Page 27 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

“Did you sleep with me to manipulate me?”

The ache in his words settles deep in my chest, but I don’t look away.

Instead, I extract my hand from his, reaching toward his jaw.

Slowly, hesitantly, I run my fingers along its stubbled edge, coaxing him to look at me.

It takes three passes before he concedes, allowing my fingertips to guide his face lower, our mouths only an inch or so apart.

A dark curl slips loose, falling over his forehead from the shift in angle.

I drink him—memorizing every sharp line and soft edge, the high cut of his cheekbones, his freckles, the small lines that linger at the corners of his mouth. Even as exhaustion weighs on him, he’s so painfully beautiful.

“I never intended to sleep with you.” The words come easily because they’re the truth. “I had a hard line to never sleep with the subject of my contracts. It was the one thing Peter couldn’t convince me to do.”

His jaw flexes under my fingers, eyes dragging over my face and lingering on my mouth. “But someone chipped away at my defenses,” I continue before pressing the lightest of kisses to the corner of his lips. “I slept with you only because I wanted to.”

He breathes out through his nose, the sound uneven. “Did you sleep with anyone else during that time?”

The question sends a jolt through me. “No.” The speed of my answer causes Silas's eyes to narrow. “There were opportunities, sure, but I didn't take any of them. They didn’t interest me. Especially after we met. ”

Almost as the words are out of my mouth, it strikes me that Silas might not be ready for monogamy. We didn’t discuss it today, though we definitely should have. Why would I ever think we’d just fall back into what we had before? How could I expect that of him when he’s taking this gamble on me now?

I swallow hard. “I… when I’m with someone, I’m with them completely.” I search for the right words. “If you’re not on the same page, I’ll figure out how to be okay with that.”

The force of his stare is so tangible, it's as if his hands are on me, holding me still.

“I don’t share, Elena.” Each word is a final stroke on an unwavering stance. “It goes both ways.”

I nod, the assertion reverberating through me like a series of rolling waves, each one escalating the relief that spreads across my skin.

There’s a brief pause before his next question. “Did you feel guilty at all?”

“At first, not really.” I don’t sugarcoat it. “I was doing that type of work for Peter for over five years. It was almost second nature to me.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I feel the way his breath hitches. I press closer, our noses skimming.

“But it only took a few weeks before I started looking for different ways to get what he wanted.” My voice is softer now. “It was gradual at first. But after the alley…” I trail off, exhaling shakily. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop hating myself for all of it.”

My hand slides to his neck, fingers curling at his nape as I pull back just enough to see his face. His expression is strained as he speaks, “Why didn’t you just tell me you were in trouble?”

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek.

“I was terrified. Of Peter, mostly. But also of you.” The admission is quiet. “I couldn’t imagine telling you everything I’d done and you not killing me for it.” A humorless laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Forget forgiving me. I never even considered that a possibility. ”

After waking up partially drugged in an undisclosed basement a few weeks ago, I had official confirmation that he wouldn’t have taken the confession well. Though that doesn’t make what I did forgivable, at least I wasn’t wrong for fearing it.

“And the more you showed me how much you cared, the worse it got, because I didn’t want to hurt you.” My thumb traces lightly against his skin. “I was selfish and scared and wanted to hold onto you as long as I could.”

Silas’s eyes flare as I hand over every terrible piece of me without excuse or justification. He studies my expression before something in him shifts. It's subtle, but it's there.

The hand he left resting on his chest moves to my face, fingers sliding into the side of my hair, angling me toward him as if he needs to see all of me.

“Okay,” he concedes. “That’s enough for tonight.” Those endlessly dark eyes trace over my features. “Now I just want to look at you.”

I frown slightly, but before I can ask, he speaks so softly, it’s as if the words are something he’s only just found the strength to say.

“There were two days when I thought you were dead and I’d never be able to look at you again.

” The confession slices through me, claws deep, and settles in places I don’t know how to reach.

“I hated you.” A thumb sweeps over my cheekbone.

“But I also loved you so much that knowing you were gone almost destroyed what was left of me.”

His gaze is distant even while looking at me, and my heart splinters. “Until I saw you in that holding room with my own two eyes, I don’t think I’d taken a real breath since June.”

Silas repeats the first thought I had when I laid eyes on him again. He felt that, too, despite everything I did.

Tears blur my vision, the edges of the dark room turning soft and watery. “I was supposed to get in and out quietly. I didn’t want anyone–”

Silas hushes me, his fingers warm against my face. “I know.”

His thumb sweeps over my cheek again, catching a tear before it can fall. Then, slowly, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to my hairline.

