17. Silas
17
SILAS
I wish I hadn’t said anything about wanting to talk or explain or whatever it was I said in the cab. I’d love to refer to my notes, but I don’t need to. I’d been honest, which is easy enough to do in a stream of consciousness. “This doesn’t have to be complicated,” I say, partly to myself, but meant for him, too.
Graham is leaning, arms and legs crossed, against his kitchen island, staring at me. Waiting. Restlessness is making a mess of me. So much energy to burn and only one way I want to do it. I assume he’s on the same page—bringing me here, but I’ve turned him wary. Somewhere along the way I went too far trying to pretend I have any sort of boundaries, or I wasn’t interested.
The truth is, I’ve been too interested from the start. He feels like my fate. While I believe in coincidences, I don’t think his persistent presence in my life can be explained away that easily. He’s more like a lesson I’m supposed to learn. And like I told him, I don’t think it’s going to be a good lesson.
The more distance I’ve gotten from Ben’s bed, though, the more memories I’ve had of last night, and the more I can’t stand myself. Ben never said he wanted me back, but he knows me well enough to know that would have sent me running. Instead, he’d fed me shots and long looks, coaxed me onto the dance floor so I could remember the way we moved together.
He kissed me, and I melted. Going home with him was a mistake, but I was too dick drunk to refuse. I’m lucky he passed out after I blew him, but not before he kissed and jerked me to orgasm, hence the stained underwear I’m no longer wearing.
Last night makes the breakup feel like a raw wound. Unnecessary and unnecessarily painful. It hurts enough that I’m ready to make a bigger, better mistake.
“So, you showed up,” I begin.
Graham nods, giving me nothing.
“But you didn’t want to run, you wanted to bring me here.”
That puts a twist on his mouth, and he breaks eye contact.
“I’m not knocking it. I came, didn’t I?” I say, like he needs the reminder that I am, in fact, here.
“You said you wanted me.”
“I do want you,” I admit. “But if you want to know why, I won’t have an answer other than I think you’re hot.”
“Yeah, all right. Well, I guess I should let you know Avery and I actually had sex. She wants kids, and I figure that’s probably a good idea.”
The words hit me like a slap. I hate knowing that. My face gets cold, and my lips tingle. Tightness fills my chest, and my clothes feel like they’re strangling me. “I’m sure you’re right,” I choke out. “How was it?”
“The sex?”
I nod.
“Unexpected.”
That doesn’t answer my question. “What does that mean?”
“It just sort of happened. I didn’t get much say in it.”
“Did it feel good?”
“It was fine.”
“Does she make your dick hard?” I ask .
“Not…no.”
“Do I?”
He sighs. “I don’t know.”
Maybe I like the competition, but his confession emboldens me. “Are you planning to let me try?” I ask, taking a step toward him. He uncrosses his arms, and I take it as an invitation to move closer. I stop about a foot away.
“I guess I’m easy, too,” he says.
I glance down at the newly formed tent in his pressed pants. “You want me to take care of that?”
“We’re done talking?”
“We can be. Just say the word.”
“What is this?” Graham asks softly.
“It’s whatever you need,” I tell him.
“Me? Why?”
“I told you not to ask me that. You’re hot. I want you. And I want you to fuck me.”
He swallows so hard, I hear it.
“But I guess I’m not the only one who wants you,” I say, hesitating, and using every ounce of willpower in me not to palm the outline of his erect cock. “You think you might be bi?”
Graham shakes his head, a rough breath issuing from his nose.
“But you like the feeling of something warm and wet wrapped around your cock, don’t you?”
“Silas…”
I reach for his belt buckle, and he doesn’t stop me, but as I’m slipping the leather through the loops, I meet his smoldering gaze and ask, “Is this okay?”
He nods.
“Use your words, Senator.”
“Yes,” he breathes, strangled.
“We don’t have to do this,” I tell him. “We can walk away right now. You can go do your wife and make babies, and I can pretend I don’t know you. That I don’t know how much you drool around my dick when you choke on it.”
