61. Lilith
CHAPTER SIXTY ONE
“ S hit!” I staggered back, clutching my nose. “Ow, fuck!”
Across the room, Finn was doubled over again st his desk, laughing so hard he looked like he might actually pass out.
“You’re so bad at this!” he wheezed. “It’s actually painful to watch.”
I shot him a glare, scooping the ball back up off the floor. “It’s your fault for having a stupid hoop in your stupid office.”
“Yeah? And whose fault is it for deciding to play when they have the coordination of a baby giraffe?” His grin spread even wider.
“Oh, screw you.” I narrowed my eyes, squaring my stance again. “Watch this.”
I flicked my wrist, trying to mimic whatever weird wizardry Finn used to make it look so effortless.
The ball soared, well, more like flopped before it bounced off the side of the trash can and landed with a sad thunk on the floor.
Finn clapped his hands together. “Amazing! Incredible! Truly a once in a lifetime performance.”
“Oh, bite me.”
“Ohhh, you’re mad.” His grin was wolfish as he grabbed the ball and spun it on his fingertip like some smug Globetrotter reject. “Need me to show you how it’s done, rookie?”
He cocked his arm back and launched the ball. It hit the rim, circled once, and wobbled out.
“Ohhh,” I dragged out the sound. “Amazing! Incredible! Truly a once in a lifetime performance.”
He flicked a pencil at me.
“Hey!” I dodged it—barely—and snatched the ball back up.
Bef ore I could attempt another shot, the door creaked open, and Finn’s assistant poked her head in.
“Um… I’m sorry Mr. Everly, Miss Whitlock,” she said carefully. “But Mr. Graves has politely requested that you both,” she cleared her throat. “Shut the fuck up.”
Finn clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Don’t sugarcoat it, Claire.”
Her face turned pink, but she smirked as she turned and left, muttering something about ‘children in suits.’
We both snickered. Finn tossed a lazy salute toward the door. “Love you too, Claire.”
Still grinning, I wandered into the office next door, chucking the ball at Finn on my way out.
Silas sat behind his desk, leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t moved an inch. Only now, his fingers were drumming steadily against the armrest, his eyes locked on his monitors.
“You okay, big guy?” I teased, dropping into the chair opposite him. “Getting jealous?”
He scoffed. “Pfft. No.” He paused. “Yes.” His eyes flicked up to mine, sharper now. “Absolutely.”
His hand lifted, two fingers curling in a ‘come here now’ motion.
I barely made it around the desk before his hand shot out, fingers circling my wrist as he yanked me down into his lap.
“Oof—Jesus!” I huffed, twisting slightly in his hold.
His arm slid securely around my waist, pinning me there.
“Just double checking a few things from around the time of the attack,” he murmured, chin brushing my shoulder as he leaned over to the monitors.
Over the past few weeks, Silas had settled.
He still hunted, still obsessed over finding Clark.
But it wasn’t consuming him anymore. The dark circles beneath his eyes had faded.
The sorely locked tension in his shoulders had eased.
He kept it contained now—a few focused hours every day, nothing more.
No more all-nighters. No more disappearing into the office for endless hours, skipping meals and barely speaking.
And I was grateful. For both of us.
Because as much as I wanted Clark caught—and I did—I didn’t want to lose Silas in the process.
“You know,” I said, leaning back slightly into his chest. “If this was some elaborate ploy to get me on your lap, you could’ve just asked.”
I felt his chest shake with a quiet laugh, the warmth of it spreading down my spine. “Damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t realise that was an option.”
I smirked, tilting my head enough to catch his eyes. “It’s always an option.”
His lips twitched into a small smile and his arm curled a little tighter around my waist, thumb stroking absently against my hip. Just holding me.
I turned my att ention back to the monitors, my gaze sweeping over the grainy CCTV feeds. Static twitched across the screen as people passed by, strangers coming and going, faces blurring together in smudged shades of grey, live movements flickering like ghosts caught on tape.
“Here. Gimme,” I said, reaching for the mouse.
“What are you doing?”
“Shhh,” I hushed, as I dragged the cursor across the screen. “I’ve got this.”
