Chapter 20
SILAS
One of the things that my father taught me when I was growing up is that you should never have an obsession, in any form.
You should always be neutral and understanding, because that’s what it takes to be a good leader.
No emotions and no miscalculations. If you start to have obsessions, that’s when you know everything is about to fuck up.
When I pull my cock out of her, she collapses on the sofa, her knees now on the wooden floor, lying so perfectly still, so exhausted. His words ring in my head. This is about to be very unhealthy. Especially now that I know what she feels and tastes like.
Most certainly because she showed me a little bit of her crazy once again, silently challenging me to be scared. I never back down from something, especially if it’s something I’ve wanted. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted something so bad, let alone a someone.
This obsession is dangerous. But does that stop me from reaching down and smacking her ass one more time so I can make sure that my handprint marks her perfectly smooth skin? No.
I trail my hand down her bare back appreciatively, a gentle sweat on her skin, and stop it on the waistband of her high skirt, still thinking about that scar on her collarbone. Leonore uses deflection as an art form. No answers, no deeper connection. Just carnal sex. And who am I to say no?
My father might’ve been right. However, it was my uncle who added that I never needed to become obsessed with a woman.
That I should simply fall in love with a beautiful woman, because beautiful things are meant to obey.
Then my father scoffed at the notion of love, although I’m certain he held deep love for my mother before her passing.
He died two years afterward, and my sister is certain that when she passed, our father—although still calculative and running business as usual, if not more ruthlessly—was never the same.
She died peacefully in the end after cancer took her. He did not. Risks of the business.
But I don’t think either of them ever met Leonore Graves.
I'm actually surprised she submitted to me. She’s so headstrong.
I can tell just by watching her that she works best alone and has dealt with powerful men on more than one occasion.
And the thing about it is, she doesn’t seem intimidated at all.
It’s as if she has no fear, but everyone has fear—even I do. And I have more power than almost everyone that she would ever know. So I wonder what beautiful, breakable things she keeps close. I wonder what a woman like this runs from—if at all. But everyone has their scars and secrets.
I know all her magnetic strengths and temptations, but I want to— no—need to
know what her undoing is.
She manages to get off her knees and stands on wobbly legs, though she certainly doesn’t use my offered hand to help herself up.
She doesn’t cover herself. She’s quite confident in who she is, and she stands toe-to-toe with me with those deep-ruby lips tilted upward.
My cock is already starting to come alive again just by having her this close.
I feel that if I had her locked in my bedroom, I probably wouldn’t let her go, which means I wouldn’t be doing fuck all.
Probably not ideal since I have a funeral to attend in the early hours of the morning.
Maybe that’s what my father meant by obsession.
I should cut it off now, before things get dangerous.
But I’m already too far beyond that, considering I could tell her we found my uncle’s body.
But I don’t because I want something else connecting us.
I never said I was a good man.
Her hands slide up my chest as she practically purrs in appreciation. “It’s good to see you’re not all talk, Silas Vescari.”
I grab her by the waist and pull her in, so she can feel my growing cock, and her smile widens, that mischievous glint in her gaze.
“That was fun; thanks for that,” she says, and shoves me away.
She walks over to her clothes, purposely bends over so I get a clear view of her, and I see my cum gleaming on the inside of her thighs.
I’m so lost in watching her that she snaps her attention back to me and immediately starts dressing again.
Then it dawns on me as shock washes over me like a cold bucket.
Is she fucking leaving…
When she pulls her shirt on and holds her bra in her hand, I finally speak.
“I drove,” I tell her, as if it’s a lifeline between us. Is she serious?
I’ve never had a woman just leave right after, though I often wish they would. Instead, I’m the asshole for leaving because I don’t do other pleasantries. But I’ve never had a woman do it to me.
“I have a phone,” she says, as if it’s the obvious answer, holding it up and going to leave.
“Wait,” I say, catching her elbow. What the fuck?
She smiles sweetly. “Thank you for getting me off.” Then she pulls her arm from my grip and walks herself to the front door.
A tic in my jaw jumps as I look around the room. What the fuck just happened? If she’s hoping I lose interest, she’s just done the complete opposite.