Page 73 of The Oath We Give

“I, um.” I stutter and stumble over words. I pull back from him just a little bit, hands pressing firmly on his chest to steady myself. My knees dig into the floor beneath us. “You ask me a question.”

“Your tattoo,” he says softly. “Why Medusa?”

I’d nearly forgotten about the black-and-gray tattoo on my upper back—out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. But the memory comes flooding back, the flash of needles and ink as it was etched into my flesh.

That’s exactly what this moment feels like with Silas.

A deep burning, faint tugging as the needle penetrates skin. It’s sharp and dull all at once and leaves you with a permanent reminder of the experience.

Again, the elevator jolts and shudders around us, sending me tumbling forward into his chest once again. My head is tucked tight against the side of his neck, palm pressed flat behind his head against the cold metal wall.

“I turn men to stone, why else?” My voice is tinged with heat I have no control over.

His grip tightens, painfully squeezing at my sides so hard my skin buzzes with the sensation. Everything is so warm—the pressure between my thighs, his breath hot against my ear—it feels like fire burning through my veins.

“Mhmm,” he hums, lips pressing against the side of my throat. I feel the vibration of the sound on my skin, making my thighs squeeze his waist.

“That isn’t an answer,” I choke out through the heat, letting my weight fall on his lap, nearly whimpering when I feel his hardened length beneath me pressing into my damp panties.

“I’m trying to decide if I should keep letting you tell me pretty little lies so you can continue pretending.” His teeth graze the sensitive skin on my neck. “Or tell you that I see right through you.”

My breath comes out faster, using my hand behind his head to create space, looking down. It’s dark, but I can feel his eyes on my mouth.

We lean toward one another, my forehead touching his.

I can feel his breath, like a secret. Hidden and irresistible.

“Don’t.” I shake my head slightly, I feel him freeze beneath me. “This isn’t real.”

My words are meant to remind him that this arrangement is fake, maybe pierce the veil of lust with reason.

“Nothing in the dark is,” he mutters, the tip of his nose bumping mine, “If it’s dark, it’s still not real.”

His hand moves up from my spine to the base of my neck before he pulls me in close with a bruising grip.

Our lips are so close now they are almost touching, so close yet not close enough.

Reason starts to bleed out.

Whatever happens in the dark stays here, I tell myself.I could kiss him in the shadows, and we’d forget it happened when they disappear.

But the elevator jerks one final time—the only thing around us with a clear mind, apparently, is a piece of machinery. I pull away, chest heaving as I look down at his eyes.

We are no longer covered by the darkness.

The light has returned, and so has reality.

We manage to detangle our limbs from one another, standing on our feet and naturally moving to opposite ends of the elevator. I curl an arm around my waist, cheeks warm as the silence only makes things more awkward.

Silas clears his throat just before a ding resounds and the doors open.

Outside are several staff members with looks of concern on their faces. When we step out, they immediately begin speaking to Silas. He is this man, after all, and I’m but a dainty, frail woman.

I refrain from rolling my eyes before walking a few feet away, just to get some space. My mind does that thing where it blocks everything out, falls into itself, and has conversations others aren’t privy to.

The first time I’d stumbled into Vervain, searching for someone to hook up with, I was desperate to erase the memory of Stephen’s body inside of mine. Wanted to shed the skin cells he’d burnt with his fingertips, shut my eyes, and not see him on top of me.

I found the only way I could do that was if I was in control. I had to be on top. It had to be quick and only for the mindless bliss that came with an orgasm. It wasn’t about connection or feeling, just trying to fuck away the memory of the man who robbed my body.