Chapter 5 #2
I huffed, not quite annoyed, but maybe I should have been. He was too close, and I couldn’t avoid pressing against him as I attempted to stand.
But Silas moved too. That teensy bit of contact sparked a collision, dragging his bulge across my upper thigh.
And just like that, a bolt of lightning zinged through my veins.
Ignore it, ignore it. Nothing happening here. Just a case of post-nap wood. Totally normal.
Silas unabashedly stuck his hand inside his briefs and pushed his hard-on out of the way like a man wrangling a snake into submission.
“That’s embarrassing,” he said, clearly not embarrassed.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
The danger of the situation had passed, leaving me with a half-naked warrior with golden skin and glistening muscles, who just happened to have a fucking semi…
in my living room. I was a strong man with nerves of steel and more willpower than the average joe, but something was wrong with my reflexes ’cause now I was the one who was frozen still.
“We should…omelet,” I whispered.
“Omelet. Yeah.” Silas’s nostrils flared as his gaze flitted from my eyes to my mouth.
Neither of us moved.
The world went deathly quiet in spite of the raging storm, the crackle of firewood, and the steady thump of my heartbeat reverberating in my ears. I’d been here before. I knew that look, and I knew where it led.
Now it was a matter of who’d make the first move.
No. This wasn’t smart.
Don’t do it. Don’t—
I wrapped a hand around Silas’s neck and crashed our mouths together. He opened for me automatically, thrusting his tongue inside. We made out with enthusiastic sucking, nipping, and feasting.
This wasn’t a kiss; it was a dual for dominance, for control.
I pushed Silas, pinning him to the mattress in a tangle of limbs and tongues. He hooked his legs at my waist, pumping his hips and gliding his erection against mine.
“Fuck,” I grunted.
He used the distraction to pounce, rolling and switching our positions. Now I was under him, caged between his muscular arms, our hard cocks pressed and pulsing. I wanted him. I wanted…something…more.
Silas did too.
He bent, brushing our noses as he rocked his hips rhythmically. “Feels good.”
I growled in agreement, arching to meet the sweet friction, my fingers slipping under the elastic of his boxer briefs. He wiggled meaningfully. I took the hint and lowered the cotton fabric, then grabbed the globes of his perfect butt, squeezing his cheeks and humping his cock from below.
Silas kissed me rough and dirty. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so horny, so needy. I didn’t like being out of control, and I barely knew this guy. I should have reset the balance, let him know I was in charge here.
“Take them off,” I barked, breaking the kiss.
Silas nodded absently, shoving the boxer briefs off, and tugging at my sweats. “You too.”
I lost my T-shirt, kicked the sweats aside, and climbed atop him and gripped us both. “Fuck. That’s good.”
“Yeah,” he choked out, propping himself on his elbows. “Are you gonna—oh, fuck…yes.”
I stroked us, smearing precum over the tips of our cocks, my hand sliding up and down our poles.
I stole dirty kisses as pressure built, sending tendrils of pleasure along my spine.
My stamina was usually world class, but Silas was unexpected in every way possible.
I hadn’t been surprised by anyone or anything in a long time. Not like this.
Silas let out a keening moan.
“Go on. Do it.”
“Ungh!” he cried out as cum jetted onto his belly.
I released his dick, set my palm on his pecs, and stroked myself to the finish line, roaring with the force of my orgasm.
My chest heaved, and my vision blurred. I sucked in a deep breath and licked my lips, surveying the mess we’d made. The sheet had come undone, the blanket was on the floor, clothes were everywhere, and my guest was covered with our release.
“I’ll get something for…this. Hang tight.”
I returned with a warm washcloth and two water bottles.
Silas sat up and wiped his stomach, tossing the cloth aside as he reached for the water. “Thanks.”
I located my sweats and thought about putting them on, but it seemed like too much work. Moreover, it would put a physical barrier of sorts between us, and I wasn’t ready to lose the connection. Not yet. I had questions. So many questions.
I added another log to the fire and joined him on the mattress. “You’re bi?”
Silas shot a quick sideways glance in my direction. “Yeah.”
“You’re not out.” I didn’t really need confirmation. His panicked expression said it all.
He shook his head. “No. I’ve haven’t done that in…a while. You?”
“I think my story is a little different,” I hedged. “I’m not a famous athlete or a—”
“I’m not famous.”
“You’re on TV.” I caught his wary gaze as I uncapped my water. “Don’t worry. This stays here. With us. Cone of silence, remember?”
Silas frowned.
