28. Silas #2
I rubbed a damp hand over my face, and yanked my hoodie back on, trying to ignore the lava still coursing through my veins.
By the time I came back out, she was still slumped against the counter, blinking drowsily at nothing. Fucked out and exhausted, eyes heavy, body boneless, like she was seconds from slipping under.
I crouche d in front of her, my damp shirt balled in my hands, the fabric cool from the sink. I’d soaked it, let the water chill it down, knowing she’d need it.
“Let me clean you up,” I murmured.
She gave a slow, sleepy nod.
I started at her thighs, dragging the soft cotton over her skin, deliberate and unhurried. Worshipping even this. The taking care of her. The quiet reverence of it. Because every part of her deserved to be looked after.
The second the cloth met the swollen, oversensitive flesh between her legs, she flinched, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said, hands pulling back.
I’d hurt her.
No, no, no.
Her breath shuddered. “It’s okay.” But her voice was thin, a little raw.
I forced myself to move with even more care, smoothing the damp fabric over her with feather-light strokes, cleaning her up without hurting her, without taking more than she could give.
The tension in her limbs slowly melted away, her breathing evening out, shoulders sagging.
She was okay.
I pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, lingering there for just a second, just long enough to breathe her in. “Sit behind the counter, sweetheart. Rest.”
She hummed, stretching through her exhaustion. “Mmm. I like that name.”
Heat curled in my chest, deep and unexpected. I didn’t know where the name had come from. But… I liked it too.
I pushed to my feet, forcing myself to step away. The air between us still crackled, thick with something I couldn’t name, but I needed to focus. One thing at a time.
The counter came first. I used the T-shirt, wiping away the filthy, beautiful evidence of what we’d done—not that it mattered.
The imprint of her was everywhere. In the air.
On my skin. In my goddamn bloodstream. I stacked the fallen books, putting everything back where it belonged, not forgetting to pick up her discarded underwear.
By the time I was done, she was curled up behind the counter, her head resting against the wall. Nearly asleep. Completely spent.
I crouched down, fingers skimming over her knee to coax her back to me. “Lilith, let’s get you home.”
Her lashes fluttered, eyes barely opening, but she didn’t resist. Just gave me the smallest nod as I pulled her up and wrapped her coat around her, tucking it close. She felt small like this, delicate in a way I knew better than to believe, but still, I handled her carefully .
I slung her bag over my shoulder as she moved, locking up the store, checking the door once, then again. Then she turned, took a deep breath, and started walking.
“No.”
She frowned, turning toward me in confusion, but I didn’t let her question it. My palm found her lower back, and she let me guide her across the street to where my car sat.
I pulled open the passenger door and gestured for her to enter. “Get in.”
I rounded the car, slid into the driver’s side, buckled up, and started the engine. The quiet purr filled the space between us, but she was already leaning back, lashes low, breath steady.
Trusting me to get her home.
And fuck —if that didn’t do something to me.
The second I shifted into drive, her hand moved—fingers curling around mine, tugging it onto her lap.
I tensed, breath catching, but I didn’t say anything, just let my palm settle against her thigh.
I kept my grip loose, my thumb moving in slow, absentminded strokes over her skin as I drove.
The city blurred past in streaks of gold and neon, the hum of tyres against wet pavement a low, steady rhythm between us.
Traffic lights pulsed red, green, amber, casting fleeting shadows across her face as she stared out of the window, her body slack with exhaustion.
The drive to her house hadn’t been long—fifteen minutes, maybe—but when I glanced over at her, she was already asleep. Her head was tilted slightly, lips parted. Her coat had slipped off one shoulder, fingers curled in her lap. She looked peaceful.
I didn’t want to wake her. Didn’t want to pull her from the quiet, exhausted calm that had settled over her. But I had to.
I shut off the engine, unbuckled my seatbelt, and stepped out into the cold. The temperature hit me immediately, sharp and biting, but I ignored it, rounding the car to the passenger side and opening the door.