He claps a hand on the back of my neck, but that’s it. Like he’s using his hold to keep himself upright. With his belt undone, I open his fly, checking his face again. His eyes are closed, cheeks flushed, lips wet and slightly parted. His chest is heaving like the overly excitable beginner he is.
My own dick is rock hard witnessing the effect I have on him. “Easy, puppy,” I say as I slide my hand into his pants and grip the firm column of warm flesh.
He lets out a whimper so pathetic and desperate it makes precum pulse from my tip. “Mmm…you like that.” I stroke him slowly, making do with the awkward angle. His grip on my neck tightens, and his forehead hits mine. “Feels good to be bad, doesn’t it?”
I feel him nod as he thrusts into my fist. Jesus. Everything about him is a turn on. “I owe you a blow job,” I remind him. “You want it here?”
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Yes. Yes. ”
Tense with need, I duck out of his grip and sink to my knees, yanking his pants down and watching his reddened, shiny-tipped cock spring free. Damn. There it is.
It’s my first decent look at what he’s packing, and I’m not disappointed. He’s so goddamn pretty, an inch or so smaller than me but thick. It’s my favorite kind of cock. The size that fills and hits me just right. I lick his wet slit and get another one of those mewling whines. He grips the countertop, staring down at me as I stare up at him. I wrap my mouth around his seeping crown. His groan is loud, but the tremble that runs through him is soft and fluttery.
He’s fun—beyond responsive as I sink down on him. His hot silken flesh slides over my tongue before I take him to my throat and nuzzle my nose in his neatly trimmed pubic hair, inhaling deeply until he’s so far inside me, my airway nearly collapses. He buckles and comes with a shocked gasp.
That was fast, but I’m not disappointed. I pull back to milk him with my lips and tongue, swallowing each warm gush of tart, salty cum as he huffs and groans and shakes. It’s a lot. I love it.
“Sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry.”
He shouldn’t be. I wasn’t expecting him to last. I want to save that for when he’s fucking me. I rise and push his jacket off his shoulders. I unbutton his shirt while he keeps his eyes closed over flushed cheeks. He bit his lip raw while I sucked him, and I admit, it tempts me. A desire to run my tongue along the sore spots is nearly overwhelming. “Where’s the bed?”
“What?” he pants, blinking his eyes open and startling like he didn’t expect me to be so close.
“Or the couch works, I guess.”
He nods over my shoulder. I turn and notice a door near the windows, putting the bedroom behind the kitchen.
“I need you to fuck me, Graham. You gonna be able to do that? Do you want to do that?”
“Yes.”
He hisses when I take his slightly softened dick in my hand and pull at it. With my other hand I seek out one of his nipples, twisting it between my fingertips and plucking it hard. He’s a shaking mess, and I love to see it. Love the silence all around us. Love the light that makes him impossibly better looking and shows off all the stark contrasts of his face. The emerald eyes flecked with gold. The rosy cheeks and red, swollen lips. His dark stubble. That beauty mark on his right cheek I want to lick.
“I don’t have condoms,” he says.
“You’re lucky I’m a professional then.”
“You have stuff?” he asks, nearly incoherent.
“Of course. Fanny packs serve a purpose—they’re not just a fashion statement.”
He leans in, and his lips graze mine before I instinctively turn my head away. His mouth meets my cheek, and we share a simultaneous sigh. “If I’m gonna cheat on my wife…” he says, words trailing off but still leading.
“Lemme think about it,” I say.
“You either want to or you don’t.”
That’s not the issue. I have a bad feeling about kissing him. Like it’s a line that once I cross it, I won’t be able to come back from. Kissing Ben last night was nostalgic. Part of the routine of us. A memory. Kissing Graham would be?—
The only word that comes to mind is ruinous.
“I won’t fuck you if you won’t kiss me,” he says. A dare I have to admire him for.
