist. A finger tips my chin towards him.
“You’re still a virgin,” he says slowly. When I see the look in his eyes, my own roll, and I stagger to my feet. This time, he lets me go, even as his hands follow, holding my waist so I can’t move more than a step away.
Possessive fucking caveman . “Try to hide your sheer delight at the idea.”
Twisting, I turn to look down at him. He looks a little dazed. And a whole lot of smug. “Silas.”
When he looks up at me, opening his mouth, I hold up my hand. “Do you still hate me?”
He blinks. “What?”
Slowly, I sweep a hand down my body, trying not to point to the obvious place. “Now that you’ve… worked it out of your system. Do you still hate me?”
Maybe I’m saying it wrong. Because he’s staring at me like I’m the psychopath who enjoys the idea of taking someone’s virginity by finger fucking them until they climax so hard their eyes roll back in their head.
“Anastasia,” he says slowly. And then he stands.
I take a step back, ready to run, but his hands slide to my waist, stopping me from moving.
“Listen to me,” he says shortly. “I could have ten lifetimes with you, and it would not be enough to work you out of my system.”
Oh. My breath catches.
I swallow. “And the… and the hate? Strong dislike?”
“I never hated you,” he says quietly. “I was devastated by you. There is a difference.”
I was devastated by you.
I close my eyes. Take a breath. And then I reach out to him, with my words. Try to broach the distance between us that opened up on that night, and never closed.
“I’m sorry that I lied to you.”
When I open them again, he’s watching me. Slowly, I lift up my hands and cover his.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. He doesn’t respond, just watches me.
But his hands still hold me tightly, so tightly but so carefully that a lump appears in my throat.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. What she was like.
And I’m sorry that I didn’t – that I didn’t come to you first. Before I tried to- before all of that happened. ”
His hands flex on my waist. “Why didn’t you?”
He sounds pained. “If you had – things would have been different.”
I bite my lip. Try to explain. I’ve never had to before, never had to actually find the words and give them life by voicing them. And I struggle to find them now, despite the fact that I’ve had this conversation with Silas a thousand times over in my head.
Although I never imagined it quite like this.
“Because that was… it was what we did. We would stay somewhere, for a while. And then we would run. And I’d never – there was never anyone I cared about before. That I had to leave behind, I mean. And she was so – she was so awful, that day. I didn’t know what to do.”
I look down. “I was scared , Silas. I was scared that you wouldn’t believe me. And I didn’t want to see the look on your face when you realized what I was.”
“A thief,” he murmurs, and I nod stiffly.
“But I did change my mind,” I say softly. “Even before you saw me. I was putting it all back.”
I’ll never forget the panic. Sheer, pulsing panic as I tried to find the right places for everything, to shove things back into the right pouches, the right drawers, before my mother came, before anyone came.
“I was coming to find you,” I continue, my throat dry as I stare down at the floor between us. “But you… you found me first.”
And then everything fell apart.
Silas sighs. “I came after you, you know.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
His thumb massages my skin through my top. “After I – when the car pulled away. You were just out of sight, and I realized – I’d never run that fast before. No matter how angry I was, the idea of losing you was… it was impossible.”
He laughs, soft and low and sad. “But I couldn’t run fast enough. And when I got back—,”
His breath hitches, and I watch the emotions flicker over his face. Pain. So much pain.
“What happened?” I ask, my heart in my throat. My voice drops to the barest whisper, dread washing through me as my body tenses under his touch. “Silas?”
“Dad,” he says quietly. His eyes flick to mine, and then away. As if he’s reliving the words as they fall from his mouth.
“He pulled up in the car, just as I got back. And when I told him what had happened, he didn’t believe me. So he ran up to his bedroom, but she’d already taken it. His wedding ring, and my mothers. Plus anything else she could get her hands on that was worth a damn.”
My hand nearly rises up to my chest, but I hold onto it, stopping the movement. Hold it with everything I have, even as the guilt rips through me like a damn wrecking ball, tearing my soul to shreds. Again. Now is not the moment to make this about me. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Silas.”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t take it. It took me a long time to realize it. Not until after you got here, really.”
I hold onto the words in my throat, waiting.
And Silas leans back. “And my dad… he died , Stasi.”
The words sound wrong. So wrong and so abrupt, so final, that I shake my head, thinking I’ve misheard him.
“I don’t – I don’t understand.”
“Broken heart syndrome.” His hands drop from my waist. “That’s what they call it.
It can be caused by extreme emotions. And his heart just – it just gave out.
Right there, in the doorway to his bedroom.
And we couldn’t save him. Me, Kit, Rafe – we all tried.
And the twins didn’t even know what had happened with you. Not yet.”
I try to absorb what he’s telling me. “William died. The night… the same night it happened?”
Silas nods. When he looks up at me, though, his face changes. Softens.
“Stasi. I didn’t tell you so you could blame yourself.”
Blame myself?
I try to breathe, try to take in some damn oxygen, but I can’t.
They lost their dad . William. Lovely, funny, generous, kind William. Because of me, and my mother. Because we breezed into their home, in and out and taking anything we could with us on the way through.
How can I even compare what happened afterwards? When the loss in his eyes is my fucking fault?
They were right to blame me all along. If we hadn’t come here… William might still be alive.
“God, we fucked up your lives,” I breathe in horror. Silas’s eyes widen as I step back, and his arms reach for me again. But I back away, my breathing speeding up.
I thought they were angry because I left.
I thought Silas was angry because of what he saw.
But this… this is so much worse.
You’re alone.
Not a single soul will stand up for you, Anastasia Cooper.
And why would they?
For such an ugly, toxic person.
My hands start to shake as I turn away. I can’t even look at him.
I never hated you.
I was devastated by you.
Truer words were never spoken. And all these years I was stupid enough to believe that I was a victim.
When it was just karma.
Silas half-stands, but I hold up my hand, offering him a weak, wobbly smile. “I… I’ll leave you be, now.”
He runs a hand through his hair, his brows drawing down. “Anastasia. You’re not even dressed.”
But I shake my head, the movement nearly throwing me off balance as I move towards the door. My hand reaches desperately for the handle.
“I’m so sorry, Silas.” The words don’t sound right. They don’t sound enough. Not nearly enough, as he watches me with concern in his eyes.
Even that makes me feel sick.
“Don’t run,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He doesn’t ask me to stay.
I don’t blame him.
I can’t face Kit tonight. Not now that I know what I cost him.
Instead, I run for my little bedroom, not stopping until I’m under the covers. And then, only then, do I let the first, shuddering sob break free.
Another.
Another.
I cry for the boys I left, who loved their dad so fucking much and then lost him.
And I can’t stop.
Because I was right.
Nothing good ever lasts. At least not when it happens to me.