Crouching down, I reached for her hand, brushing my fingers over hers. “Lilith,” I murmured.
Nothing.
I hesitated, watching her for a second, then sighed. “Sweetheart, I’d carry you in, but I don’t know where your keys are.”
She made a noise—half-groan, half-exhale—stretching lazily before cracking one eye open. Her voice was thick with exhaustion, but she still managed to mutter, “Ugh. You’re lucky I’m too tired to unpack whatever the fuck that just did to me.”
She pushe d herself upright, grumbling under her breath as she climbed out of the car. I stood, watching as she trudged up the short steps to her front door, shoulders hunched against the cold, keys jingling weakly in her hand.
She heaved out a sigh so heavy I could feel it from the car. Then, she turned, stomped back down the steps, grabbed me by the wrist, and started pulling.
“No. Stop with this shit,” she mumbled. “Get in the house.”
I followed. No hesitation. No argument. No chance in hell I was doing anything else.
The door clicked shut and she locked it, shrugging off her coat and tossing it over the back of her couch.
Her boots came next, kicked off carelessly, barely missing the wall.
Then, without a word, she grabbed my wrist again and started toward the stairs.
I kicked off my own shoes as we went, trailing behind, tethered to her.
Up the stairs.
To the right.
Straight to her bedroom.
She didn’t flick on the light, didn’t pause or hesitate, just climbed straight into bed and pulled me down with her.
The second my back hit the mattress, she curled into me, wrapping herself around me like I was something familiar. Something safe.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I adjusted, as I got comfortable, as I exhaled into the quiet.
My arm slid around her, fingers pressing lightly against the small of her back, anchoring her to me.
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, only broken by the soft sound of her breathing.
My heart was still hammering, a deep, steady pulse that I felt in every inch of my body.
My arm slid around her, fingers pressing lightly against the small of her back, grounding her, anchoring her to me.
Then, her voice broke the silence. “I want to see you.”
I swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling, barely daring to breathe. “You can’t.”
A deep, frustrated sigh left her, warm air ghosting against my chest. “Why?”
I closed my eyes, willing my pulse to slow. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s not fair,” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it still landed like a blade, slicing through my ribs.
“You take care of me. You touch me like I’m glass.
You—” she stopped short, words tangling in the fragile space between us.
“You’ve seen me bare. Had parts of me I didn’t think I’d give to someone.
And I don’t even get to see your face? Or know your name? How’s that fair?”
“I know.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy before she spoke again, softer this time. “I don’t want it to be like this.”
She shifted against me, the steady rhythm of her breath seeping into my ribs. “This is fun, but…”
She trailed off, but I knew what she meant.
I stayed still, letting her weight sink into me, letting her words carve into my flesh and bone.
She was right.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give her that. I couldn’t show her me. No matter how much I wanted to.
“I’m sorry.” My voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the lead behind it.
She sighed, something like acceptance curling at the edges of disappointment. She didn’t pull away—but she didn’t cling to me either.
Instead, she just lay there, quiet, her fingers idly tracing shapes against my stomach, but there was a distance now.
A slow, crushing pressure worked its way into my chest.
I’d done this. I was the one keeping her at arm’s length, the one who refused to give her what she wanted. The one who stupidly thought that what I was giving her was enough.
But it wasn’t enough.
I’d made this decision.
And now, I was watching the realisation settle into her bones as the truth unfolded.
This was a goodbye in disguise.
I understood. I did. I wasn’t making her happy. I was hurting her, keeping her trapped in something that could never be what she deserved.
I didn’t want to let her go.
Fuck, I really didn’t want to let her go.
But this was better.
This was how it should be.
I could go back to keeping her safe from a distance. Watching, protecting, making sure nothing touched her.
She wouldn’t have to carry the weight of me.
She could live her life without the damage I would inevitably bring.
I could look after her without ever subjecting her to pain.
That would be enough.
It had to be.