Chapter 24
GRAHAM
There’s guilt, of course, but there’s also the way I feel about Silas, and overnight, those feelings begin to eclipse everything else.
It starts that morning in the Chelsea apartment where we kiss, and he says he wants to see me more often.
That he doesn’t want another week to pass with no contact—he wants more. He wants me to come back to the gym.
“In public?” I ask.
“Humor me. I’ll be good.”
“Okay.” It’s easy to agree to. It’s not as though I ever stopped wanting to see him.
Working out together provides its own set of physical challenges, some more innocent than others, but it feels like the least I can do.
It’s not as if I have much to offer him, but I want to give him all that I can for as long as I can.
The urge comes from an entirely different place than it does when I think of what I want for Avery.
I owe Avery a life. I made promises to her.
With Silas, I don’t feel any obligations. I only want him. I want the way he looks at me and the way he touches me. The way he seems to have surrendered to the fate of us.
Working out with him is different now. It’s fun. I recognize his teasing for what it is, and I also recognize when he’s hitting on me. He makes me laugh and blush with expert efficiency, and I would never have known he could smile as much as he does.
If he’s not genuinely happy, he’s at least in a better mood than I’ve ever seen him. By Wednesday, I’ve given him a key to the Chelsea apartment, and I begin to bring my work there in the mornings after Avery leaves for Pilates or coffee with friends.
Silas doesn’t spend nights there, but he never fails to meet me. Sometimes he sleeps, and I work. Mostly we have sex. Mind-blowing, intense, soul-wrenching sex. When Thanksgiving comes, it’s the longest I’ve gone without seeing him since he texted me that Monday morning and changed everything.
On Black Friday, I text him in a near panic because Avery is convinced she’s ovulating. He tells me to call him when I get a minute alone. I hole up in the bathroom that night and dial his number. He answers on the first ring.
“Is this about getting her pregnant or is it about me?” he asks without even saying hello.
“Both,” I admit.
“If you think about it, getting her pregnant means you won’t have to have sex with her again anytime soon.”
“What about you?” I ask.
“Are you breaking up with me already?”
“No.”
“I know what your life is, Graham. I wouldn’t be with you if I couldn’t handle it.”
“But you’re not with me. You’re in Queens.”
“I can get away. You want to talk to Avery—see if she minds if I join?”
I bark out an unexpected laugh.
“I could sit on your face, teach you how to eat me out while she rides your dick, and you wouldn’t even see her.”
“Jesus,” I breathe. We haven’t done that yet. We’re not very good at foreplay. The thought makes me want him even more. I still don’t think I’m the kind of lover he deserves—still wonder what the hell he sees in me, and I’m more than willing to try anything.
But Avery’s gotten more possessive—more determined to have a family with me. We haven’t tried since the last failed attempt before this thing with me and Silas caught on fire. I’m horny as hell, but not for her. The only feeling that stirs inside me at the thought of being alone with her is dread.
“You’re such a good kisser. I know you’ll be magic at it,” he’s saying. “Such a great tongue. Such a wet mouth.”
“Are you…?”
“Touching myself? Maybe.”
“Where are you?” I whisper.
“My old room. Where are you?”
“The upstairs bathroom.”
“Are you hard?”
“Yes,” I say, palming my rapidly rising dick.
“Touch yourself for me.”
I shut my eyes, letting his warm voice flood my mind. “I am.”
“How does it feel?” he asks.
God, I’m in my parents’ bathroom, and I’m more turned on than I have any right to be after a large meal and the amount of wine I drank. I blame the wine for the words that come out. “Not half as good as you do wrapped around me.”
“Mmm…” He practically purrs his pleasure.
“Will you eat me out, puppy?”
I’m fucking dying to. “You know I will.”
“I didn’t, actually, but I like it when you say it like that. Sounds so good. Is your cock out?”
“Um…”
“Get it out for me. It’s too pretty to hide in whatever khakis you’re wearing.”
He knows me too well already. I unzip the khakis and pull my dick through the slit in my shorts, fisting it tight because I don’t want to come, which isn’t to say my body doesn’t want it.
My body wants it too much. Precum is seeping from me, and I swipe it with my thumb and making myself shiver with excitement.
“God, I love that sound,” he says.
Did I make a sound? I need to shut up or someone’s going to hear.
Why does that make me want this more? I give myself a tug, and this time, I hear my soft groan.
“Can I tell you what I like?” Silas asks, semi-breathless.
“Yes.” I spit on my palm and jerk myself in earnest.
