18. Ophelia
By the time Nigella and I wrap up, it’s evening. I’m tired and wondering where Silas is. He’s been gone all day and each time I tried to call him, the call went right to voicemail.
Now, sitting beside Hamish in the SUV, I swear there’s a more direct route to the house than the one he’s taking. When I ask him about it, though, he tells me there’s traffic.
I’m glad to see when we get to the house that a light is on downstairs and the SUV Silas took earlier is parked on the driveway. I hurry inside, shivering in the cold, cloudy night. The rain of earlier has become snow as the temperatures have dropped, and I watch fat flakes fall. It’s only supposed to be a dusting tonight, though.
“Silas?” I call out, shrugging off my coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. Apart from the light in the living room, the house is dark, and I wonder where he went to work. He doesn’t have an office in Boston, as far as I know.
I head into the living room and find Silas there, crouched in front of the fireplace.
“There you are,” I say. “Didn’t you hear me?”
He pokes a log with the poker and when he looks at me, his forehead is furrowed. I notice he’s still wearing his coat.
“Sorry, no.” He glances at the fire as he straightens, then takes me into his arms. “How did it go with Nigella?”
“Fine. Long.” His coat is still cold and damp from the snow. “Did you just get in?”
He draws back and studies me in the light of the fire. The only other light that’s on is one on a table across the room.
“Yeah, just a few minutes before you did.”
“And you started a fire without even taking off your coat?”
“Nice night for it, don’t you think?” he asks.
“I guess so.”
Hamish clears his throat from the hallway. Silas turns to him.
“Thanks for bringing her home. Take the night off. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Hamish nods. “You know where to find me if you need me sooner,” he says and leaves.
“Are you hungry?” Silas asks, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.
“I could eat something. You?”
“Starved. Want to go out to get something?”
I shake my head. “Let’s stay in.”
“Good idea. You go into the kitchen and see what Nigella has stocked in the fridge. I’ll make sure the fire is going and get us a bottle of wine.”
“Okay.”
I switch on lights as I go, and Silas tends to the fire. Nigella has stocked the kitchen well, and I take out a whole roasted chicken from the refrigerator. I read the instructions and put it in the oven, then empty a bag of salad into a bowl. Silas walks in carrying not one but two bottles of red wine.
I raise my eyebrows.
He smiles. “Nigella has excellent taste in wine.” He fishes around in two drawers before finding the bottle opener and popping the cork on the first bottle. I get two wine glasses. Silas pours and hands me one. He watches me as I take a sip. The way he’s looking at me is a little odd.
“Everything okay?” I ask, feeling self-conscious.
“Fine.”
“Where did you go?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you were going to do some work. Where did you go to do it?”
“Oh. Just the office of a friend.”
“You were gone all day.”
“I’m a little behind.” He swallows the contents of his glass, and I’m not sure he even tasted it. He sets his glass down, then takes mine from me and puts it aside. He pulls me to him. “Do you remember what I told you before we got married?”
“Which part?” I ask but I think I know. My heart beats faster.
“The part where you asked me what I would marry for, and I said love. That I’d marry for love.”
Heat flushes my neck and cheeks. “I remember.”
“I love you. Have for a long time. Do you understand that? I never said the words, not really, but they’re true in here.” He sets his hand over his heart.
I smile, warm tears stinging my eyes. “Well, if we’re doing this, I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old,” I say, feeling embarrassed and unable to hold his gaze.
He tips my face up to his and smiles and that smile touches his eyes, warms them. But there’s more. There’s something heavy, something dark inside them.
“What is it?” I ask. “Did something happen? You’re different.”
He pulls me in for a tight hug then draws back to look at me again before kissing me. Taking my hand, he walks me to the stove and switches off the oven, then lifts me in his arms. He carries me up the stairs to our bedroom, where he strips me naked. Eyes locked on me, he does the same until he’s standing naked before me, looking every inch a god, shoulders broad, arms and chest dusted with dark hair and defined with muscle. His stomach is cut, thighs powerful, and his cock, well, his cock has me dropping to my knees before him to worship.
Silas looks down at me as I run my hands up along his thighs before cupping his ass and licking the length of his cock. He caresses the back of my head when I open my mouth to take him and moans, closing his eyes as I taste him. He weaves his fingers into my hair and watches me as he moves me over himself, pushing in deeper and deeper, taking me right to the edge and pulling back when I can’t take more.
A few more strokes like this, and he pulls me off.
“I want?—”
“Later.” He raises me to my feet and kisses me like he’s starved, like he’s never kissed me before. “Later, I’ll take your mouth but right now I need to be inside you, O. I need to feel you from inside.”
He lays me down on the bed and never stops kissing me as he nudges my legs apart and pushes into me, that initial intrusion making me draw in a shuddering breath. He sets his elbows on either side of my head to carry most of his weight, but our bodies are touching, as close as possible. He kisses me, watching me, tongue claiming my mouth, cock reaching the deepest parts of me. He holds me close, closer than we’ve ever been.
“I love you, do you understand that?” he asks.
I nod, his thrusts deep, purposeful, his cock growing impossibly hard inside me.
“No matter what, I love you,” he says again, more urgently.
“I love you, too, Silas. No matter what.” I mimic his words although their intensity is confusing and when he repeats himself, I see he’s far away. He’s right here, eyes locked on me, but he’s far, far away.
“Do you understand?” he asks again, and I realize he’s waiting for me to answer him. “Do you know?”
“I know, Silas. I know.”
“No matter what, O. No matter.” He closes his eyes then and wraps one hand around the top of my head, his weight heavy on me. I touch his face, so he opens his eyes. I want to see him. Watch him. He’s so beautiful. So perfect. And like this, we are one, just him and me. Just us.
The thought draws warm tears from my eyes. It was always meant to be just us.
When it’s over and his breath has leveled out, he rolls onto his side seeming surprised by my tears. He wipes them away.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I wasn’t right,” I start, the thought coming out of nowhere.
He cocks his head and waits for me to clarify.
“When I told you you’d become the villain of your own story. I wasn’t right. You broke, I think. No, I know. You broke over and over again for a long time. That part was right. But the way you healed, your scars,” I continue, touching his temple where the physical scar is, then his broken nose. “They’re what make you perfect. You’re no villain. You could never be that. Not to me. I love you, Silas Cruz. I have loved you for a very very long time. And I will love you for the rest of my life. No matter what.” That last part comes without conscious thought and again, mimics what he said just moments ago. It’s a strange thing to say, for both of us. There’s a feeling that seems to have attached itself to the words that I can’t quite name but it makes me uneasy.
I kiss him to banish those feelings, those thoughts.
“You’re very philosophical tonight,” Silas says, perhaps sensing my unease.
I smile, shrug, glad for this lighter note.
“And you didn’t come,” he says and flips us over so he’s on his back. He kisses me and grips my hips, drawing me up across his body. “Put your hands on the headboard,” he tells me when I’m straddling his chest.
I swallow hard, looking down at him, knowing what he’ll do. I grip the headboard.
“Good girl. Now, come here and put your pussy on my face. I’m starved,” he says, and he shifts his gaze from my eyes to my sex as he draws me down onto his mouth.
All I can do at the first swipe of his tongue over my clit is close my eyes and moan. I grind against his face, his tongue inside me, where his cock had been, licking me, tasting me, my arousal mixing with his come until I am panting, begging for more and begging him to stop at once. Until I can’t breathe from all the sensations.