17. Cherry
17
CHERRY
I was starting to get used to Silar’s rapid departures, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I watched his retreating figure through the window and let out a frustrated breath. Having him touch me, his hands on my skin, his hips hitching against me had been… explosive . I was sure he felt it too, based on what I was certain had been a spontaneous alien orgasm… Or at least something big happening in the vicinity of his trousers.
But then he’d just disappeared. Again .
Clearly, communication is not my husband’s strong point.
Except for…
I want to put my tongue inside you.
You couldn’t get much clearer communication than that. There had been a broken sort of hunger in his voice when he’d said it. An honesty so raw and ragged that had made me want to give him everything.
I’d been close to coming myself.
I was, even now. Shakily, I dipped my fingers between my legs and I gasped at the molten wetness I found there. I leaned back against the wall, pressing my other hand over my breast in a pale imitation of Silar’s callous-roughened grip.
Stroking my clit in fast, firm motions, I came almost as fast as Silar had.
The orgasm did little to clear my head or help my mood. If anything, afterwards I just felt… gloomy. The room was too empty, the air too still.
I was probably an absolute dumbass for thinking it, for feeling it, but…
I missed Silar.
Well, he clearly wasn’t missing me, considering just how fast he’d hightailed it the hell out of here. It was pointless to get all up in my feelings about this situation. I needed to get back to looking at this as a more distant, formal arrangement. I was here to escape Magnus’ crime organization and to help Silar out with whatever it was he wanted me to do. I wasn’t here to catch feelings, especially if those feelings could have the undesired effect of pushing Silar away from me.
What if, one of these times after I kissed him, he walked away and he never came back?
My throat pinched painfully. I tore off my top and splashed back into the tub, sloshing water over my face so I could pretend the moisture wasn’t from tears. The water was lukewarm now. Not exactly pleasant, but better than before. I finished washing, using some of the soap and shampoo I’d brought with me, and sat stewing in the water for far too long.
Silar didn’t come back.
Doesn’t matter , I told myself as I dried off and dressed in new clothes.
Doesn’t matter , I repeated as I laundered my pyjamas, hung them to dry outside, made use of the outhouse, and ate a late brunch alone.
“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered aloud when night began to fall and Silar still hadn’t come in.
“What doesn’t matter?”
“Oh!” I whirled in the kitchen to find Silar standing in the doorway, his huge figure blocking the last of sunset’s rays, turning him into a velvety shadow. “I didn’t hear you!”
“You were banging the logs around and muttering to yourself,” he told me. “Probably hindered your hearing.”
I flushed, because he was right. I’d been shoving some logs into the oven and none-too-gently, either.
“What doesn’t matter?” asked the shadow that was my husband. Suddenly, his eyes glowed.
“Oh. Nothing. Never mind,” I said, embarrassed by how annoyed I’d been all day. How hurt.
Those white eyes remained on me for a long moment before he grunted and turned away.
Oh, great. Now he’s leaving again.
Except he didn’t. He didn’t walk away but just turned to grab something behind him, hoisting a very large object into the air. When it became clear he wanted to bring it inside, I hurried forward to grab the door and hold it open for him.
Silar turned the object in his hands and brought it sideways through the doorway. Then he put it down on its wooden legs where it was illuminated by the dregs of dusk and the light of the fire.
“The table! You’re already finished with it?”
“Chair’s done too,” he said, already heading back outside, presumably to grab it. He came back a moment later, placing a brand-new chair down at the table.
I should not feel so happy about a table and a chair, I scolded myself as I grinned and ran into the bedroom for the other chair. But I just couldn’t help it. Yes, Silar may have bolted earlier. But he’d finished the table, which meant he still wanted to sit and take his meals with me. That had to count for something. Didn’t it?
“I would have brought that,” Silar said, coming towards me as I carried the older chair into the kitchen.
“It’s alright,” I said brightly. “I’m stronger than I look.” I chucked down the chair then patted its back. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to sit down?” I patted the chair again. “I’ve been wanting to get another look at your ears, anyway.”
