Page 71 of True Honey
“You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it,” he said, his tongue brushing over his bottom lip like he was chasing the taste from our kiss. He pushed out of his stool to stand over the island and get closer to me.
“It’s a show, and we shouldn’t make more of it. Someone is going to get hurt,” I argued gently despite the way he stirred up the butterflies in my chest.
“I have a high pain tolerance,” he practically purred as his hands curled around the edge, his knuckles white, pushing all his frustration into the grip.
“That’s not—” I scoffed, “what I meant. You can’t be flirty and—”
“And what?” He smirked, his tongue darting out over his bottom lip, “use your words.”
“Annoyingly handsome,” I huffed, his hair was messy, his shirt was loose around his collar giving me the smallest hint of the tanned skin that ran beneath. I wanted to see his tattoo again, study his thighs and count the freckles on his back. I had been spending the majority of the day ignoring the urge to hold his hand and touch his face. The lovesick crush was making me nauseous. His smile grew, flashing his perfect teeth at me and he knew he won. I was fucking screwed.
“You want me to be selfish, and I want to make you feel good. Is that complicated to you?” He countered, those painfully beautiful eyes watching my every move, each shift in expression was caught by them and I couldn’t stand it.
“You make it sound like it’s black and white,” I sighed.
“It isn’t, I know it’s not. But I want all the gray in between too, Drew. Sober, drunk. I want them all.” He waited, and I knew if I didn’t give him a solid answer he would either climb across the island and take it himself, or he’d spend the next week convincing me otherwise.
“I have a son,” I whispered, “a very grown son who sees through every single one of my lies.”
“One who is very much passed out on the couch upstairs with Van,” he turned his phone to show me a picture from the group chat. A tiny giggle leaving my lips at his nickname. “Hey, very serious, time-sensitive conversation happening here, don’t you laugh at Cat Daddy.”
“We can’t,” I shook my head, but the smile on my face gave away my cracking resolve.
“Why?” He asked. Silas smelled too good, he looked too fucking good. I needed him to stop before I crumbled under the pressure.
“Because,” I weakly countered.
“Not good enough,” He took the pathetic rebuttal as an opening and took a couple steps around the island toward me. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kiss you again.”
“My pain tolerance isn’t as high as yours,” I said quickly, stepping back from him despite the want to curl into his touch. Terrified of getting attached, needy for the feeling he brought down on me.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said, pausing in his movement to truly mean what he said. So many implications behind those three words.
How could I trust myself not to fuck this up? What happened the day he decided we weren’t worth the hassle? Was I just another problem for him to fix?
“What happens when you get the control you need, the shares?” I asked him, I couldn’t help myself. I needed to hear him say it before I ultimately gave into those rough hands and bright eyes.
“This isn’t about that.” He dropped his tone.
My head was spinning with what-ifs that I couldn’t control.
“That’s what this is all about, it’s what started it!” I said loudly with a shaky voice.
“This.” He stepped forward, linking his finger into the front of my jeans and tugging me into his gravity, “isn’t.” His head lowered to mine and he used his other hand to hold my jaw in place as he approached. “About that.” The kiss that followed was deep, slow and intoxicating as his fingers tangled into my hair and pulled it from the ponytail it was in.
His tongue swiped over my lip and into my mouth as his fingers worked at the button of my jeans and popped it free without breaking his concentration.
“It’s infuriating how easily you make me change my mind,” I hummed against the kiss, losing myself in him with each small ticklish movement.
Silas chuckled softly, the vibration sending a shiver down my spine. He unzipped my jeans slowly, pushing them down my hips in a swift movement. His hands moved so softly I gasped when they slid around my ass and lifted me effortlessly to the counter, spreading my legs wide. His lips found my neck sucking softly as one finger pushed the damp fabric aside and he slipped inside of me, testing the wetness.
“You make it too easy,” he grumbled, his words hot on my neck as I arched back and braced myself on the countertop.
“We can’t do this—” I choked on the words as he added another finger and they curled against my walls. “Here.”
We were going to get caught.
“They’re asleep, it’s fine,” he whispered against my collarbone. His fingers continued their slow pace, driving me wild. At this rate it wouldn’t matter because I’d be completely undone in seconds. My entire body betrayed me with each tortuous plunge his fingers took, I was a mess from the way he carefully stroked every nerve.
