65. Silas
65
SILAS
F uck it. I want him. I’ve wanted him since he showed up in Central Park the first time. When he was following me around like a puppy. And now? Now when I know all the shady shit about him there is to know and have watched him stand by while my life got shredded, I still can’t bring myself to set him loose in the world where people will take advantage of him and lure him in with treats.
Not that I still think he’s innocent, but what I do think, for all his faults is, he’s mine .
And I can’t let him go.
Which has to make me as weak and pathetic as I ever accused him of being, but I guess I can accept that. I could blame the amazing sex I taught him how to do so well, but it comes down more to the moments in between. Like now where he’s pressing gentle kisses to my cheek, and I’m running my hand over his not quite a six-pack abs. Finding what’s left of the softness there that I never want to lose if I have to force-feed him carbs myself.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“I was wondering what your thoughts are on gerrymandering. ”
He laughs quietly. “I’m glad senators don’t have to worry about it.”
“I was asking you as a voter. You know what? Never mind. I was kidding.”
“I know.” He draws a line down the slope of my nose with his fingertip and then traces the edges of my lips. “I’m gonna tell my dad about us when I see him tomorrow.”
I cringe. “I wish you wouldn’t. I’m not up for another visit from him. Can’t you let me move away in peace?”
“I can’t promise he won’t try to bribe you to stay away from me again.”
“I can’t promise I won’t hear him out.”
“You should,” he says. “Or you could come with me.”
I laugh mirthlessly. “No fucking way.”
“One of these days, then.”
“Yeah, okay, Senator. I’m sure he’ll love it when I walk up to his door, and some dude with a camera sells the picture of that to the news.”
“Maybe not at his New York place, but the cabin in the Catskills? No one knows about that.”
“You have a—? Never mind.”
“The only other thing you might not know about is the yacht.”
“Of course there’s a yacht. Seems so obvious in retrospect.”
“Lots of things do,” Graham says, sighing against my temple as he rests his head.
“So you think all of a sudden this disowner of his children and pillar of the Catholic community is going to invite me along for your next ski trip?”
“If you can still manage to love me, I think anything’s possible.”
“I’m a moron. Your dad’s way smarter than me.”
“You’re a fucking saint. And I love you, too.”
“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. Literally nothing you’ve said or anything that’s happened tonight has convinced me to stay in New York. I actually really want to leave.”
Graham sighs again. “Why? Haven’t you heard what people are like in Florida?”
“They’re mostly from here?”
“No…”
“Most of the ones I’ve met are. And if you’re worried about me being washed away in a hurricane, I have a plan.”
“You don’t think Trixie would like a place in Connecticut?”
I laugh. “No. She gets cold easy. Also, please stop. You’re making me picture things.”
“I want you to picture things. You said you didn’t want to be a shitty boyfriend? Manifest being a better one and trust me.”
That strikes a chord, but I feel compelled to ask, “We’re boyfriends now? That’s bold. You’re supposed to ask first.”
He runs a hand over all the hickeys I left on him. “You want me to say I got these from a hook up that got out of hand?”
I pinch his belly, and his abs clench. Then he laughs. “That’s what I thought. You’re so transparent.”
“You didn’t use to think that,” I mumble.
“I hate to tell you this, but you’ve showed your hand. More than once.”
“We’ll see what tune you’re singing if you actually have this conversation with your father. Until then, I advise humility.”
“You’re right to be skeptical,” he says. “I had a chance to tell him today, and I chickened out, but I feel different about it now.”
“That’s the afterglow. It wears off, you know?”
“I know you’re kind of a dick sometimes, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.”
“It certainly doesn’t seem to.”
“It’s worth it to me, Silas. And I don’t know if you believe that, or if it’s gonna take more time or more effort on my part, but I’ve never missed anything the way I miss coming home to you. ”
“What took you so long?” I ask, some of the hurt feelings gathering force in my chest.
“After what I did, I never wanted to presume there was anything I could do to have you forgive me.”
“Graham…” I sigh. “Shit.”
“And I might be presuming too much now.”
“You’re not,” I assure him. “I do want to forgive you. I want to be with you, and I want you to know I can love you better than I did before.”
He stares at me expectantly, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate. So, I do.
“I could have been stronger for you. I could have believed in you. I could have reminded you how strong I thought you already were.”
“You did,” he whispers. “You do.” Graham puts his arm around my chest and cuddles close. I wrap my own arm around his back because I like the feel of him like this. I always have.
“Why do you sound sad?” he asks.
Do I? I run my fingers through his thick hair as I take an internal inventory. My chest is tight, my breaths shallow and unsatisfying. I think back to when I met his father. I’ve met a lot of extremely wealthy people through the years working on the Upper East Side. I’ve fucked or been fucked by a lot of them, too.
Money and power has always struck me as a toxic combination. For people born to it, it sets up a sense of entitlement. They’re cheap. More than once I’ve heard the phrase— that should be included —when asked to perform an à la carte service—like letting someone come on my face or fuck me raw. As though it were my job to bend to their whim, regardless of my own limits and boundaries. People who’ve had to work to amass their wealth—new money—they’ll throw out cash like it’s nothing. How much is it to piss on me? I’ll give you two hundred in cash to tie you to the bed.