“I feel like an asshole, and it probably doesn’t matter anymore. I just retired. I can do what I want. Or who I want,” he added. “In theory, anyway. Reality isn’t that simple.”
“It rarely is.” I took a swig of water, my eyes fixed on the roaring fire.
We sat in silence for a minute or two, lost in thought.
At least I was. I’d never brought a man home with me.
Even by accident. I should have been uneasy with this new dynamic.
Twenty-four hours ago, I hadn’t known Silas Anderson.
Now…well, I still didn’t know much about him, but I’d touched his cock and that was something.
When he excused himself to use the bathroom, I tidied a bit, folding the blanket, reattaching the sheet, and yeah…I put my sweats on. Not my boxer briefs, though. I threw those into the laundry room, then foraged for food.
“You can hardly see the trees or the lake out there,” Silas commented, striding naked into the great room. “It’s all white. I bet it’s freezing too. Nice and warm in here.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
He moved into the kitchen, pausing to lean on the corner of the island with his beefy arms crossed. “Much better. I should probably trek through that shit and get out of your hair, but those sandwiches look big enough to share.”
“I scrapped the omelet idea. This was easier. Make yourself useful, and grab a couple of wineglasses.” I inclined my chin toward the open shelves near the sink and plated the turkey sandwiches. “Red or white…you choose. The wine fridge is at the other end of the island.”
Silas pulled out a Pinot Noir. “Bottle opener?”
I tried to keep my eyes on his chest, but they drifted south—of their own volition—to his flaccid cock. Christ, he was gorgeous. “Uh…that drawer.”
He grinned like a Cheshire cat as he uncorked the bottle and sauntered away. No one would blame me if my gaze lingered on his perfect ass a beat too long. It was a thing of beauty.
I plucked a bag of chips from the pantry and carried our makeshift late-lunch-slash-early-dinner into the living area, where Silas was stepping into the discarded long johns. He made a show of snapping the elastic and cupping his junk, and snickered at my eye roll.
We pushed the bed out of the way, returned the coffee table to its place in front of the sectional, then wordlessly tucked into the modest feast.
“This might be the best turkey sandwich I’ve ever eaten,” Silas said around a bite.
“It’s pretty basic, but I will say this…homemade pesto aioli is a game changer.”
He hummed enthusiastically and picked up his wineglass, raising it in a mock toast. “To pesto aioli.”
Conversation meandered from pesto to pasta to a retelling of Silas’s trip to Italy last summer, Pinot grapes, and his favorite vineyard in Napa.
“I’ve never been to Napa,” I admitted. “I’ve been to the Bay Area, though. You said you’re from there?”
“You remembered that?”
I gave him the WTF look he deserved. “It was this morning.”
“Fuck. Feels like forever ago,” he muttered, sipping his wine. “What else did I tell you?”
“Not much. Oh…you said you played for the Devils and I meant to google you, but”—I gestured to the falling snow visible through the giant window—“I got distracted.”
“Glad you didn’t. I don’t google well.”
“What do you mean?”
Silas shrugged, swirling the burgundy contents thoughtfully. “My life reads like a tabloid entry. Age, university, teams I’ve played for, previous girlfriends and relationship BS, wedding-palooza, divorce-palooza, and oh, no…he’s old! Career kaput and his life is shit. Too bad.”
He glugged the rest of his wine and set the glass on the table.
I moved the bottle out of reach with a tsk. “No getting drunk. You might feel better now, but give yourself a chance to recoup. And if you’re old, I’m Methuselah.”
“Methuza-who?”
“Very funny.”
I polished off the last of my sandwich and sat against the cushions, cradling my glass.
Shadows had lengthened, darkening the room and making the firelight spark.
The power had gone out, and the generator was doing its thing.
I liked the dim setting. The faded light accentuated Silas’s toned biceps and abs, so…
no complaints here. If anything, my first foray into a forced proximity situation with a perfect stranger wasn’t so horrible.
“Just kidding.” He slouched over the plate and gobbled his sandwich, legs splayed, elbows on his knees.
“We have time. You might as well give me the real story,” I suggested.
“Of my life?” Silas snorted, his mouth full…of course.
“Yeah.”
He wiped the corner of his lips, and slid back on the cushion, shifting slightly to face me. “Sounds like a trap.”
I laughed aloud. “How so?”
“I don’t know. I suppose if you’re going to sell me out, I’m screwed anyway.”
“You’re a cynical man, Mr. Anderson. There’s no trap. I wouldn’t expose you, and I don’t expect anything from you either. That works both ways. This is a small town, and I like to keep a low profile in my personal life.”
He studied me over the rim of his wineglass.