Page 95 of The Oath We Give

Maybe it’s because I don’t know him well or have only ever seen him in passing, but for someone battling cancer, he looks perfectly healthy. I suspect that’s where Silas gets his stone wall facade from.

The weight of the world could rest on their shoulders, but they’d never let anyone else see it.

“I do.” I nod. “I’d like to still get my degree in art history eventually, but I enjoy teaching. Selling my paintings is just for rent.”

“Silas is going to have to give up one of these rooms for you to work. I’m sure we could get a contractor in here to expand,” Zoe notes, looking around as if she can see where she’d place an extra room for me to paint.

“Oh, that’s not necessary—”

“Already done,” Silas interrupts, picking up my finger and sliding his thumb up and down before spinning my ring around. “I wanted to wait till Coraline got settled before turning the place into a construction zone.”

I look over at him, trying to hide my shock as our eyes meet. The entire day, he’s been…different. His hands never leave me; in one way or another, he’s touching me. It’s a convincing show he’s putting on, much better than me, who just warmed up to his hands on my body.

It’s fake, I know that. But sometimes, when his fingers graze my body or he pulls me into his chest, it feels a little too real.

“That’s my boy.” Scott slaps Silas on the back, grinning. “He’s treating you well, right? You can tell me. He’s not too old for me to ground.”

“He’s a little grouchy before he has his coffee, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, if you need me to keep him in line, you call me for help.”

“Mr. Hawthorne, respectfully”—I lift my eyebrows at him playfully—“I’m a red belt in tae kwon do. I think it’ll be him trying to call you for help.”

Laughter ricochets around the room. Such a common sound in day-to-day living but my ears had been deprived of for such a long time. It feels…nice.

Noticing that everyone is finishing up with their meals, I press my hands into the table, pushing out my chair and excusing myself to the kitchen to grab the dessert in the fridge that Zoe had brought with her.

I can still hear the echoes of their giggles and conversation as I unwrap the pie and search Silas’s kitchen for small plates in several cabinets before finally finding the right one.

Hands curl around my waist, fingers pressing into my stomach as I set the plates on the counter. I turn my head toward my shoulder, biting back a smile.

“You touch me a lot,” I say when he squeezes me lightly. The heat from his hands feels like fire on my cold skin. Warmth pours over me, making me clench my thighs.

“You’re very touchable, Hex.”

His voice tickles my skin, making me shiver in his hold, but he only holds me tighter, dipping his head into the space between my neck and shoulder, inhaling the smell of me.

“I don’t think your parents are spying on us in the kitchen.” I place my hands on the counter, steadying myself. It’s hard to focus, to play pretend when he feels this good. Strong and steady, every muscle of his chest and abdomen pressed into my back. “We can stop pretending now.”

I gasp when he shoves me forward, pressing his lower half into my ass, forcing me to feel his hard cock against me. My skin aches for more, need coursing through my veins. My body melts and unwinds for him.

There is no explanation for why he’s the only person to touch me sexually and it doesn’t send me spiraling.

There isn’t a posttraumatic stress disorder handbook—I mean, I’m sure someone has written one, but navigating it is different for everyone. No one talks about how one minute, you’re making out with a guy in a club bathroom, and the next, you’re underneath your rapist. That one smell can put you on the floor of your kitchen with your head tucked between your knees, gasping for air.

I’d gone from a sex-positive, young college student to someone who didn’t believe in desire and sex drive anymore.

But Silas, it’s like he knows how to keep me rooted in the present. With two hands, he holds me to the earth, refuses to let go, and makes me feel everything.

It’s terrifying.

“This isn’t for them. This is for me,” he murmurs against my skin, lips dropping featherlight kisses.

“I—” A whimper steals my words as he pins my body to the counter, my core throbbing as he grinds into me from behind.

There is a throbbing desire to feel him. Skin on skin. No clothes or barriers. Just him.

“When they leave, are you going to let me christen this place?” He grits out as I tilt my head back into his chest, giving him more access to me. “Bend you right over this counter, watch you spread your legs, and stuff you with my cock until you’re dripping on my kitchen floor.”