Page 8 of Love by Design (Club Rapture: Risk Aware #1)

MARSHALL

S ilas knocked on my door with every ounce of over-confidence I’d expect a recently traumatized but currently posturing man to have.

In another time, I would have made him wait, would have wanted him nervous, but admittedly that was the last thing I wanted with Silas.

I was waiting by the door when he arrived, and I opened it quickly, his arm still raised to knock another time.

When he saw me there, he gave me a quick onceover, his face not giving much away about his reaction to my appearance—worn jeans, a threadbare undershirt, and bare feet—before he returned his stare to my face.

“I’m here,” he said, throwing his arms out a little dramatically, “and I’m fine.”

Sighing, I stepped to the side to make room for him to come in.

Silas stepped onto the white tile of my entryway, looked back at my bare feet, then kicked his shoes off without asking if it was necessary.

With socked toes, he nudged his black sneakers—the same ones from last night—into a neat line against the baseboard, then he followed me into the living room without complaining .

I’d made him lunch because he needed to eat, but I ignored the way his stomach growled once he saw the pasta salad and sandwiches I’d set out on the coffee table.

Gesturing for Silas to take a seat in one of my chairs, I took the one opposite him and waited for him to say something.

Again, in other circumstances, it would have been different, but Silas was skittish as a mouse even if he tried to pretend otherwise.

“You really read it,” he finally said, leaning forward and tapping the cover of the most recent issue of LA Design Digest . It was the one with his article that I had read, more than once.

“I told you as much.”

His stomach growled again.

“Eat, Silas.” I pushed one of the sandwiches closer to him, and he picked the plate up without being told a second time.

He worked his way through half the sandwich before setting the plate back onto the table and pushing it away. Half was better than nothing.

“See?” he prompted, brushing his hands down the front of his chest. “I’m fine. Can I go?”

“I want to talk about what happened last night.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because nothing happened.”

“So you weren’t tied to a bench by a man you didn’t know who would have raped you as a worst-case scenario and injured you at best?” My tone was snappish, but Silas’s complete lack of awareness about what had almost transpired at Rapture was too cavalier of an attitude for me to bear.

He stared at me, swallowing hard, like the words were a truth he didn’t have the stomach for.

“I’m fine, Marshall,” he said again, the syllables far more measured. Pressing his palms against the top of his thighs, he leveraged himself to stand. “Thank you for lunch.”

“Sit down, Silas. ”

And he did, cheeks burning bright as hot coals.

Silas worked his jaw, looked from me to the food to his lap, back to the table again before asking, “What did you think about my suggestion in the article to use solar power tied in with the water purification?”

“You know I think it was amazing,” I murmured, leaning forward to bring our bodies closer together. “What were you after last night?”

“A good time.”

“Wrong answer.”

“I’m not sure the technology is there yet to purify graywater in the way we need it for future development and use,” he croaked.

“What do you need, Silas?”

“But there’s some guys in Europe who are making a lot of progress with the tech.”

“Silas.”

“We’re probably a few years away from that kind of advancement here,” he whispered.

I could hear the way his exhales trembled in the space between us.

“Did you get what you wanted last night?”

His body swayed forward, and he blinked long and hard. “I…”

He licked his lips, and I watched. I watched .

“My research was really inspired by integration with nature that you see in buildings like the Pabellon de la Reserva.”

“Silas.”

It was obvious my thought pattern around Silas Ayres had shifted irrevocably when I walked in and found him with his pants down and his ass up, but that had no bearing on the opinion I’d had of him before last night.

He was smart, capable, extremely forward-thinking, if not burdened by the narrowmindedness of his father.

He had the makings of being a groundbreaking architect, but he needed the freedom to design his own ideas, not someone else’s.

He’d always been Stanley’s son, and obviously that hadn’t changed, but I had.

He was the son of my former friend, my business rival.

He had no place in my home with his shoes off, with his pulse hammering against his throat so hard I could see it.

Holding him in my arms at Rapture had awoken something in me that had been long dormant.

Having him in my house now, with my food in his belly and his hands only inches away from mine only served to stoke a fire that I’d never meant to start.

“No,” he whispered, so soft I barely heard it over the beating of my own heart.

“If this is a no, you can leave.” I tried to make myself lean away from him, but it was impossible.

“No, I meant…no, I didn’t get what I wanted last night.”

Heat raced between my legs, blood thickening my cock to a girth it had no right being, all things considered.

Silas was here because I’d asked him over, demanded it maybe, but only because he’d suffered a trauma and I wanted to make sure he was processing it and not avoiding it.

My brain and my body were on different wavelengths, though, and I needed to control myself so the wrong one didn’t win out.

I forced myself to lean away from him just long enough to breathe and ask, “What did you want?”

“A spanking,” he murmured.

I exhaled through my mouth, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel, and I reached forward, gently pressing my fingers against Silas’s chest. His eyes went wide, and I gave him a gentle push backward.