The footage jumped back a few minutes, the dull monochrome playing out like some weird, silent film. A man in his late twenties crossed the street, hair slicked back, suit wrinkled like he’d been wearing it for two days straight.
“That guy,” I said, pointing at the screen. “His name’s Jeremy. Works in finance but secretly hates it. He’s only doing it because his dad’s some big shot investment banker, but what he really wants to do is open a cat café.”
Silas huffed a quiet laugh. “A cat café?”
“Don’t judge Jeremy,” I shot back. “He’s tired of wearing ties. He just wants to let sleepy cats drool on his lap while he sips tea.”
I clicked the screen again, scrolling randomly. More strangers drifted by. A guy in a hoodie. A couple holding hands. A kid on a scooter.
“Your turn,” I said.
He shook his head. “I’m not—”
“Come on,” I pushed. “What’s his deal?” I pointed to a man leaning against a lamppost, puffing away on a cigarette.
Silas sighed, but he leaned forward, resting his chin on my shoulder. “That’s… uh… Eric,” he muttered. “Used to be a bouncer, but he gave it up after breaking a guy’s nose in a bar fight.”
I snorted. “Eric looks like he cries at Pixar movies.”
“Exactly,” Silas shot back, the breath of a smile ghosting against my neck. “He’s got a seven-year-old daughter. Loves dinosaurs. Keeps her little plastic T-rex in his jacket pocket because she’s convinced it’s a good luck charm.”
I grinned. “That’s surprisingly adorable.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, dragging his lips across my shoulder.
I bit my lip and tipped my head to the side, giving him better access. And when he kissed just below my ear, something hot and electric flickered down my spine, and a breathless sound escaped me.
“Feel good?” he asked, voice low, dripping with heat.
“Mhm…” My thighs clenched beneath his hands.
His fingers slid higher, creeping beneath the hem of my skirt, thumbs grazing over the soft skin. Too slow. Too teasing. It wasn’t enough—nowhere near enough.
“Sei così mo rbida,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to my shoulder, lips dragging over the curve of my neck. “Così dannatemente perfetta.”
Something about being so soft. Something about being perfect.
I’d been picking up the odd few words here and there, but right now, there was no way I could even attempt to string them together properly.
All I could do was feel.
So I rocked my hips against him, rolling slow, pressing down just enough to hear that low, guttural sound crawl up his throat.
“Gesù…” His fingers dug in, gripping my thighs hard enough to leave marks. Marks I wanted.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed, grinding down harder.
“Not planning to, sweetheart,” he growled, teeth scraping the side of my neck.
His hands moved, one slipping under my shirt, warm and rough across my hip as he helped to guide me back and forth across his cock, the other dipping lower.
His fingers teased at my waistband, knuckles brushing against the pulse hammering low in my belly.
My breath hitched and I ground down harder, chasing the friction.
“Look at you,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “So desperate.”
I was. I always was for him. I reached back, curling my fingers into his hair and twisting my head round, pulling his mouth to mine in a heated, messy kiss.
“Tell me what you want,” he muttered, his voice breaking against my lips.
“You,” I gasped. “I want you.”
“God, you’re—”
“Fifteen minutes!” Finn’s voice rang out like a gunshot.
Silas’ grip tightened around my waist, barely steadying me before I slid to the floor. “Gesù Cristo!” he barked, twisting to glare at Finn.
Finn stood in the doorway, arms spread wide. “You’ve been alone for fifteen minutes!” he repeated. “For fuck’s sake!”
“Stavo per scoparmi la mia donna,” Silas muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Oh yeah?” Finn snorted. “Well, maybe next time don’t take fifteen minutes just to get to second base.”
“Vaffanculo,” Silas shot back.
Finn grinned. “Ma vaffanculo tu.”
“Testa di cazzo.”
“Idioti,” I snapped. “Can you two stop flirting for five seconds.”
Finn didn’t respond. He just shoved the door shut and strode across the room, yanking his phone out of his pocket, and slamming it down on Silas’ desk.
“Okay,” he said. “Speak.”
“Took you idiots long enough to answer.”