8. MONDAY — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
MONDAY — SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO
Now playing: BITE - Troye Sivan
We left the beach hand-in-hand and headed for our room. The sun was fully up, the last licks of saltwater clinging to us, while the adrenaline of the proposal vibrated under my skin. When the door finally latched, I turned around to follow him, but I didn’t get the chance to take another step.
Silas was already there.
He crowded my space, pinning me back against the door.
His brown eyes were entirely black, pupils blown wide and filled with lust and longing.
The hand currently wearing my matte-black tungsten ring, gripped my jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into my cheekbone.
Cold metal brushed against my skin, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
“Say it again,” he demanded in a low, gravelly rasp that shattered what was left of my self-control.
I swallowed hard as my hands moved to his waist, feeling the heat of his skin even through his clothes. “Say what?”
He leaned in until his lips were hovering a fraction of an inch from mine. “What you asked on the beach,” he breathed. “Say it.”
My heart hammered against my ribs as I looked into the eyes of the man who owned every piece of my soul.
“Marry me,” I whispered.
Silas let out a rough, ragged groan and crushed his mouth to mine, his tongue pushing past my lips. I moaned into his mouth, but this time, I didn’t let him take control.
I grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulling him to me as I deepened the kiss. The moment he leaned into me, my hands slid down over his ass to grip his thighs. With an explosive surge of strength, I hoisted his massive frame clean off the floor.
Silas’s breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping as his legs wrapped around my waist, and his arms locked around my neck. The way he anchored himself, surrendering and letting me carry him like it was nothing, sent a rush straight to my head.
I walked us forward until my knees hit the edge of the mattress where I dropped him onto the crisp white hotel sheets so I could crawl over him.
“You’re mine. My fucking husband.”
“Yeah,” Silas choked out, his chest heaving as he reached up to grip my hips. “God, Cal. Yes.”
Without wasting a single second, I dragged him toward the edge of the mattress, my hands ripping at the damp waistband of his board shorts.
They joined his sweater on the floor, allowing me access to his hard length.
With him trapped beneath me, I pressed searing kisses against his skin as I inched my way down his torso, only stopping when I was between his spread legs.
My arms wrapped around his thighs, and his calves rested on either side of my shoulders, keeping him spread wide for me so I could tease his ass with my tongue.
Silas let out a violent, shuddering gasp, throwing his head back against the mattress.
I took my time, my tongue hot, wet, and relentlessly filthy as I laved over his hole and dipped occasionally inside to taste him.
My thumbs spread his cheeks wider, providing more access for me to bury my face against him and swipe slow, torturous circles.
“Cal,” he whimpered, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling firmly. “Fuck, baby, please.”
“Look at me,” I ordered, my lips vibrating against his skin.
He cracked his eyes open to look along his flushed skin.
Every muscle was pulled taut, every pore slick with a thin sheen of sweat.
I flattened my tongue, dragging a line from his ass, up and over his balls, and along the underside of his shaft.
His body shivered as I licked through the slit of his head before wrapping my lips around him and taking him to the back of my throat with a small gag.
My fist pumped his base while I sucked hard, aiming to achieve the wettest, dirtiest sound in the quiet room and strip away every defense he had left.
“That’s it,” Si moaned, his hips thrusting up to meet my mouth. His left hand was gripping the sheets so hard, his knuckles were white. “Fuck yeah, baby. Take it. Show me what my husband does for me.”
Those words sent a jolt straight to my groin. I pulled back, leaving him a panting and thoroughly-wrecked mess on the sheets. My bare feet hit the carpet as I stood with a wicked smirk taking over my face.
His arm reached out, grasping at the air. “Wait—”
“Hold that thought.”
I walked over to my open duffel bag and dug through the front pocket, pulling out the vintage Polaroid camera. It was Silas’s. A beat-up, retro thing he’d owned for nearly a decade. From surviving years in the swamp, to each one of our road trips, this thing was a constant.
I walked back to the edge of the bed and shoved the device into his trembling hands. “Make it count,” I ordered, my voice low.
Silas let out a breathy, delirious laugh, his hands shaking as he lifted the camera. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Take the damn picture, Silas,” I murmured before dropping back to my knees between his spread thighs.
