33. 33 – Silas
T he red flows off my skin, swirling away down the drain as I scrub.
Scrub the last, odious traces of Lazarus Mayhew from beneath my nails. Black joins the red, dirt and blood and who the fuck knows what else mixing together and sliding away from my skin.
Turning my hand over, I examine my knuckles. The skin is split, cracked, my own blood oozing out.
And then I turn, and I slam my fist back into the wall.
Crack.
Again.
It’s not enough. The small bite of pain pales in comparison to the look in her eyes when Kit pulled her up, away from that fucking rat of a man who now lies in pieces less than a mile away from where she sleeps.
My breathing is harsh as the water sluices over me. She should have been safe under my fucking roof. I should have known better than to have him here, than to even fucking suggest it.
I should never have put her at risk.
The water turns cold, icy, and I embrace it, tipping my head up and attempting to chase the fire from my veins. My adrenaline is surging, the activity of the last hour not nearly enough to put the flames out.
Dismemberment was not enough for him. I could have ripped him apart over days, weeks, months. It still would not have been enough .
I debate going downstairs, going to join them, but I can’t look at her, can’t see the fear in her eyes, my own fucking failure reflected back at me.
Because I’m scared. Scared that she’ll look at me differently.
The twins will take care of her. They’re far, far better than me at that.
They’re what she needs right now.
Eventually, I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. I should wrap my knuckles, but my head is still turning over the images in my mind.
I can’t stop seeing it, the memory burned into my retinas even as I scrubbed his blood from the floor, every fucking inch of it so she didn’t have to be faced with it.
When I eventually walk into the bedroom, it takes me a moment to realize that someone is tapping on the door.
The gentle taps are soft. Cautious.
Undeniably hers.
My throat tightens, my feet eating up the space rapidly as I throw the door open. “What’s wrong?”
Stasi blinks at me, wrapping her arms around herself as she hesitates. “I… I couldn’t sleep. I just… I can’t —,”
It’s then that I notice her fingers shaking. My eyes rise up to meet hers, the fist in my chest tightening at the wetness there. She dashes her hand across her eyes to wipe at them, but it keeps coming.
“Come here,” I say roughly.
She meets me with a muffled sob, and I kick the door shut, wrapping my arms around her as she cries. She feels like air in my arms as I lift her, her arms lifting to wrap around my neck as I carry us both over to my bed, sitting on the edge. “Stasi. Where are the twins?”
They would never have left her like this.
She hiccups into my shoulder. “I asked them to go. I said… I was fine. I really was, and then I was on my own and I just wanted to not be alone.”
She looks up at me. “And then I thought that you were alone too. And before, when we were in your office – I didn’t feel so alone then, Silas. And I thought that maybe—,”
Her voice catches as I try to follow her words. She takes a breath.
“I thought that maybe we could be alone together.” Her words are nearly inaudible as she drops her face down, hiding her eyes from me.
Alone, together.
She sucks in a breath, and I watch as her skin flushes a dull red. “I’m sorry. This was… it was stupid. Just forget it. I’m going to go now.”
She tries to slide down from my lap, but my hands tighten around her. “Stop.”
She pauses, but she still doesn’t look at me. “I’m fine. Really. I just – I had a moment, and I thought…”
“What?” My voice is hoarse, my fingers so fucking gentle as they press beneath her chin. I need to see her face. “What did you think?”
Stasi’s eyes rake across my face. As if she sees me. All of me.
She has always looked at me like that, I realize suddenly. As though she sees all of the deepest, darkest parts of me. But she doesn’t turn away.
“I wanted you,” she says finally. As though the words are simple, even as she tilts my world on its axis. “I needed you . So, I’m here.”
Her admission fills the air between us, fills up my damn lungs until it feels like I can breathe properly for the first time in years. My eyes close for a single moment, just to let the words soak in. Because I need her, too.
I have always needed her.
And I inhale sharply, as soft lips press against mine.
Once.
Twice.
My mouth parts, and Anastasia twists on my lap, her hands sliding up to my face as she brushes my lower lip.
And then she pulls away. My eyes open.
“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, her face a deep, deep scarlet. “I just—,”
I cut the words off as my mouth covers hers. I mirror her movements, cupping her face, tilting it at just the right angle to taste her, my tongue slipping into her mouth. And it feels as if my entire life has been a build-up to this moment, to her in my arms, exactly where she fucking should be.
