3. SATURDAY — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO #2
Silas’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Evan, who was practically vibrating, and then at Lena, who refused to meet his gaze, before coming back to me. “You didn’t want to wake me up?” Suspicion dripped from his tone.
“You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.
” I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for our floor.
It forced him to step back and make room for us, but it didn’t stop him from burning a hole into my head with his gaze.
He knew I was lying, knew something was up. I just hoped he didn’t know what.
“Right. Peaceful.”
I smirked, leaning back against the elevator wall, my hand brushing the velvet box in my pocket. “Don’t worry, Si,” I said softly, leaning in for a kiss the second the doors shut. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
The elevator ride was excruciating. Silas watched me the entire time, his eyes dark over the rim of his coffee cup, while Evan stared at the ceiling, probably praying for death.
When the doors finally opened on our floor, Silas stepped out and grabbed Evan by the shoulder.
“We’re going to our room,” he announced, with an edge of warning as he turned Evan down the hall.
“Evan needs to get his gear. You two go get ready and meet us in the lobby in ten minutes. Do not be late.”
There was no kiss, no touch. He just turned and marched down the hall behind Evan like he’d captured a prisoner of war.
I let out a breath, unlocking my door and ushering Lena inside.
“That went well,” Lena said, flopping onto the bed. “He totally knows you’re up to something.”
“Probably, he just doesn’t know what,” I muttered as I headed for my suitcase. I grabbed my gym bag, tossed the velvet package inside a pair of socks, and double-checked once more that it was satisfactorily hidden.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
You’re lucky we have a schedule to keep.
If you had been there this morning, I was going to wake you up with my mouth on your cock.
I wanted to ride you before I even had coffee. Now I’m gonna have to wait until tonight to get your hands on me.
You owe me.
I groaned, and a heavy, hot flush rushed straight to my groin. My fingers dug into the edge of the dresser until my knuckles were so white, I thought the wood would split. He was doing this on purpose. He was punishing me for sneaking out, and he knew exactly what those words would do to my focus.
Lena glanced at me from behind her phone. “You okay? You look like you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, shoving my phone into my pocket and grabbing my bag. “Let’s go.”
We arrived separately to the arena. Evan and Silas took the first rental, while Lena and I followed ten minutes behind to keep up appearances.
The venue was already abuzz with production crews setting up the pyro and the stage.
People moved in every direction like ants, scurrying to get everything in place.
The ring was set up in the center of the empty floor, the canvas pristine under the house lights.
And that’s where we spent the next four hours.
By the time we finally locked in and prepared for the full physical run-through, the reality of the match set in.
The main event for today was slated for an hour and twenty minutes.
A grueling pace packed with the added chaos of ladders.
We had to maintain the stamina of marathon runners and withstand the impact of a car crash.
When it was time, Silas stripped off his shirt, tossing it onto the turnbuckle, and a coil of desire began to form inside me.
He wore his wrestling boots and a pair of black compression tights under loose, black-mesh athletic shorts.
Around his neck, the leather cord of the Taino Sun pendant was striking against his bronzed skin.
We locked up in the center of the ring.
It was technical, brutal, and fast. Silas was a machine who moved with such speed and aggression, it terrified the production guys watching from behind the barricade. When we grappled, I could feel the electricity humming off of him. The precise power in his shoulders as he twisted out of my hold.
I grabbed him in a headlock and wrenched him down. My forearm pressed against his chest, right over the stone pendant.
“Nice shorts,” I gritted out, keeping my voice low so only he could hear. Silas grunted as I tightened my hold, breathing heavily, gripping my wrist and attempting to pry me off. “Thanks.”
“They’re mine,” I whispered against his ear. “You dick. I’ve been looking for those for three weeks.”
“They look better on me,” he taunted, and though I couldn't see it, I knew he was smirking. He twisted his hips, reversing the hold in a blur of motion.
When everything stopped moving, I was the one in the headlock. He cranked my neck, his chest heaving against my back, and his breath hot against my ear. “Besides, I like wearing your shit. Makes me feel like you own me.”
I groaned, half from the pressure on my neck, half from the sudden spike of arousal.
I broke free from his hold, sending him bouncing into the ropes.
He rebounded, hitting me with a shoulder tackle that nearly knocked the wind out of me and sent me into the ropes on the opposite side.
With a dull thud from the impact, I dropped to the canvas.
Silas was there instantly. He didn’t tackle me but instead, hovered. His hands ghosted over my shoulders, checking the distance of the spot we were marking.
“Too close?”
“Perfect,” I groaned, rolling onto my back and staring at the complex lighting rig. “If you hit me any harder, I’ll file a grievance with HR.”
“Please. You like it rough,” he joshed while offering me a hand.
We ran the moves over and over and over. By the time we called it, we were both drenched in sweat, our chests heaving as adrenaline surged.
“Good,” I panted, leaning against the ropes, watching a drop of sweat track down the center of his chest. “That felt…fuck. That felt amazing.”
Silas wiped his face with a towel, looking at me with dark, hungry eyes. “We’re going to tear the house down.”
“Cal, Silas. Rosa is ready for your final fittings!” a producer yelled from the ramp.