Silence
“Hello.”
The blonde man raises his eyes from his phone to me, a handsome grin spreading across his face. “Hello. Can I help you?”
I don’t bother holding back my smile, but I hope I’m at least hiding my nerves. “Why are you acting like you didn’t watch me walk over here?”
He laughs, a dimple appearing in his cheek. He turns his stool to face me, his blue shirt fitted well over a muscular body. He’s not as big as the brothers, but he’s clearly in shape, and it’s strange that I might find out what he looks like naked.
Walking over here, I became extremely aware of my knees.
Was I bending them normally? Do I even bend them at all?
Then I remembered I had hands and wondered what the hell I did with them all the time.
I alternated between holding them behind my back and crossing my arms, until I finally settled on …
oh God, I don’t even remember, but I’m already close to panicking.
“I’m trying to play it cool,” he admits, his green eyes sparkling. He extends his hand. “Dean.”
I hope my palm isn’t sweating as I take it. “Silence.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Nice.” I laugh, taking the stool beside him. “My name is Silence.”
It’s rare that people don’t pry into the meaning behind it, but maybe he’s assuming it’s fake. Instead of asking if my parents were a little odd, he orders me a Seven and Seven.
“You were paying attention?”
“It’s my job to notice things. I’m a quantity surveyor.”
“Wow. Sexy.”
“Sorry. Should I say fighter pilot?” he teases, then glances behind me. “Your friends are gone.”
Twisting my wedding ring, I nod. It’s been less than a few minutes since I kissed Zayden goodbye, but I suddenly feel too far away from him. “Three of them have, yes.”
Shit. How do I broach this? My husband wants me to take you upstairs and watch you fuck me. He’ll probably join in, too. Do I dive in, take my time? But then what if we spend the next hour flirting and he isn’t interested?
“You’re married.”
I clear my throat and nod, thanking the bartender when he places my Seven and Seven in front of me. “Yes.”
“But you’re here with me.”
A sip of my drink does nothing to ease the nerves writhing in my belly. “Yes. He … got us a room.”
Jesus. Where’s my confidence? Am I the same girl who married a stranger in Vegas? Who spent an entire weekend with him afterward, fucking him senseless?
Zayden was a stranger then, too. Is this really any different?
“Let’s just have a drink,” Dean says, his tone soft. “And you can tell me about you.” The tightness in my chest eases a little, and he holds up his beer. “To making new friends.”
I smile and tap my glass against his. “To making new friends.”
We talk. About my job as a nurse, the stress of the ER, and how I met Zayden. He tells me he hates his job, is divorced and thirty-six, no kids. He travels a lot for work and is staying at the hotel, too.
He’s mid-explanation about how he got into quantity surveying when I blurt out the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue since I sat down.
“Would you like to come up to my room, Dean?” There’s a chance that sentence merges into one, unintelligible word, but judging by Dean’s expression, he understood it.
He takes a small swig of his beer, running his tongue across his bottom lip after. I watch the movement, and excitement thrums between my legs at the idea of his tongue being in other places.
“Would it be just us?” he asks, searching my eyes. The bar suddenly feels too warm, too small. I hadn’t realized we were sitting so closely, but his knee brushes mine as he turns in his stool to face me.
“My husband … would be there.”
He takes my free hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “Joining us or watching?”
Oh, God. Suddenly, breathing is too difficult. “Watching. Maybe … lending a hand.”
Dean chuckles as he kisses the inside of my wrist, his lips warm, his gaze locked on mine.
“Yes, I’d like to come to your room,” he says, his eyes dancing with amusement, flecks of gold shining among a pretty collage of greens. “Can I kiss you first, though? I’ve been thinking about it since you sat down.”
Kisses. Touches. Moments shared before Zayden is close. We discussed this, too. Kissing is fine. A good way to determine if we’re a good fit, Zayden had said.
But I haven’t kissed another man in nine years, so I run through all this in my mind three times over before nodding.
Dean stands, towering over me, and with a gentle hand on my thigh, he opens my knees to stand between them. That same hand glides up my arm, goose bumps following the trail of his fingertips, until he finally cups my neck and tilts my head up.
I’m dizzy, my mind awash with excitement and fear, a cocktail of anxiety and arousal pulsing through my body that’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
Dean glides his thumb across my bottom lip, his gaze flicking between my eyes as he moves closer.
When his lips meet mine, my blood ignites.
His cologne is different to Zayden’s, but no less intoxicating. His lips are soft, and his stubble tickles my chin. I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, his strong thighs flexing against my core as the kiss moves from a gentle brush of our lips to something more.
His grip moves to the back of my neck, controlling the angle of my head as his tongue sweeps lazily across mine. Heat erupts across my skin and slickness coats my thighs, my body reacting in ways I never thought it could.
The kiss breaks, and I pant softly against his lips.
“I’m really glad I sat at this bar,” he says, his voice low.
I grin. “Me too.”
Okay. We’re doing this.
I’m doing this.
Dean keeps hold of my hand as we walk through the restaurant.
For a moment, I wonder if anyone recognizes that I’m with a man other than my husband, but it doesn’t matter.
