5. Selene #3
He's wearing work boots and jeans and a black t-shirt that strains across his chest, his hair still damp from the shower, a tool belt slung low on his hips.
He carries my garbage bags toward the door, presumably to move them to storage or the trash or somewhere I don't have to think about them.
He pauses when he sees Maya, his eyes narrowing, his body going still in that predatory way he has.
Maya's mouth opens. Her eyes travel from his face to his chest to his hands, large and scarred, gripping my luggage like it weighs nothing. "Okay, who is that?" she says, her voice low. "Because he's the hottest man I've ever seen."
I force a smile, my voice too bright. "Maya, this is Silas. My stepbrother. Silas, this is Maya. She's visiting for the weekend. Surprise."
Silas nods, his expression neutral, his eyes cold.
"I'll get the guest room ready," he says, his voice gravelly and commanding, the same voice he uses on me, the same voice that makes my knees weak.
He carries my bags past us, his arm brushing my shoulder, his hand lingering on my lower back for one second too long.
Maya notices. Of course she notices. She's sharp, Maya, always has been, the kind of friend who can read a room in three seconds and tell you who's sleeping with whom, who's lying, who's about to break.
Her hair is black and curly, cut close to her scalp, her skin the color of polished mahogany, her body compact and muscular from years of rock climbing.
She wears ripped jeans and a band t-shirt and combat boots, and she looks at Silas the way a scientist looks at a specimen, with curiosity and calculation and a hint of danger.
"What's going on?" she asks the moment we're alone in my room, the door closed, her duffel bag unopened on the floor.
"Nothing. He's just—my stepbrother. He's helping me settle in."
"Sel." She corners me against the dresser, her eyes level with mine, her voice dropping to a whisper that feels louder than shouting.
"I know you. I've known you for four years.
I've seen you with guys, seen you in love, seen you heartbroken.
I've never seen you look like this. Like you're starving and terrified and high all at the same time. What's going on?"
I break, the pressure of the week finally crushing me under her knowing gaze—the closet, the kitchen, the laundry room, all of it.
I tell her everything, from the moment I arrived and found the window stuck open, to the spanking and the training, to the halfway claiming in the kitchen and the full one in the laundry room with Richard so close he could have heard us.
I tell her about the Daddy dynamic, the rules, the way he's taken over my body and my mind and every thought I have.
Maya listens without interrupting. Her expression shifts from shock to concern to something that looks almost like understanding. When I finish, she sits on the edge of my bed, her hands clasped between her knees, her jaw tight.
"You need to tell your mom," she says, her voice flat, certain.
"You need to tell her before she finds out on her own.
Because she will, Sel. Secrets this big don't stay hidden.
And if she finds out from someone else, if she walks in on you, if she sees what I see every time he looks at you—she'll be destroyed. You'll be destroyed."
"I can't," I whisper, my voice breaking. "You don't understand. I can't stop. I try and I can't. He's?—"
"He's your stepbrother," Maya cuts in, her voice sharp. "He's fourteen years older than you. He's got you trained like a fucking dog. This isn't love, Sel. This is obsession. And it's going to burn both of you alive if you don't end it."
She stands, crosses to the window, looks out at the yard where Silas is stacking firewood, his shirt off, his muscles gleaming in the August sun. She watches him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
"You need to tell your mom," she repeats, turning back to me. "Or I will. I'm not letting you destroy yourself for some guy with a big dick and a control complex. I love you too much for that."
She leaves the room, her boots heavy on the hardwood, her duffel bag still unopened on the floor. I stand at the window, watching Silas work, watching the axe rise and fall, watching the wood split with satisfying cracks that sound like my own breaking points.
My phone buzzes. A text from an unknown number, but I know.
My room. Tonight. Don't make me wait.
I stare at the message. I think of Maya's ultimatum. I think of Stella's smile, her belief in happy families, her coral blouses and her bridge club and her love that feels like sunlight and suffocation all at once.
I think of Silas, his hands, his voice, his cock buried inside me, his whisper in the dark.
I type my response with shaking thumbs.
I'll be there.
I pocket the phone and walk downstairs to help Maya unpack, my body already wet, already preparing, already his despite everything, despite everyone, despite the destruction I can see coming and can't stop.