The mention of ears sent Silar stiffening. I remembered brushing my fingers against them as we kissed. Touching them when his whole body had lurched against mine with the force of his involuntary climax.
“I won’t touch them!” I added on a hasty breath.
Silar hesitated, then, as if realizing he could not outrun his wife’s stubborn resolve, he came around the table and sat down, removing his hat. As promised, I didn’t touch him, even though I really wanted to. Not even necessarily in a sexual way. I just… wanted to touch him. Stroke the aqua glory of his long hair. Massage the tense muscles at his shoulders until they loosened. Just like before, he was shirtless, though I noticed with a squeeze of satisfaction that he was wearing new trousers.
“They look better, I think,” I said, peering at the edges of his ears. The blackness had receded, and the skin overall looked smoother.
“They are,” he said stiffly. His ears twitched, as if he expected me to touch them despite my promise. They really were way too fucking cute. A big, bulky, masculine marvel of a male like Silar really had no business having adorable, round, cartoonish ears like those.
I wanted to touch them so badly.
But I wanted to keep my promise to him more. So I balled my hands into fists and went to the oven. Wrapping my hand in a spare towel, I pulled out my cast iron. I’d been experimenting with heating up some of the food in the cellar, and had meat and eggs heaped in the pan. I spooned the food onto plates and brought them over, placing one plate down in front of Silar and the other on the other side of the table before sitting down across from him.
The table was small. Intimate. Perfect for two. If I reached over, I’d be able to grab Silar’s hand as he reached for a piece of meat.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, seeming gruffly surprised that I’d prepared dinner for him again.
“You just said that about carrying the chair, too,” I reminded him with a small shake of my head. “I know you said you don’t have any expectations of me here, but I want to be useful. I want to help you with things.”
His eyes, which had dimmed back to blue, burned briefly white.
I turned my attention primly down to my plate while internally screaming about the fact that I had no clue what sort of emotion he was feeling right now. “Besides,” I went on, “I’m used to working twelve-hour-shifts at the factory. I’m not used to just sitting around doing nothing. I’m happy to cook. Or garden. Help with the animals. Anything.”
Silar watched me intently, appearing to consider what I’d said as I began to eat.
“There is a lot of work to be done,” he said at length.
I nodded eagerly. “Put me to work, then! I want to. Really.”
He scrubbed his knuckles against the underside of his jaw then finally growled in agreement.
“I’ll show you a few things tomorrow.”
“Great!” I was probably overly cheery in my reply, but I really was feeling encouraged by his response. I had to find a way to win him over so that I could stay here. Seduction seemed out of the question. While it was clear I had a physical effect on him, that effect didn’t exactly seem positive. He seemed almost frightened of his own desires for me. Or maybe even disgusted. If I pushed him too far, I could push him away entirely. But if I could show him what a good worker I was, maybe he’d grow to admire me, respect me, love me, and –
Hold on. Love me?
I stopped chewing mid-bite, staring blankly at Silar as he shoved some meat into his mouth.
Did I actually want my husband to love me?
Maybe I had been lonely. Maybe I had been searching for something. Maybe I was still chest-deep in grief for Mama.
But love? Here? With him? A man who talked more to his animals than he did to me?
Oh, God . How stupid was I?
This was even worse than borrowing money from the mob. At least the worst outcome of that scenario only ended up with me being dead.
The outcome of this scenario, of falling for Silar and hoping for my unrequited feelings to be returned…
That would end in heartbreak. Which was a million fucking times worse.
Silar’s as solid as they come . The warden had told me so, and I believed him. Silar was good. Decent. Loyal, I hoped, if I could prove myself worthy of such loyalty.
But could he actually love me? Did he even want to?
Somehow, I doubted it. And that hurt a hell of a whole lot more than I wanted to acknowledge. A hell of a lot more than it should have.
With a huge amount of effort, I swallowed my half-chewed bite of egg. When I looked down at my plate again, the food was blurred by a veil of tears.
I shouldn’t be crying over this. I shouldn’t be crying at all. I was safe. I was alive.
I was lucky.
My husband might not end up loving me but he had built me a table and everything was going to be alright…
Probably.