I’ll never see these people again, and I want this.
I want it so much that I’m sure I drift across the lobby, only tethered to this earth by Dean’s touch.
“You okay?” he asks as we wait for the elevator. I nod. “Nervous?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“A little.” He guides me inside, and when the doors close, he kisses my shoulder. I close my eyes, leaning my head to the side. “You smell good.”
“Lavender body lotion,” I whisper, gripping his shirt as he kisses up my neck.
The doors open, and we walk hand in hand to the room.
I’m trembling as I unlock the door and Dean follows me inside.
It’s a suite, airy, beautiful, stylish, the windows looking out on the city set against the night sky.
It’s stunning, the furniture plush and expensive looking, and any other time I’d be raiding the mini-bar, but tonight, all I can focus on is the bed.
My heart thumps as I place my clutch on a side table, along with the keycard.
This is the first time another man has seen me naked in years, bar one unfortunate shower experience with Yale a while back. My anxiety swims fiercely through my blood as I decide the mini-bar is actually probably a good idea.
“Drink?” I squeak out, and he nods.
As I grab two beers, relishing in the cool air from the small refrigerator, Dean admires the suite.
“Do you always splash out for evenings like this?”
“Honestly, no.” I uncap the drinks and hand him one. “We’ve never done this before.”
“I’ll talk you through it.”
God, I hope he does. Not just because I’m nervous as hell, but because I imagine his voice coaching me through an orgasm might just blow my mind.
I swig my drink, swallowing quickly. “Have you done this before?”
“Once or twice.”
“Oh,” I laugh. “You get these kinds of offers a lot, then?”
His grin makes my knees quake. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”
“One that looks like you’d be happy fucking someone’s wife with the husband as an audience?”
He splutters out a laugh, almost choking on his beer. “I think you’re dead on.”
This is easier than I thought it’d be. I mean, we’re not exactly at the sex part, but as nervous as I feel, it isn’t all consuming. I haven’t done my Sean Connery impression yet, and that’s always a good sign.
“What does your husband do?”
“Tech,” I say, tracking him as he makes his way to the window. “He has a late meeting, which is why he isn’t here yet.”
“A tech meeting now?”
I glance at my beer, rolling the edge of the label against the pad of my thumb. “He’s a busy guy.”
“You sound sad about that.”
My gaze snaps up. “Do I?”
Dean’s smile is warm. “Sorry, I overstepped. I think you make me nervous.” He approaches, and I’m stuck in place, half lost in his rapt attention, half obsessing over his comment.
Am I sad that Zayden is busy? I’m busy, too.
We have full lives, together and apart. Or is it what keeps him busy that bothers me?
“Silence,” Dean says softly, taking the beer out of my hands and placing both drinks on the nightstand. “Where did you go?”
I let out a small laugh. “Nowhere.”
“You’re here with me?”
Our eyes lock, and I nod. “I am.”
“Good,” he murmurs, sliding his hand around my waist and pulling me flush to his chest. “I want your focus right here. I want to be the only thing on your mind while I make you come.” The words send pulses of excitement through me.
I close my eyes and swallow hard, resting my fingertips on his belt.
“Your husband is taking a while. Or has he left us to it?”
“He …” I lose breath when he nibbles my earlobe. “He said he’d quite like to walk in on you with your face between my thighs.”
He groans in my ear, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine. “Is that what you want, Q? For me to eat your pussy?”
My heartbeat thrums between my legs, and Dean runs his finger across my shoulder, the strap of my dress falling and tickling my skin.
Why do you always attract dangerous men?
An acidic feeling coils around my stomach, stamping out the lust, setting my heart rate off for an entirely different reason. As Dean kisses across my shoulder, I open my eyes.
Something is wrong.
I grip his biceps in an attempt to create space between us. “Maybe we should wait for my husband.”
He tuts. “Why?”
I twist out of Dean’s grip and step around him, but he catches my hand gently. He looks confused, even a little hurt, and I wonder whether I imagined it.
He called me Q.
Fear is your body’s way of warning you. Something is wrong, someone is here, you have to run, fight, scream.
For years, I was afraid. Of my family. Of my life.
My dad insisted that the only way to truly conquer terror was to immerse yourself in it, scream until your throat is hoarse, cry until your eyes are swollen shut.
“I’ll carve the fear into you, Silence. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
And he did. Over and over and over again.
I hated him for it. I hoped that fear would kill him, or that maybe I’d grow up and be strong enough to do it.
Until one day, his lessons saved me.
And now they’ll save me again.
I’m in danger. Alone, in a room, with a man who knows something he shouldn’t. My fear should kill me.
Instead, it fuels me.
I throw my fist into Dean’s face, pain smashing into my knuckles.
I’m out of practice, so I doubt it hurts much, but it’s the surprise that has him stumbling back.
I dart for the door, but before I can take more than a step, Dean clasps his hand around my bicep and throws me.
My chest hits the wall, and then he’s on me, my hands pinned behind my back, his lips against my ear.
“We’ll wait for your husband then, shall we?”