“I like having my rim teased and flicked. Drives me fucking crazy. You’d really do that for me?”
“Yeah.” Anything. I’ll do anything he wants.
“You’d be a good little puppy and lick me all around my tight hole?”
“God…” More precum. “Yes.”
“And if I begged for more?”
“Tell me what you want,” I breathe. I’m too close. Way too close.
“Your tongue inside me. Thick and hot and wet. I want you to spit on me and suck me. And then lick me again like a hungry puppy.”
Cum erupts from my tip, shooting so hard, the first spurt clears my pants and lands on the floor. I grab for the toilet paper and attempt to staunch the flow as my balls convulsively release more and more.
“Fuck,” I hear him groan. “God, you’re so fucking hot. I’m coming. I’m fucking coming for you, Graham.”
I squeeze the wad of toilet paper around my dick and bend over, the breathy grunts of his own release pounding my eardrum and making me tremble.
A sharp rap on the door nearly makes me choke.
“Babe? You all right?”
“One second,” I manage to say, and then into the phone I whisper, “I have to go.”
“Wait,” he says, and it sounds like he’s still beating off, still coming.
Dropping the tissue, I put my hand on my heart and rub, trying to reconcile my arousal and my guilt. Guilt isn’t anything new for me, and it too often accompanies arousal, so it shouldn’t be so hard to handle, but this time it is. There’s something else to what I’m feeling now.
“I miss you,” he says finally.
“Are you drunk, babe?” Avery calls out.
“Make her shut up,” Silas says.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I’ll be back down in a minute.”
“I don’t want you to come down,” she says. “I want you to meet me in bed.”
“She didn’t just say what I think she said, did she?” he asks darkly.
“I told you,” I hiss, my mouth cupping my phone so my voice doesn’t travel.
“Good luck getting hard,” he says, and for the first time, I hear his jealousy. Maybe he’s incapable of hiding it after what we just did.
“I miss you, too,” I tell him, hating everything about this.
“See you Monday morning?” he asks, somewhat grudgingly.
“I’ll be there,” I promise him.
“Good. Now go get her pregnant and get this shit over with.”
I look down at the soaked tissue and my cum on the floor. It would take a miracle…
* * *
This is a splurge, and I hope I don’t regret it. Things with Silas and me have been tense over the last week. Next week, the pregnancy tests will start, and I need us to have this just in case…
In case she is pregnant, and he stops wanting me.
He’s dressed in a nice suit as we make our way through Penn station. We look like two businessmen, traveling together. A senator and his aide, I hope. Or a body man, considering how broad his shoulders are and his obvious musculature even in the suit. It fits him like a sin.
People notice me. Most don’t say anything and only spare a passing glance at Silas.
I have meetings in DC for the next two days, and I thought it might be romantic to bring him with me.
It’s definitely better than being stuck with my dad.
I’ve reserved a first class private room on the train and a luxury hotel suite.
I’m thinking champagne, room service, as much sex as we can handle…
We stop to take a few selfies with the bolder constituents. I accept their congratulations and patiently listen to them tell me all the things they want me to do once I’m sworn in.
Silas grimaces all the way, especially at the people who say things like—“Don’t let those bastards take my guns,” or “don’t take any shit from those woke libs.”
“I fucking hate people,” Silas grumbles as we arrive at the platform.
“I happen to like woke libs if it makes you feel any better,” I tell him.
He gives me a side-eye. “You sure seem to like fucking one.”
“That too,” I assure him.
“I think I’ll like you better if you stick with defending the first amendment.”
“I can do that,” I tell him. It’s as good a position as any to take for the next six years. It’s not like I have a core of unshakeable values other than what I’ve been told my whole life. I’m open-minded, willing to hear other points of view. Willing to learn and compromise.
He gives his head a stiff shake. “Don’t. You don’t have to humor me.”
I wasn’t, but I keep my mouth shut until the train arrives, and we board.
An attendant directs us to our private room, and we squeeze in along with our overnight bags.
It’s tight, but I like that for me and Silas.
We need the proximity. He’s been more stint since Thanksgiving, and I need to change that if I can. If he’ll let me.
We strip off our jackets and situate our luggage, taking seats on opposite sides to wait until our assigned server arrives.
Once that happens, and I let them know not to disturb us further, I’ll be able to relax.
It’s just after four in the morning. Silas is exhausted and grumpy, but I’m determined to get him into a better mood.
I booked this room for a reason, and it wasn’t to sleep.