Page 25 of Love by Design (Club Rapture: Risk Aware #1)

MARSHALL

I made it home five minutes before Silas arrived.

I’d barely had time to undo the cuffs of my shirt when he pulled into my driveway and cut the ignition.

He sat in the driver’s seat for a while, a fact I knew only because I stood in the open doorway and watched him.

He could have as much time as he needed, so I left the door open and headed back into the house.

On the phone, he’d sounded inconsolable, but it appeared he had cried a lot of that out on the drive from work to my house.

I was certain he had more in him, though, and together we would wring him dry of it.

Eventually, I heard his footsteps shuffle up the porch, then he kicked out of his shoes and moved them into their place against the wall.

I’d never asked him to take off his shoes.

He’d just…done it and never stopped, and if that wasn’t the best description of Silas as a person, I didn’t know what was.

“You look like you need a hug.” I greeted him from the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of wine. Alcohol was the last thing Silas needed, and I would make sure he didn’t get any.

He glanced up at me, eyes ringed red and the tip of his nose wet from tears or snot, or most likely both, and he shrugged .

“Even if you want one, I’m not offering. At least, not right now.”

“Alright,” he grumbled.

I chewed on my lip, studying him to make sure what I said to him really had time to sink in.

This was a test for us both, because even though I was Silas’s boyfriend, I was still his Dom, and while it was easy for those two things to engage with each other most days, there were times when one or the other would have to take precedence.

Whether we liked it or not. And Silas did need a hug.

I wanted to hug him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and let him cry and protect him from whatever had gone down with his father, but first…

But first.

“The rules are the rules, Silas. When you’re happy to be here and when you’re not.” I paused. “Did you come straight from work?”

“Yes.”

“You can use the guest bathroom to clean up then,” I said.

Silas tucked his chin toward his chest and sighed heavily.

“The attachment is already in the shower for you.”

He worked his jaw back and forth, then nodded briefly. “I’ll be right back.”

“I know.”

He swallowed hard enough for me to see his Adam's apple bob, then he headed down the hallway like the weight of the world bore down on his shoulders. I waited until the door closed, then I went back to the kitchen to have at the wine I’d been pouring at his arrival.

The red blend was fruity and dry, and I appreciated the way the flavor raced down my throat with every swallow.

In the bathroom, the shower turned on, and I groaned, pressing down against the base of my shaft to fight off my arousal. The effort was futile. Knowing Silas was in the shower naked, knowing he was in there preparing himself for me …

The erection was hot and heavy between my legs.

I finished the glass of wine and waited for the shower to turn off, except ten minutes later, it still ran.

I washed my empty glass and Silas was still in the shower, so I made the executive decision to go check on him.

Knocking on the door before twisting the knob, I gave him a heads-up about my arrival, which was met with a sniffling hiccup of a cough.

“Is everything all right in there, Silas?” I asked.

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“Have you taken care of things?”

Another sniffle. “No.”

“Have you been crying the whole time?”

The glass door of the shower was covered in steam, but I didn’t need him to wipe it away to see how his shoulders trembled with confirmation.

I should have taken my clothes off, but I didn’t think it through.

I pulled the door back and stepped under the spray, welcoming Silas into my arms. I held him briefly, kissed the top of his head, then reached around him for the nozzle attachment.

“Let me help you,” I whispered against the shell of his ear.

He frowned against my chest, and I fought with the shower behind him, slicking the nozzle, pressing it between his cheeks and easing the steel length inside of him.

Silas cried and tensed against me, fingers barely resting on my hips when I got the nozzle fully inserted.

“You’re dressed,” he murmured.

“You just now realized?” I stroked my hand down the length of his spine and sighed into his hair. I could feel him fighting his muscles to settle, even though he vibrated with all of the tears he still needed to let out.

It was going to be a long night.

“Let’s sort you out so we can sort you out.” I wrapped my arm around his back and banded our chests together. I was soaked, hair in my face and clothes sticking to every crevice of my body, but I’d deal with it later. My comfort was secondary.

He nodded his consent, because while we’d agreed he would do this, we’d never truly discussed my involvement with the process. I think he understood, though, that it was my job to help when he needed it, and in that moment, he needed it.

I flipped the valve on the shower head, and Silas started, going tense again before baring his teeth against my shoulder and letting out a whimper that had no business turning me on as much as it did.

“There you go,” I whispered to him, holding him tighter when he tried to fight away from me.

Together in the shower, we filled him, and when he grunted at me, I flipped the valve back to the overhead spray.

Silas dug his fingers harder into my waist when I eased out the nozzle, and then he let everything go.

Neither of us checked it, because the cleanliness was only half the point, at least as far as I was concerned.

Silas was a twenty-five year old, virile man who bottomed exclusively.

I didn’t need to check to know he took care of himself that way.

He still cried against my chest, so I kept him in my arms after I turned off the water, only pulling away long enough to wrap him in a towel.

I set him on the closed toilet, then stripped out of my soiled clothes.

Leaving them in a pile on the floor of the shower, I wrapped the other towel around my waist and turned my attention back to Silas.

