59. Lilith #2
Finn clapped his hands together. “Come on, Lils.”
I exhaled, hands dropping to my hips. Would it make it weird if I played Eye of the Tiger over the speakers? Because I was going to make an ass of myself either way.
“Crunches or punches?”
I shot him a look. “I’m not doing crunches in front of him .”
From the weight bench, Silas lifted a brow and smirked.
Point proven.
“Yeah, okay, fair.” Finn snorted as he strolled over to the storage rack, grabbing the training pads and slipping them onto his hands like it was second nature.
I, however, was living through a personal crisis.
Because this was so humiliating.
I’d been existing in a little bubble of very secret training. Now? Now, I was about to make an absolute ass of myself in front of Mr. Six-Foot-Something -Intimidating-As-Shit-God-Tier-CEO—who, by the way, was watching me like I was a case study in ‘How Not To Throw a Punch.’
I was going to throw up.
“Okay,” Finn said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I blew out a breath, rolling my shoulders, shaking out the tension crawling up my spine.
Just focus.
“Jab, cross,” he instructed.
I threw the punches, knuckles cracking solid against the pads.
“That was better than last time. Now, keep your elbows tucked.”
I did it again. Stronger. Tighter.
“Hook.”
I pivoted, threw my weight behind it, and smacked the pad as hard as I could.
Finn’s brows lifted. “Damn, okay.”
A low hum came from the weight bench.
I turned, catching Silas’ gaze just as he gave me a slow, approving nod, flicking his fingers in a ‘carry on’ gesture.
“Good for defence?” Finn asked, shaking out his arms.
I rolled my shoulders and nodded.
When we first started, the idea of anyone coming at me would’ve had me flinching, scrambling back, looking for the nearest exit. I would’ve panicked, hesitated too long, left myself wide open.
But now? Now my brain didn’t completely short circuit at the first sign of movement. I didn’t freeze. I didn’t immediately think ‘ run.’
I knew what to do. I might not have been good at it. But I was better.
“Good. I’m gonna go faster this time. That good with you?” Finn asked.
“Yeah.”
He tested me first—light taps, nothing serious. I deflected, adjusting when he switched angles, shifting my weight like he’d drilled into me over and over again.
Then he came at me properly.
I blocked. Sloppy, but I still did it. My arms ached from the impact, but I didn’t flinch, didn’t stagger. I kept my footing.
“Nice,” Finn said, circling me. “Stay with me.”
Another strike. Another block. A shuffle back. A pivot.
I was doing it. Not perfect, not clean. And I was definitely a little sweaty, and a little wheezy. But I was cracking on.
Finn threw a sequence—fast, sharp, more pressure than before. I adjusted, blocked, pushed through—
“Ow, ow—stop, stop!” I doubled over clutching my side, wincing .
Finn dropped his hands immediately. “Shit, what happened?”
“Stitch,” I panted, pressing my palm to my diaphragm. “Just—give me a sec.”
The weight bench creaked, and Silas was on his feet, crossing the space, eyes locked on me. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
I waved him off, sucking in a breath and vaguely gesturing at my midsection. “Yeah, I’m just, you know,” I dropped my voice to a stage whisper, “fat.”
Finn snorted. “You do have that whole human body thing going on.”
Silas did not snort.
Or laugh.
Or react in any way that indicated he was amused in the slightest.
His brows dipped, jaw tensing, lips pressing into a hard line.
I still had no idea why that offended him so much.
“Silas.”
Nothing.
Finn sighed. “Dude, it’s a joke.”
Silas didn’t even blink. “Don’t care. We’re done.”
I frowned. “What?”
“I said we’re done.”
I gawked at him. “It’s barely been half an hour.”
“Don’t care.”
Finn made a confused gesture between us. “Wait, wait, wait. Why are we done?”
Silas was staring me down. Like really staring me down. Like he had one thing on his mind, and it wasn’t throwing punches.
“Oh, dude,” Finn’s face twisted. “In the gym? That’s insane.”
Silas didn’t look away. “Shut the fuck up, Finn.”