“That’s how it’s gonna be?” I ask, letting go of his cock and pressing both palms to his pecs, kneading. “You sure about that?”
He manages to glare at me, but I don’t look away. I can’t tell if he’s bluffing. It could be he’s looking for an excuse to end this after the condom thing didn’t work out.
“Are you really in a position to negotiate?” he asks.
If he’s talking about the hard on pressing into his thigh, I can see why he might think he has the upper hand. I’m half dying for him to touch me, and I really do want to kiss him. Deep and hard and rough. I want to own him and make unholy sounds come out of him. I want him fucking praying for deliverance from me. But want like that is a double-edged sword. It could slice me into ribbons, too.
“I can negotiate in any position,” I tell him as I run my hands down his torso, swirling my thumbs through the softer hair on his lower abdomen.
“Not if I’ve got my tongue in your mouth,” he says. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”
Afraid? Is that what I am? He’s not a client anymore. But he’s not an option either. “Why would I do that to myself? You’re married. You’re a senator. You’re a fucking Republican…”
“Oh, is that what it’s about?” He smirks even though he’s got his pants around his ankles and his shirt around his wrists .
“What happens after today?” I ask.
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you trying to get me out of your system?”
“You texted me .”
He’s got me there. My hands slide around to his lower back, and I press our hips together, my raging erection against his flagging one. I grind shamelessly against him. “Because I think about you a lot. Too much.”
He puts his hands on my hips and lets out a soft sound of pure want. “I think about you, too.”
“Remember how you were that first time?” I ask. “So good.”
“Yeah?”
“You know you were. I told you.”
“I was paying you.” His hands slide over my ass and cup the cheeks.
I bite my lips because it feels incredible—him touching me like this. “You were, and I also told you a kiss was more than you can afford.”
“You like this apartment? I’ll make you a key.”
“Why are you so hung up on this?” I ask.
“Why are you?” he counters. “Just kiss me, Silas. Kiss me, and then I’ll fuck you just like you remember.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“Prove it.”
I roll my hips enough for him to feel my clenching glutes and rigid shaft. I press my nose to his warm neck and lick at the stubble along his jaw. He lets out one of those low, feral growls I remember. “Didn’t you like fucking me, Senator? My ass wrapped around your big cock? Did you like how I took it rough?”
He kisses me beneath my ear, using tongue, like he’s giving me a preview. “Was that you or just who you wanted me to see?”
“Little bit of this, little bit of that,” I say, burning up inside and close to writhing against him. Fuck, his mouth feels good. I give in to the need to kiss his neck, too. If I thought his cum tasted good, it’s nothing compared to his skin. His warmth reminds me of every Christmas Eve by the fireplace. Of sliding into a cab on a freezing day with the heater on full blast. Of the dripping skin to skin heat of two bodies building pleasure beneath a layer of quilts.
He turns his head, and I allow it. His teeth graze my jawline, and my nose brushes his cheekbone. “If you make me do this and you fucking ghost me…”
Those are all the words I get out before our mouths meet, already open, and our tongues tangle in a rough collision. Our lips seal together, and all remaining space between our bodies disappears.
His kiss is untamed. Wild. Eager. It takes a moment for me to remember he’s got almost no experience, so I take him by the head, shift the angle slightly and force a different, but equally deep and erotic pace.
I rarely kiss, so I go for broke, fucking my tongue into his mouth the way I want him to work his cock into me. We swallow each other’s moans and inhale each other’s breaths. I’m no longer grinding against a semi. He’s fully hard, and these compression pants are suddenly my mortal enemy.
This is why I didn’t want to do this. I never want to stop. Kissing him feels like more than foreplay. It’s needy and clawing and necessary like breathing. It’s our star-crossed chemistry ignited. “Oh, fuck,” I breathe, tearing my mouth away.
His mouth is on mine again in less than a heartbeat, dragging me back into this inferno.
A frenzied desperation takes hold of me and won’t let go. “Please. Get me out of these fucking clothes.”