I resumed my assault on his cock, taking him so deep, my eyes watered.
With my head angled perfectly, our eyes made contact through my lashes and he let out a wrecked groan while lifting the camera.
With only a few slight adjustments, he proceeded to capture the explicit memory of me on my knees with my mouth absolutely ruining him.
Click. Whirrrr.
Picture taken and printing, he dropped the camera onto the mattress with a soft thud.
His hands flew to the back of my head as I finally pushed him over the precarious edge and swallowed him down.
As he fell apart, his thighs clamped around my ears, and his body bowed off the mattress as he whispered my name like a breathless prayer.
Later that morning, as we lay in a tangled heap of limbs, I picked up the developed Polaroid. I grabbed Silas’s wallet off the nightstand, opened it, and slid the photo into the back slot. Who knew I could rival the photos I had taken of him in his little red thong last spring?
“There,” I smirked, tossing the wallet onto his bare chest. “Now you’ll have to look at exactly what your husband does for you every time you reach for your credit card.”
Silas let out a loud, ringing laugh as he pulled the back of my neck, kissing me deeply.
“You’re such a dick.”
For a few more hours, we existed in a perfect, filthy, beautiful bubble.
But, the second we walked through the loading dock doors of the arena, the suffocating pressure of the UWF dropped right back onto our shoulders.
The air was thick tonight for Showdown. A mix of hairspray, sweat, and the chaotic hum of live television production.
We headed straight to catering, a massive room filled with folding tables that buzzed with the chaotic energy of talent and staff. We were supposed to be “coworkers,” “ex-rivals,” or “old friends from the rookie years,” but we were doing a spectacularly terrible job of hiding it.
We sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the corner; me scrolling through my phone, trying to look disinterested in the man next to me, while Silas reviewed his promo notes on a printed sheet of paper.
He never even looked at my plate, but his hand kept drifting over, plucking grapes and pieces of grilled chicken off the styrofoam tray in front of me.
I didn’t stop him. I just naturally shifted my plate closer.
Hell, my knee was pressed so firmly against his under the table, we were practically sharing a joint.
“You guys know you’re essentially breathing the same oxygen, right?” Evan slid into the folding chair across from us, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He kept his voice low, a casual, highly-amused smirk settling on his face.
I blinked, pulling my eyes away from my phone. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that if you sit any closer, you’re going to physically merge into one person,” Evan deadpanned.
He reached over and blatantly stole one of my fries.
“Silas literally just ate off your fork. Your shoulders are fused together, and I can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above your heads right now. You’re cute, but you’re really, really bad at this. ”
Silas and I shared a look. It was clear we couldn't hold it in anymore.
“Come on,” Silas murmured to Evan, grabbing his plate and standing up. “Walk with us.”
Evan raised an eyebrow but grabbed his water bottle and followed us out. We didn’t stop until we pushed through the heavy metal fire doors and stepped onto the concrete loading dock.
“What?” Evan looked between the two of us, his amusement fading into slight concern. “Did you guys kill someone? Because I don’t have a shovel in my rental car, and I’m not going to prison for you.”
“I proposed,” I said.
Evan’s eyes darted from my completely-serious face to Silas’s beaming one. “Jesus Christ—Already?”
Silas smiled, pulling his left hand out of the pocket of his track pants and holding it up. The black tungsten ring gleamed in the late afternoon light.
Evan lunged forward, pulling us both into a massive three-way bear hug. He slapped Silas on the back so hard the sound echoed around us. “It’s about damn time!”
Evan and I headed over to the Gorilla position, standing behind the curtain near the main monitors. I hung back, staying near a stack of equipment crates with my arms crossed over my chest, watching Silas.
He was standing a few feet away, illuminated by the harsh backstage lights as he nodded along to whatever the head writer was saying. The UWF World Heavyweight Championship belt was casually slung over his massive shoulder, and my brain short-circuited at the sight.
Those gold plates, the ones that represented the absolute pinnacle of this industry, were the same plates he painted with his cum last night.
And I have pictures of it. Putting the filthy and lustful thoughts the sight of that belt now spurs aside, seeing my man wield the power it holds, while knowing he belonged entirely to me, filled me with an overwhelming pride.