Page 21 of Wrap Around (Forbidden Goals #7)

After the trainer checks him out, Silas has to sit on the bench with me to watch the painful ending of the game. All I do is stare, watching each shift of his body and breath of air. Like if I stop looking, something worse will happen.

We lose, and I don't feel a thing about it.

Back at the hotel, the silence between us is unbearable. Yesterday I would have welcomed it. Every time he opened his mouth I wished for him to shut up, to stop talking so I could go back to pretending he doesn't affect me.

Now I'm desperate to know he's okay. He moves stiffly, like everything hurts. It probably does. Taking a hit like that on solid ice can bruise you up pretty bad .

Silas drops his bag on the floor and slowly turns to face me.

His split lip is bruised now, making the bottom center look puffy.

I want to kiss it better, and then I want to pummel that forward into the ground.

My knuckles are sore from how hard I've been clenching my fists since I saw Silas drop to the ice.

"You gonna stare like that all night?"

I flush at getting caught staring. Silas doesn't even try to soften the blow, just calls me outright.

"I thought you were hurt. Bad."

"I'm fine."

But when he peels off his shirt, the bruise blooming across his shoulder makes me flinch.

"You don't look fine."

He snorts. "You should see your knee. Now you know how I've felt all damn week, except I'm not hiding it and trying to play through like nothing's wrong."

I want to argue with him. To say it's not the same. But the truth is the difference is perspective. I'd rather be the one hurt. I want to admit to him that watching him go down felt like being kicked in the gut and having the wind knocked out of me.

But I can't say that.

We're too tired. Too frayed.

And this room is too small to contain all of the things I need to say. All the feelings churning inside me.

Silas lets out a small huff of sardonic laughter and shakes his head.

Suddenly, in two steps I don't remember giving my legs permission to take, I cross the space between us.

Silas snaps to attention, moving away from me in a succession of short, quick steps backwards.

My hand comes in contact with the warm skin on his chest, and I push him until his back hits the wall.

I don't even stop when I see him wince. There isn't room for any other thought than pressing into him and crashing my mouth to his.

The kiss is hard. Punishing. Probably painful on his busted lip, if the taste of copper is any indication. It doesn't stop me though, it only feeds the monster inside me I can't seem to hold back any longer.

Every cell of my body buzzes, finally feeling something other than fear.

The fear of losing him. Of never getting to tell him. Of being too late.

Teeth clash and scrape. Silas' fingers are pressed so hard into my skin I'm sure there will be bruises, and I'm hanging onto him with just as much force, as if he could get away with me pressing him against the wall like I am.

I don't think either of us are breathing. There’s no space to get a breath.

There's no tenderness here. Only pain and desperation.

Before I know it, my fingers are digging into the meat of Silas' strong thigh as I hike his leg up around my waist and rut into him like some kind of animal in heat. He makes a strangled sound that vibrates my tongue, currently trying to snake its way down his throat.

It’s my undoing. Out of nowhere, I'm hit with pleasure so intense, my legs falter, but I don't stop grinding. We're gasping into each other's mouths, and Silas trembles, letting out a small whimper that makes my brain feel fuzzy.

I blink down at him, at the way I'm holding him with one hand gripping the spot where his thigh meets his ass, the other pushing him against the wall by the base of his throat.

Silas looks up at me with dark amber eyes, some emotion that I can't name flickering in his watery stare.

He's flushed and sweaty, hair wild. His mouth is still open in an O of either pleasure or surprise, the cut on his lip trickling blood over his red, bruised lips and down his chin. He looks as feral as I feel.

But the expression in his eyes is like a bucket of cold water being poured over me, and I pull back like I've been burned.

What have we done?

What have I done?

I take several steps back, watching Silas slump against the wall. His eyes are wide, but he doesn't look scared or angry like he should. He looks like he's in pain.

But I am. I'm so angry. And scared. I'm sick with it.

Silas lifts his hands up as if to placate me, as if he could stop me from losing my shit entirely.

"Shit," I whisper, stumbling back a step, afraid that I’ll break if he touches me.

My chest is heaving. I look down at the front of my pants, the grey fabric of my suit pants dark where a wet spot is forming.

Proof of my stupidity, of my weakness. Of the wrongness inside me. "No, no, no. Not again."

He tries to reach out to me, but I flinch away. "Gideon, it's okay–"

"How can you say that? There's nothing okay with this!" My voice is getting louder by the second, sounding shrill and shaky.

"Hey," he says soothingly. "It's going to be alright. It's not what you think?—"

My instinct is to shut him up with a blow across his fucking mouth. My fist flies before I give it permission to. I try to redirect it, but it’s too late. Most of the impact is between my knuckles and the wall, but his jaw catches the side of my hand.

He stumbles back, hand flying to his face.

I don't wait to see what happens next. I pick up my bag and bolt from the room.

I can't be here. Can't see the look on his face. Can't face what I've done.

How could I be so selfish?

How could I do this to my sister? What would this do to her if she knew?

Why am I so weak?