Page 72 of The Oath We Give

How do I tell him that I want that but can’t have it?

That it would kill him if I took what I wanted.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask dumbly.

Silas moves next to me, his shoulder touching mine before I hear him slide to the wall, sitting down. Knowing we will be here for a while, I join him on the floor, stretching my legs out in front of me.

“Orange,” he breathes out, sighing around the words.

I stifle a laugh. “Like neon orange?”

“Like a reddish orange.”

I’m surprised by his answer. He seems like a gray kinda guy. Most people include their favorite color in their home or wardrobe. I’ve never once seen him wear orange and didn’t see it in his apartment.

It’s probably a personal thing.

“What’s our story?” I direct my gaze ahead of me, watching the black stretch before us, letting the pressure of Silas’s leg pressing against mine act as a reminder that I’m no longer trapped in that basement.

“You saw me and fell madly in love. Demanded I marry you.”

A smirk tugs at my lips as I swivel my head toward him, even though I can’t make out his features in the dark. “Did you just make a joke, Hawthorne?”

His shoulder lifts in a shrug beside me, confirming what I heard in his voice, a smirk.

“Seriously, you can’t send me into your family’s home and expect me to make this realistic if I don’t have a lie ready to go. If things were different, how would we have met?”

There is silence for a beat, just the sound of our level breathing before he speaks.

“Your studio,” he says, his leg pressing harder into my thigh. “Hedi told me to come see the work you were doing for Light. You were finishing up with a class, wearing something old and baggy, overalls or a T-shirt with too many holes in it. And I couldn’t leave without knowing you.”

My breath gets caught in my throat, and I roll my lips together. It’s just a story, only make-believe. But a secret part of me wishes it were real, even for just a moment.

“I somehow convinced you to go to dinner, which will be the hardest part of this story to get my family to believe.”

“Why?” I ask, furrowing my brow in confusion.

“Because you’re fucking stubborn.”

I laugh, loudly. A real laugh that I feel deep in my stomach, an uninhibited sound of joy, because he’s right.

“I spent the rest of the night trying to make you recreate that sound.” He leans into my side a little more. “The rest my mother doesn’t need to hear about.”

The elevator jerks, and a gasp slips from my lips. A god-fucking-awful noise rings in my ears and my hand shoots out, gripping his thigh. My nails dig into the skin as my stomach plummets.

My eyes squeeze shut, as if that will prevent my impending doom. Then my heart starts to race for an entirely different reason. Silas’s arm reaches across me, gripping my hip in his large palm and hauling me into his lap.

Instinctively, my legs spread, straddling him, and my hands rest on his shoulders to balance myself as he forces me into his space further.

“Ask me another question, Hex.” His breath is molten hot on my neck, the gravel in the back of his throat rubbing across my skin.

The heart radiating off his body is making it impossible to resist pushing myself against him. His fingers trace patterns on my hips.

This is bad.

So fucking bad.

An ache, deep and relentless, throbs between my thighs. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying to ignore it, feeling the hot flush spread across my skin. Trying not to do something stupid like grind myself against his lap like a needy cat.

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