Finn pointed between us, horror setting in. “This is some real weird, borderline incestuous shit for me personally, and I refuse to be a part of it.”
“Leave faster,” Silas snapped.
Finn threw his hands up, grabbed his shirt off the weight rack, and turned on his heel. “Gladly.”
I squinted at Silas as Finn all but bolted out of the penthouse. “What the hell was that?”
He still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t blinked. Just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes locked onto me.
I forced out a laugh, shifting my weight. “If I knew getting a stitch would get you like this, I’d be exercising every damn day.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. And still didn’t move.
What the fuck was this?
“Silas?” My voice came out weaker than I wanted it to, which—no. Unacceptable. I cleared my throat, straightening my spine. “What the hell are you doing?”
Nothing. Just that look.
“Are you gonna say something? Or just keep looking at me like that?”
He inhaled, fingers flexing at his sides. “Like what?”
“Like I just benched five hundred pounds and called you a little bitch while doing it.”
That almost got a smirk. Almost.
But then he took a step forward.
And I backed up.
His eyes darkened.
Oh, shit.
I pointed a finger at him. “No.”
He didn’t stop.
“Silas.”
Still coming.
I hit the mirrored wall.
Fuck.
His breath was steady. Controlled. But his eyes? They were pure sin.
“Are we having a staring contest? Or is there something you wanna share with the class?” I asked shakily.
His bottom lip caught between his teeth, slow, deliberate, like he was holding something dangerous back.
Oh, hello.
My stomach flipped, but my mouth ran off before my brain could get a word in. “Oh my God. Is this a primal thing? Like, you saw me fight, and now your cave man brain is like ‘must claim woman?’”
Big mistake. Huge.
He hauled me against his chest so fast my feet barely kept up. One hand pressed into my waist, the other curled against the back of my neck. His breath was warm against my ear. “You think you’re funny, sweetheart? Keep pushing.”
I pressed both hands against his chest, feeling the heat of him, the inked lines of his tattoos shifting under my fingers, the steady drum of his pulse where my palms lay flat against his skin.
My heart did something embarrassing, but I forced out a deep, regret laced sigh. “Silas, I stink right now.”
His grip didn’t budge. If anything, it tightened, his fingers spreading against my waist. “Not a dealbreaker.”
“No, please. It’s gross.”
I tried pushing against his chest, tried leaning back, tried—fuck, I don’t know—willing him to release me with my mind. But he stayed exactly where he was, a brick wall of heat and ink and pure, unwavering determination.
I sighed. “Fine. Let me shower first.”
“Sure thing,” he said, all easy, all agreeable—right before he bent at the waist, grabbed me like I weighed nothing and threw me over his shoulder.
“What the fuck!”
The world flipped upside down, my stomach dropped, and suddenly, I was staring at his broad back, his ridiculous muscles, his unfairly perfect skin.
Then he smacked my ass. Hard.
“Silas!” I yelped, palms smacking against his back as he strode out of the gym like this was completely normal behaviour. “Put me down!”
“Mmm,” he mused. “No.”
I kicked. He dodged. I flailed. He laughed.
He carried me straight into the bathroom, kicked the door shut behind him, stepped into the shower with me fully clothed, and turned the spray on.
Ice cold water slammed into me.
I shrieked. Loudly.
“You fucking psychopath!”
He set me down with a smirk, hands already gripping the hem of my sweat-soaked shirt, yanking it up over my head.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, unhooking my bra. “I’m just helping.”
“I swear to God—”
My shorts? Gone. My underwear? Gone.
He smirked, ripping his own pants down, leaving nothing between us and I snapped my gaze to the ceiling.
He huffed out a quiet laugh, grabbing the soap and lathering his hands, gliding them over my skin. Fast. Efficient. Thorough.
And, oh . Oh, was he thorough.
Fingers swept down my stomach, over my ribs, between my thighs. Every. Inch.
“All clean,” he said with a smile. “Time for bed.”
I couldn’t even breathe before he was wrapping me in a towel, hauling me back over his shoulder and marching straight out of the bathroom—naked, dripping wet, and completely unbothered.