Graham’s father was both. He made his own fortune, but he’s had it a long time, and it’s not going anywhere—he’s created his own legacy. Throwing money at a problem is his instinct, but the sense of entitlement—the expectation that I’d take it and keep my mouth shut was heavily implied. His reaction when I failed to jump at the bait was mild surprise that made him seem impressed.
But he holds grudges, too. I paid for my refusal. “How will you feel if he never wants to see you again?” I ask.
Graham shifts. “You’re worried about me?”
There was a time—not long ago—when I wanted him to hurt as much as I did. He does, though. He has. I can feel it in the way he clings a little closer, hugs a little longer. Texts a hell of a lot more often. “Maybe.”
“Oh, it’s sweet Silas. I forgot about him.”
I almost smile. “I can see how you would.”
“I like every version of you,” he says.
“Even with my fist in your ass?”
“You’d be surprised how often I’ve gotten off thinking about that night.”
Shit, me, too, although I doubt I’ll put fisting into the regular rotation.
I shouldn’t be thinking about a regular rotation. I’m supposed to be living moment to moment. With the spirit of that in mind, I turn in his arms and give him a long kiss, genuinely surprised at how one stroke of his tongue against mine gets me hard. I’m obsessed with having my mouth on him tonight. All the ways that he’s different—the softer ways and the harder ways—turn me on as much as they make me want to worship him. I’m putty when it comes to him. Dick-whipped among other things.
Plain, fucking obsessed, and increasingly territorial. Seeing the marks I’ve already left on him only makes me want to leave more. He’s mine. Only mine. I don’t want to let him out of my sight. Or my bed.
“I need to fuck you,” I tell him .
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I come hard inside him, filling him up while I press him flat against my shower wall. He shudders as my cock convulses in his ass, milking the cum from me with skillful muscle contractions, each one extending my release. It’s been another all night sex-a-thon wherein we can’t keep our hands off each other’s dicks or our mouths apart for any rational length of time.
It’s been great. I haven’t had to talk anymore. Haven’t had to think. But the sun is out, and the clock is ticking. I doubt I’ll be able to get it up again before he has to leave—not after this orgasm. It was a true ballbuster.
I wrap my hand firmly around his dick to finish him off, but he hisses at the contact. His shaft giving a telltale throb. “I’m good,” he says, pushing at my wrist to make me let go of him. I get it. The overstimulation is real. Still, I stay inside him a little longer, sucking at his neck as the water flows over us, keeping us cool despite the heat between us.
“I don’t know if it’s my Catholic upbringing, but I think I have a breeding kink.”
“You have a lot of kinks, Senator.” I nip softly at his ear. When I give it a flick with my tongue, he shivers again.
“I told you. I’m evolving.”
I don’t want to think about that. It’s future-oriented, and I have twenty more minutes with him, if that. It’s in no way a given that I’ll see him again once he leaves. I don’t trust his father not to threaten him, or worse, threaten me if Graham does what he says he wants to do and tells him about us.
This new, vaguely self-actualized version of the man I wish I’d never met but fell in love with anyway could maybe withstand a few threats to his own reputation, but when it comes to me? I could easily see him folding.
I bring it up when he’s getting dressed. I put on a pair of shorts, not planning to do much but pack and stress for the rest of the day, but he’s ironing and shaving and getting all fancy for his visit with his father and his trip back to DC. He brought a suit over in a duffel bag, and I admit, I’m impressed with his ironing skills. He screams dry clean only.
“Whatever you want to tell your dad, please don’t worry about me, okay?” This I say when he’s straightening his tie in the mirror. I’m on the bed watching him as I get more anxious by the second.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m leaving. Starting over. I can even change my name. There’s nothing he can do to me that I won’t be able to handle on my own.”
Graham turns to face me.
“I just mean do whatever you need to do, say whatever you’re willing to say, but if he tries to make it about me somehow?—”
“Silas.”
I shut up as he approaches, and I have no clue what to think when he kneels on the floor in front of me. He takes my hands in his. “As much as you might hate it,” he says, “this is about you and me. It’s about us, and something I need more than I need his good opinion. If you want to know what’s changed— that’s what’s different. I have no right to ask you to trust me, and I won’t hold you to what you said last night, but?—”
“About that—” I start, but he shakes his head, effectively cutting me off.
“I’m just asking for a chance, Silas. You don’t have to promise me anything. I want to be good enough for you, too.”
“You are, ” I whisper, staring at our tangled hands.
“I’m working on it, but I have my own set of standards, and so far I’ve fallen short on all of them. ”
I bend down and kiss his upturned mouth. “Call me?”
“Of course,” he says like it’s a given. Like we’re official and not constantly hovering over no man’s land.
“I think I might get out of here for a while,” I decide, knowing I won’t like being here without him. “Go see Drew and Ollie or something.” Or Lilah and maybe Gil.
He lets go of my hands, and we stand together. “Keep your phone on you, okay?”
I hug him to me, reluctant to let him go—my toxic trait. “I hate you,” I whisper.
“I know, baby. I completely understand.”
I think he must.