Page 20 of Nothing to Fear (Wicked Games #1)

Asher

S ilas Blackwood isn’t at all who I thought he was.

He’s so complex, layers upon layers hidden behind a rough, protective wall.

I want to peel back every single piece and learn about each one.

Our little mutual jack-off session was easily one of the hottest sexual experiences of my life.

I’ve never wanted to reach out and touch someone as badly as I wanted to touch Silas at that moment.

Silas.

What a mindfuck.

Sure, I was trying to mess with him, make him uncomfortable, but I had no idea he’d join me. It was the hottest, most sexually electric experience of my life, and we barely touched each other. Just the press of his warm thigh on mine was enough to have me shooting my load.

I held on as long as I could, my eyes roaming all over him—thick, strong legs spread wide, his huge dick rock hard.

I wanted to drop to my knees between his legs and lick him root to tip, suck him back until he was spilling down my throat.

The way he moaned for me when I gave him a demand or praise. Jesus.

For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been a big, asshole jock, albeit a sexy big asshole jock, but still an asshole, nonetheless.

I’ve seen slight glimpses of who he is behind his shell when we’re alone together at the archives studying.

Hell, even when we fight. His crystal-blue eyes give everything away.

He doesn’t enjoy being a dick to me, and if I were a betting man, I would wager that it hurts him a helluva lot more than it hurts me.

I tossed and turned all night last night, reliving his muscular body next to me, his thick cock as his fist pumped him up and down, the sexy way he squeezed his engorged head on every upstroke, the way his fingers rubbed his balls.

And the way he sounded when he came? Jesus fucking Christ, it was better than any porn, better than any partner I’ve had in the past. It was a man completely lost to the moment, uninhibited, and wanton. That did it for me.

It was also vaguely familiar. Something about the way he sounded, the way his hips moved against his hand.

I had the oddest sensation while watching him come that I had seen it all before, but that’s not even possible.

My mind was just conjuring up what I’ve been wanting, what I’ve been dreaming about.

I want more.

After grabbing a quick dinner, I head to the archives to study for a while before Silas shows up for tutoring. I need to get him caught up, but I also can’t afford to fall behind in the process.

My little mishap with Silas in class, unfortunately, put me under a microscope.

In every class since, Professor Thorne’s attention seemed to constantly flick back to me, as if he had a sixth sense and he knew I was slacking.

For the first time in my life, I struggle to focus on lectures, to focus on my work.

His presence is intense, as if darkness shrouds him, and the last thing I need is to be on his bad side.

I need to excel in his class. His email was a warning that I was on thin ice, and I need to make sure I don’t mess up again.

As I reach the bottom of the spiral staircase, I walk through the archives to my typical spot, only to come up short.

Silas sits in his chair, head turned down with a book spread open in front of him.

The top of a ballpoint pen rests between his plush lips, his teeth pressing down into the cap ever so slightly.

His blond hair is pushed back, the sides cut short, strong shoulders slightly hunched over.

I’ve never seen him so studious before, and it’s a turn-on.

Without saying a word, I take a seat in my chair, not breaking the silence that stretches between us. Silas doesn’t look up from his book, the gentle tap of his teeth ever so often on the pen cap the only noise in the room besides our breathing.

Silas and I study in the quiet, but there’s no denying his presence. Every so often, my eyes flick up inconspicuously, wanting to catch a glimpse of him, wanting to watch him.

I don’t know how much time goes on as I read over the history of Corvus College, mentally cataloging everything.

Founded in the sixteenth century by Abel Thorne, Edmund Mortwood, Francis Harrow, Isabel Ashcroft, and Cecilia Grimsley, the school was intended to teach the unconventional.

They were members of a secret society, Crimson Veil, and membership was passed down to their direct family line, while slowly bringing in more members who were willing to make a blood oath, binding them and their descendants to the veil.

I slide my finger over Edmund Mortwood’s name. Professor Mortwood would be a direct descendant given that they share a last name, but she also could have married in. Just as I’m about to grab a different book of family lineage and genealogy, Silas’ deep voice breaks the silence.

“You’re really lost in that book. What are you reading about?”

“Do you think the school is really founded on spilled blood and magic?” I say without thinking, ignoring his question. Silas’ eyes widen as he looks back at me.

“I don’t know nearly as much about the history of the school as you do, but I’ve lived here for years, and I’m not immune to the weird shit that happens here. What are you considering?”

“I don’t know what I’m considering. The school just has a long history with death, especially within the five families.

” I say it and immediately regret it. Silas relaxes further into his chair; his arm draped lazily over the side of it.

When he doesn’t say anything right away, I look back down at my book, ready to move on and pretend like I hadn’t just opened my mouth.

“I guess it’s possible something nefarious happened when they were creating the place. The school has been around for hundreds of years; there’s more history here than in most places in our country. Anything is possible.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I think it’s just October. Everything just feels extra creepy lately.”

“You’re not wrong.”

I go back to work, finding an old, worn book that lacks dust but is clearly well-used.

The contents seem to have traced every member of Crimson Veil since the sixteenth century—starting with the founders.

I quickly scan for Mortwood, dragging my finger across all the names, flipping through year after year, my eyes reading every single name until finally I reach the end of that family line.

A bolt of electricity zaps through me as the tips of my fingers are caressed by Silas’ on the top of the table.

His head is downcast, eyes shifting back and forth over the words, but my focus is now solely on the connection between us.

Silas moves his fingers ever so slowly, the very tips of his fingers brushing over mine.

The touch is minuscule, barely there, but I feel it to my core, heating me and threatening to burn me alive.

I shift my focus back to the book, my eyes tracking our connection every other minute.

My dick perks up, throbbing behind my zipper as thoughts of what he looks like with his pants around his ankles flash behind my eyes.

He keeps up his ministrations, gently caressing our fingers, and with the way it’s affecting me, he may as well be stroking my cock.

“Alright, I’m still not getting the appeal of Dracula, ” Silas groans as he closes his book and laptop. “Tell me what you’re studying.”

It takes me a moment to pull myself from the fantasy of hauling him into my lap and letting him ride my dick to answer his question. Was he not as affected as I just was? How is he so cool right now?

“What do you mean you don’t get the appeal?”

“Just what I said. It’s exploring fear and dread. Big deal. Everyone feels those emotions . . . some on the daily.”

“Are you kidding me with that shit? It’s so much more than fear and dread, slacker.

It’s good versus evil, gender roles, and sexuality .

. . you know there’s even groups of literary scholars who believe it explores homosexual relationships?

Yes, it has themes of fear of the unknown, and Victorian era societal roles and the dread over change, but?—”

“Whoa, whoa, okay. Noted. Do not bash on Dracula in front of Asher,” he laughs.

“Dracula is a big deal. So is all the gothic literature you need to catch up on reading this year. Finish that one so you can start Frankenstein next. ”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I’m ready to move on to botany. Now tell me what you’re working on.”

“No.”

“What the hell? Why?”

“Because it’s personal.”

“You’re researching for personal reasons in the Noctus Archives.”

Okay, that may sound a little crazy, even for me.

“Yep.”

“Okay, weirdo.”

I dip my head back down into the book with a smile on my face, flipping through the pages, determined to find out who at Corvus might know the way into the cemetery.