He’d leaned in so close during the exchange he was barely on the seat, and I knew he needed the fresh air as much as I did.

His back hit the cushions, and he blinked rapidly, then covered his cheeks with his hands and turned away from me.

“Sorry,” he muttered .

“What for?”

He shrugged awkwardly and let his hands fall into his lap, fingers tangled.

“Next time you want a spanking, I’ll give you a spanking.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I stood.

Gathering the plates from the table, I carried everything into the kitchen and dropped it on the counter with enough force I was shocked when the porcelain didn’t shatter on impact.

Bracing myself against the edge of the counter, I bowed forward and let my chin hang against my chest while I caught my breath.

It was easier to breathe when Silas wasn’t in the room, but then he was.

I felt him behind me before I heard him, the nervous but sure energy rolling off of him like waves crashing against the shore. Squaring my shoulders, I stood up straight but didn’t turn toward him because I couldn’t be responsible for what happened next if I did.

“I want a spanking,” he said.

I clenched my jaw so hard I worried my molars were about to shatter. “I didn’t mean right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re still processing everything that happened last night.” Bracketing my hands on my hips so I didn’t reach for him, I spun around to face him, finding him red-faced and ready.

“You keep saying that, but you’re wrong.”

“You’re being bold, Silas,” I warned.

“I want a spanking,” he said again, taking a step toward me, encroaching on the precious untainted air I’d been desperate for.

He wanted a spanking, and I wanted to give it to him—there was no doubt about that.

Silas was one of those men who was so naturally submissive, the fact he was also a masochist wasn’t anything less than a cherry on top.

He was the kind of man I’d spent most of my early adult life searching for before giving up and settling on nothing more than casual hookups.

I wanted to spank him more than I wanted my next breath, but I wanted to spank him more than once so I knew I couldn’t.

“Then let me tie you up,” I said.

He winced, a visible recoil and the look of defeat that flashed across his gorgeous face confirmed he finally understood that I was right. He wasn’t ready, even if he wanted to be.

“Is that a requirement?”

“No,” I told him honestly. “But until the idea doesn’t terrify you, I’m not going to touch you at all.”

Silas cursed under his breath and stalked out of my kitchen.

His exit brought breathable air back into the space, and I took a desperate lungful of it before following after him back into the living room.

I was relieved to find him in a chair again and not in the entryway lacing up his sneakers.

I slowly sat down back beside him, propping my elbows on my knees and bringing our bodies close again.

His resignation tempered some of my arousal, and I tentatively hovered one hand over top of his leg.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” he rasped, and I slowly set my hand on his thigh.

He was slimmer than he looked, my fingers curling around to the inside of his leg when I spread them out. His muscles tightened, then relaxed, like he was unfurling beneath my touch, a reaction that did nothing to ease the ache that had developed between my legs.

“I want you to be fine, Silas,” I said, fingers flexing against his jeans. “I want you to be fine because I want to spank you. I want to tie you up. Tie you down.”

He inhaled sharply, swaying toward me.

“I want all of those things and more. ”

“More?”

“More,” I repeated. “But only if they’re freely given, and you are… not free to give right now.”

“Why?” he asked, glancing up at me from beneath the fan of his dark and curled lashes. “Why me? Why now?”

He was closer to okay than I thought with a question like that, an intuitive understanding that something between us had shifted out of the shadows and into the light, and that neither of us were able to shove it back into the darkness. At least, not entirely.

“I like the way you felt in my arms last night,” I admitted.

It was simple.

It was honest.

“Is that all?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Silas made a thoughtful noise, and I squeezed his thigh tighter, drawing his attention to my face.

“I’ve always thought you to be intelligent, Silas, if not stifled by your employer.” I paused, and his nostrils flared at the mention of his father, but he didn’t argue the point so I continued. “You’re young, talented, attractive, and now that I know…”

The corner of his mouth angled up into a smile.

“Now that you know I like it rough.”

I swallowed hard. “That’s not…I…some people like those things softly, Silas.”

“I don’t,” he said, stare flickering down to my hand around his thigh. My fingers had splayed wider, incher higher.

“And now that I know,” I repeated, dragging my teeth across my bottom lip while I tried to get my thoughts back into line. “I want.”

We’d leaned in at some point, unknowing.

The hot bursts of his exhales landed against my damp lip, my cheek.

His breath didn’t shake any longer, and neither did mine.

My hands, though, another story entirely.

I raised one to his face anyway, cradling his jaw against my palm and groaning when he pressed his cheek into my hand, lashes fluttering.

The touch emboldened him, empowered, and he stared at me with those brilliant eyes of his, so full of understanding and of want.

“I think you’re safe, Marshall,” he whispered.

“I’m… fuck .”

He grabbed my wrist and dragged my hand to the front of his face, kissed my palm. “You’re what?”

“I’m your father’s…. I’m old enough to…”

He kissed me again, this time with teeth.

“You’re safe for me,” he said again, one more kiss. “And I’ll call you, I promise. As soon as I’m safe for you.”