11. Jack #2
I can still smell her perfume filling my nostrils. Hear her body falling down the stairs, feel every memory scraping against my ribs.
Silas tightens his hold on me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other locked around my waist. His chest rises and falls against mine, steady and slow, trying to pull my breathing into rhythm with his.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with worry. “I’ve got you.” He shifts, his thumb slowly stroking the back of my head, slow and grounding. “Breathe with me,” he whispers. “Right here. With me.”
I try, and fail. My lungs seize again, and another sob tears out of me, raw and broken.
Silas doesn’t flinch, not letting go. He holds me like he’s holding a fragile glass vase. Precious under his touch.
His lips press gently against any part of my skin he can reach. His hands move over my back and arms in slow, careful strokes, and I can feel his fingers tremble against my skin.
A rough sound escapes me, and his hands stop instantly. The tremors inside me settle just enough for my lungs to catch, enough for me to breathe, enough for me to handle his touch.
Nobody else touches me. Not Finn, Eli. Nobody.
Only Silas.
Silas holds me until my body calms, until my tears dry on my cheeks.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. “Later.” I’m not ready. Not yet. I need something else first. I need to feel something that isn’t fear.” I lean back, and press my hand to my chest. “I need to feel here. I need to feel alive.
I shift in his lap, my body moving without thought, seeking more pressure, more contact, seeking anything that pulls me out of the dream still clinging to my skin. The movement drags a rough sound from my throat, and Silas’s arms tighten around me, steady and protective.
“I need to feel,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “Silas… help me.” I pull back just enough to look at him, my forehead pressed to his. “Please.”
He lifts his hand and rests it on the nape of my neck.
“You sure, baby? You just woke up screaming, it’s not the…”
“I know.” Interrupting him. “I need to feel something, Silas. I need to feel you. Please… Just for a little while.”
Silas’s thumb strokes the back of my neck, his forehead presses to mine, his breath warm against my cheek. He doesn’t move in a way that pushes anything further. He just holds me, firm and present, letting me feel the weight of him, the warmth of him, the steadiness of him.
“I’m right here,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I shift closer, seeking pressure, seeking contact, seeking something that pulls me out of the dream still clinging to my skin. Silas tightens his arms around me, keeping me anchored against him, keeping me safe.
“Let me help you breathe first,” he whispers. “Let me get you back.” His voice imploring me to agree.
I nod, “Okay.”
“I’ve got you,” he says again, voice low and sure. “Feel me here. Feel me holding you.”
I do as I’m told, my bare chest brushing against his bare skin. His hands still move slowly over my skin, and then he turns me, gently laying me on the bed.
He looks at me now, his hands planted on the bed an inch from my skin, his knees bracketing my thighs, and I feel his closeness begin to wrap around me like a warm blanket, till all I can see is him.
I swallow hard, my body reacting to his heat, and I shift slightly, my cock seeking contact, but he pulls his hips away.
“Baby… I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He says, leaning down, pressing a small kiss to my lips.
Frustration rips through me and a growl escapes me, making my needs clear. Silas’ arms wrap around me, his weight dropping as he pulls me into him.
“Okay… easy,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
I bare my throat to Silas, and he understands the invitation, the request I’m giving him.
He leans in, brushing gentle touches along my neck. His mouth is soft, his breath warm, on my skin.
I haven’t touched him yet, and my fingers tighten on my pajama pants, every instinct screaming at me to push him off, to keep the distance that has always made me feel safe.
But when I look at Silas, there’s no demands, or expectancy in his eyes, all I see is care, devotion. Perhaps love?
“Please Silas. Help me feel something good.” I reach up and kiss him lightly. “Make the bad go away. I trust you, Sol.”
He closes his eyes at my last words, then opens them again, tears gathering along his lashes.
“Oh, dove.”
Silas’ fingers tighten against my skin, and my whole body tenses, bracing for a ghost that isn’t there anymore. He feels the panic ripple through me and releases his grip at once, sliding his hand up to cradle my face like I’m something fragile enough to shatter.
“You’re mine, Jack,” he says softly, “but that means I protect what you give me. Your trust, your permission. You.”
His thumb strokes my cheek, slow and steady, grounding me. “I promise I will never just take it,” he whispers. “And I will never break it.”
Tears stream down my temple as I stare up at him, the shadows of the past still clinging to the edges of my vision. I swallow hard, reaching out to press my palm over his.
Silas has always given me the space to breathe, to decide what I want. Always given me a choice. So, I choose. Him.
“Silas?” My voice shakes, barely more than a breath. “Touch me.”
His eyes soften, something fierce and tender flickering through them. His lips crash to mine, and I open for him. He devours me, one lick at a time. Owning my mouth. Owning me.
For the first time in my life, touch doesn’t feel like something painful. It feels like something I’m choosing to keep.