Tapping my first finger against my thumb, I studied Silas carefully, knowing whatever decision I made for him, it had to be the right one.

There were a lot of ways for me to get Silas to the place he needed to be, but not all of them were ideal.

Some would do more harm than good; some could shatter trust where others would fortify it.

Finally deciding, I guided Silas into the bedroom.

“Get dressed, sweetheart,” I said gently, getting him some sweats and a clean t-shirt from my dresser. My clothes were huge on him, but I loved the way they hung loosely on his slender frame. “Let’s go into the dining room.”

He didn’t agree, but he didn’t protest. Silas toweled himself off and wore my clothes like they were his, and then he followed me into the dining room.

I pulled out a chair for him, and he sat down with another wet inhale.

Detouring into the kitchen, I poured myself another glass of wine and got a water bottle for Silas.

I took both to the table and set them down.

“Drink,” I said, and he begrudgingly twisted the cap off and took a sip. I narrowed my eyes, and he took a regular-sized swallow. “Wait here.”

After a quick stop in my home office and then my living room, I was back. I dropped the newest issue of LA Design Digest on the table in front of him and a legal pad and pen on top of that.

“Transcribe the article.”

“What?”

He looked up at me, eyes wide and confused. I sat down in the seat opposite him and took a drink of wine. We were both going to be there for a while.

“Transcribe it. Copy it. Write it down.”

I could see the protest in him, but he swallowed it back and flipped open the magazine. It took over an hour for him to get through the whole thing, two bottles of water, and the rest of my glass of wine. Finally, he made an exhausted sound and dropped the pen on the table.

“There.”

I pulled a red pen out of my pocket and slid it across the table and into his hand.

“Now annotate it.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

I arched a brow. “Annotate it.”

He probably didn’t realize it, but he hadn’t cried in almost twenty minutes, and if the set of his brow was any indicator, he’d gotten himself through the worst of it.

Silas and I both knew he came over looking for pain.

He wanted the emotional reset that came from being hit hard enough to catapult his brain right into subspace, but I saw immediately on his arrival that wasn’t what he needed.

Silas needed to recenter around himself and remember he was better than Stanley had made him feel, and he had to do that on his own, not by my hand.

Forty-five minutes later, Silas capped the pen and shoved the paper and magazine toward me.

“Annotated,” he said.

I’d read the article enough times to know the ins and outs of it, but I was genuinely curious about the notes he’d make in the margins.

Silas’s notes quoted government-funded studies about energy and waste, and psychology journals and their opinions on the importance of introducing green spaces into urban areas.

He made notes about a percentage he wished he had triple-checked before committing it to the final draft, and even a few lines about things he’d learned since the initial submission.

In all, the annotation proved what I—and Stanley—had known all along.

Silas was ahead of his time.

The only difference was I’d recognized it as a benefit, and Stanley had seen it as a threat until it was too late for him to backtrack.

He’d done the damage and, for whatever reason, blamed his own downfall on Silas’s brilliance, then fired him to boot.

There was no logic behind it, only the machinations of an old and desperate man.

He’d acted that way once before, when he was much, much younger.

It was such a blip in my memory, and I filed it away in favor of reading the final bits of Silas’s notes, which ended just as intelligently as they’d started.

“Why did you decide to pursue architecture?” I asked.

He sucked his teeth at me then said, “My dad.”

No new tears fell .

“Why did you continue with architecture?”

“Because I loved it.”

“Past tense?”

Silas scrunched his nose. “I love it.”

I stabbed my finger against the first page of his transcription. “You’re too good at this to walk away from it.”

“I never said I wanted to,” he protested.

“But you thought about it. I could hear it in your voice when you called.”

“How co?—”

I cut him off. “Am I wrong? Are you telling me I’m wrong?”

He snapped his mouth closed and blinked hard a few times before looking down at his own handwriting. “No.”

“You’re too good to work for him forever,” I said next. “This is a blessing.”

“I’ve never even tried to look for a job. And I know you said I can work for you, but I?—”

I raised a hand, silencing him again. “It would never work because I’m not foolish enough to hire someone who could put me out of business in less than three projects.”

His cheeks burned, but he didn’t argue.

“If you worked for me, I’d be obsolete before the end of the year.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s not your place to argue,” I reminded him. “But what I was going to say was that I’m good friends with a consultant who recently moved to LA from New York. His name is Cory Callahan, and I’d like to get the two of you in touch. If you’re agreeable.”

Tears filled Silas’s eyes, but they were so different from the ones he’d been crying earlier.

“Yes, please. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sir. ”

“That’s my job, sweetheart.” I pushed my chair back from the table and came around to meet him in his seat, kissing the top of his head and tracing my fingers over his hair. “It’s almost nine. Have you had dinner?”

“I came straight from work.”

“But you’ve had lunch?” I asked.

“Lunch and breakfast,” Silas answered, his stare on me as I carried my empty wine glass into the kitchen. “Just like you told me to.”

“Good boy.” For the first time since his arrival, a smile pulled at his lips. “Stay right there then. I’ll get you something to eat, and then we can talk some more and finish our night.”