Page 39 of Silas

She’s quiet for a moment. “Why, then?”

“Dunno. I want to.”

“Silas…”

I glide my hand down her hair, to her shoulder. “Want me to stop? I will. Say the word, honey.”

She’s cast a spell on me; that’s the only plausible explanation for how I am with her. Otherwise, it makes no sense.

I don’t call girlshoney. I don’t talk to them in that soft voice—not anyone, not ever. Never heard that tone come out of me till Naomi. I don’t brush hair. I don’t…I don’t care for people. I careaboutpeople—my brothers, the other Broken Arrows. Inez…I careaboutthem. But I don’t careforthem.

I don’t know what I’m doing. But I also know I can’t stop. Won’t stop.

“Don’t stop.” I can barely hear her, even this close. My chest is to her back. Her hips press against my thighs. “Please.”

So, I brush her hair. When all the tangles are out, I keep brushing.

“How long do you want me to brush your hair, Mom?”

“Until it shines, Si.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head to clear it of the memories. I don’t mean to, but I inhale her scent: shampoo, soap, wet hair, skin—woman. My skin tightens around my bones, my lungs clutch closed; my cock tries to unfurl against my zipper, prevented painfully from doing so fully; I’m dizzy with the perfume of her natural scent. For a moment, I’m burning alive with the temptation to pull her against me and tug open her robe and slide my lips across her delicate skin, kiss her bruises, lap my tongue against her pert, taut pink nipples and small pale areolae which tip her heavy, pointed, upturned breasts. I’m devoured by the urge to lay her on the mattress and spread her limbs open, nudge her slender thighs apart and lick the slick seam of her sleek sex.

Fuck.

My hands shake like crisp orange leaves in a long autumn wind as I deposit the brush on her lap and roll away. My movements are jerky, slow, and uncoordinated. I can’t breathe.

I stomp across the small room to the door and only pause briefly as I wrench the knob and jerk the door open. “We’re leaving once you’re dressed.”

I can feel her confusion. “Silas, did I…” Not just confusion: hurt.

I let out a harsh, rasping sigh. “No, Naomi. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You just…you suddenly seem…” her voice drops to a whisper, fear and uncertainty painting her words. “Angry.”

“Not at you.” I can’t turn to look at her.

Can’t let her see how she affects me. She doesn’t need my desire for her. It’s the last thing on the planet she can handle. My cock throbs painfully in my slacks, but I don’t dare adjust myself.

A long silence writhes between us.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “For whatever I did.”

I make a growling groaning sound that’s not quite a laugh or a sigh. “You didn’t do anything, Naomi.” I try to bite back the words, but they wiggle past my teeth anyway. “I did. I shouldn’t have…” I snap my jaw closed on the rest. “I’ll wait just outside the room.”

“Okay, Silas.”

Damn it, damn it, damn it. She sounds hurt. Confused. And resigned to both.

I close the door with me on the other side of it, panting from the effort of resisting the need to turn and take her in my arms and taste her lips until she’s breathless.

What the fuck is wrong with me? What curse has this woman cast on me?

never going back

Naomi

Ibraid my hair and dress swiftly, knowing he’s waiting. But I can’t get the tenderness of Silas’s touch out of my mind. The way he brushed my hair, the way he expertly and gently dealt with the tangles…it’s almost too much.