She moans beneath me, shifting, her legs wrapping around my waist as I slide my hand around the back of her neck, holding her to me.
I will never get enough. I knew it, knew it from the first touch of her lips on mine that I would be lost to her.
I told her that I wanted to own her.
But it has always been the other way around.
She gasps when I tug her back further, my mouth moving from hers to give me access to the soft skin of her neck. “Silas.”
The sound of my name on her lips is the best kind of music. I keep my touch gentle, my lips tasting her as I move down. And then I stop.
“Stasi,” I pull back, my eyes roving across my face as she watches me, flushed and soft and warm. “This is not the night.”
But she shakes her head, a hint of fire creeping into her eyes. “No. That night should have happened long ago. We’ve lost enough time, Silas. And I’m tired of just waiting around for the good things to happen to me, instead of taking them for myself.”
And she slams her mouth back against mine, her hands gripping my hair.
I groan into her and she drinks it down as my cock hardens beneath us, feeling the tentative brush of her over my lap as she moves. Her breath hitches when she feels it, and then she moves again.
“Stop that,” I murmur against her lips, “or you won’t be walking out of here tonight.”
And when she pulls her face back, there are sparks there. “If you think I’m walking away tonight, then I’m not doing this right.”
She shifts her hips, and my hands slide down to her waist.
“Are you sure?”
I will only ask once. I don’t have the willpower to ask any more. Not when I want her so fucking badly, so much that my own hands shake where they hold her.
When she nods, her arms tighten around my neck as I stand, keeping her close to me. She yelps when I turn us, and she bounces down onto the mattress. “Oh!”
I lean over her, placing my hands on either side of her head as she blinks up at me. My towel is dangerously close to slipping off my waist.
“You,” I say quietly, “are wearing far too many clothes, Anastasia.”
She doesn’t move her eyes from mine, but her hands drop down, to the hem of her black top. “Help me?”
I cover her hands with mine and help her pull the top over her head before tossing it to the side, leaving her bare to me, her breasts tipped with dusky brown nipples that stiffen beneath my gaze.
I can’t stop drinking her in, mapping her, tracing the hundreds of freckles dotting her skin with my eyes.
When she moves to cross her hands over herself, my hands snap out, gently circling her wrists.
“Don’t hide yourself from me,” my voice is fierce. “You’re beautiful, Anastasia.”
I told her something different, once. And regret stabs in my chest at the faint look of disbelief that flashes across her face.
“I didn’t think we would ever be here,” I say quietly. My hands take her wrists, lifting them and pressing them above her head. “Keep them up.”
She nods, and it fucking does something to me when she obeys me.
Almost as much as when she fights with me.
I slide my hands down her skin, down the softness of her arms and over her shoulders.
She stiffens when I cup her breasts, stroking my fingers over the hard nubs as her back arches, a breathy gasp slipping from her lips.
“These breasts were made for me,” my voice is husky. “Every single part of you was made for me, Anastasia. And everything I see is perfect.”
I will not let a day go past without reminding her, until those ghosts in her eyes disappear. Any response she might have given is swallowed by the choked sound she makes as I lean down, laving my tongue over her nipple before sealing my mouth over it and sucking.
My hands slip beneath her back as she moans, holding her up to me, one hand in the small of her lower back and my palm between her shoulder blades. Her hair trails out behind her, a mass of burgundy and cinnamon as though the fire in her soul is echoed by her body.
And tonight, she is mine.
I switch from one breast to the other, feeling her flex beneath my hands, her body undulating as she keeps her hands above her head, twisting and tugging the bedcovers.
My stubble scrapes across her sensitive skin, and I should care more about that, but all I care about is that I’m leaving my mark on her, branding her with me.
When I finally lay her down, she’s panting, her skin dewy and her forehead damp. I move back up to taste her again, our tongues dancing together as she lifts her hands to clasp around my neck, her breasts pressing against my bare chest.
Her hips lift, nudging me, and I break from her mouth to press a hot, damp trail down her neck, over her breasts and down. “So impatient, Anastasia.”
When I reach the waistband of her leggings, I trace my tongue just above the hem in sweeping strokes until she groans. “More.”