“You haunted every goddamn minute of my day,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath rustling the loose strands. “Awake or asleep. I couldn’t escape you.”

He moves lower, his mouth finding my damp cheekbone, lips soft but unyielding. “I hated you for making me feel like that.” Another kiss, this time on the other cheek, slower, deeper. “For making me love you so quickly that losing you felt like it would actually kill me.”

His lips brush the tip of my nose. My hand moves to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“I swore if I found you, I’d make you pay for it.” He tilts my chin up slightly, his mouth ghosting over the edge of my jaw, whispering the threat that never quite made it to reality. “But now that you’re here, all I want to do is lock you away so you can’t run from me.”

His lips skim the corner of mine. “So you can never disappear like that again. Or drive me out of my fucking mind hunting you down.”

The ringing in my ears is deafening, but still not loud enough to miss his quiet vow as he moves to speak against my mouth. “ Never again.”

Never.

My soft, shuddering breath is swallowed by Silas as he finally kisses me. I tilt my head, lips parting beneath his. Those words snake around my spine, squeezing so deliciously that it aches.

His fingers knot in my hair, the grip almost punishing as he yanks me closer, pulling me deeper into him like he doesn’t care if he breaks me.

And I’d let him.

He shifts, dragging my body up and over his until I’m straddling him, my knees bracketing his torso. His hands roam greedily—palming my hips, skimming my spine, pressing possessively at my ass. It’s like he doesn’t know where he wants to touch me most.

I manage to tug up the hem of his shirt, my fingers seeking the heat of his skin, feeling him the way I did in the hallway earlier today. Hard muscle flexes beneath my touch. Molten heat spreads, burning in my veins until it’s the only thing I can feel.

“I missed you so much,” I breathe, the words trembling against his mouth .

A low groan rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating through my palms where they press against him. His fingers tighten at my waist, and then he presses me down, my core sliding over the thick, hard length of him. The contact is enough to punch a small, broken whimper from my throat.

I kiss him harder, more desperate now, nails digging into his ribs like I need to hold onto something. “No one—” I gasp as he thrusts up again, my forehead falling to his. “No one has ever made me feel like this.”

His eyes snap to mine and flash with a brightness that seems to illuminate the room.

“Show me,” he rasps.

For the first time all day, I don’t hesitate.

Sitting up, I hook my thumbs under the waistband of my sleep shorts and push them down, pulling them off one leg at a time until they’re lost somewhere on the bed.

It’s only been a few hours since he decided to try to stop hating me.

I need to earn back his trust slowly. Prove myself with time, consistency, and patience.

It’s the only way this will ever work. But his being under me like this stirs something dark and deep inside me to demand that he believe it. Right now.

I press my palms over his abs, trailing lower, silently instructing him to lift his hips. He obeys, and I slide his sweatpants and briefs down just enough for his aching cock to spring free. The sight of him like this makes my breath hitch.

How is he even real?

All lean muscle and olive skin, hard lines softened by the low light. Even in the dark, I can see the flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks.

I lick my palm slowly, and when I wrap it around his length, his breath shudders like I’ve stolen it from his lungs.

I take my time, savoring the way he twitches under my strokes, hips raising off the bed for more friction.

There’s a slight sheen to his forehead as he holds back every instinct to take over .

With my free hand, I reach over to the bedside table, fingers grazing the familiar weight of his glasses. I bring them to my mouth, opening the arms with my lips before sliding them onto his face.

For a split second, Silas just stares, but when his vision adjusts, the reaction is instant. His pupils expand, and his tongue flicks impatiently across the inside of his cheek as I slide further up his chest to position him at my entrance, the tip settling just where it’s supposed to be.

Then I sink down.

A sharp gasp tears from my lips as he stretches me open, inch by inch. Silas curses low and filthy, hands snapping back to my waist with a grip that borders on bruising. The fullness makes my head spin. I don’t stop until there’s no space left between us and I’m full of him.

Even in the best moments with Silas in the spring, a part of me detached when we were like this. Probably to preserve whatever shreds of my heart remained.

But I can feel everything now. The slide of his buttery skin on mine, the faint trail of hair that leads down under his naval, the erratic pulse under my fingers. I stay like that for a moment, letting the burn settle into something deeper.

Then I reach for the hem of my sleep shirt and tug it over my head, tossing it aside without a second thought. His eyes track every movement, dark and wild and completely wrecked.

My lips curl into a slow, devious smile as I roll my hips once, testing the drag of him inside me. His head tips back against the pillow, a sound somewhere between a groan and a prayer escaping him.

He told me to take what I want.

Until he tells me to stop, I will.