I run fingers over the veins in his smooth skin and almost let out a whimper of my own as he groans against my skin. I hold still and let him keep on with what he’s doing as I use my hand to tease the head of his cock and the shaft as it slips back and forth between my hand and the sheet. He makes another desperate noise, gripping me tight again and then I feel his erection twitch as he shoots all over my cotton covered hip. Neither of us say anything after he comes. I know my brain isn’t working. I’m still wet, still so fucking turned on and he’s still wrapped around me, his heart thudding against my back.
I think about the way he kissed me earlier and how a part of me was waiting the rest of the day for him to do it again. We’re past that point. Of course we are. It’s fucked up for sure, but I realize then, with all this shit going on, this bad, bad shit, I want to feel something good. I roll over and wrap my arms around his shoulders. I press my lips against his. He doesn’t respond at first, but I take advantage of the fact that his lips are slightly parted and slide my tongue against his. I savor the taste of his mouth for a half a second before Silas jerks to the side.
On the swing back, his forehead smacks against mine. It happens fast, so fast it’s a miracle that neither of us takes a chunk out of my tongue. We both fall back on the bed, a string of loud swears coming from each of us. My hand goes to my forehead and I’m shocked that it doesn’t come away covered in blood, it’s pounding so hard.
“Jesus fuck,” Silas groans. I feel him moving on the bed, but I don’t open my eyes yet. The Earth is still spinning off kilter. When I finally do, I see he’s moved over to the edge of the mattress, his feet planted on the floor. He’s holding his head in his hands.
“Are you okay?” he asks after a few more curses slip out.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“What the fuck just happened? Were you kissing me?”
I stare at him for a second, the cut of his rejection just as bad as the pain in my ribs and my head. “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry, okay? You seemed pretty into that idea at the time.”
I see him turn toward me in the near dark. I can’t see his face in the shadows, but I can hear the confusion in his voice. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how I woke up to you humping the shit out of me. I—Sorry I went along with it.”
“I—what?” he says before he turns back and looks down at his crotch. I’m pretty sure his dick is still out of his boxers. “What the fuck?” he whispers, more to himself. “I—uh, I wasn’t awake. I was dreaming. Where did I…” He reaches over and turns on the bedside lamp. I’m thankful it’s not too bright, but bright enough for him to get a look at the puddle of jizz on the sheet still draped over my body. He reaches over and touches the biggest of the wet spots. “Jesus.”
“You were asleep?” I ask him. “That whole time?”
He swallows before he looks me in the eye. “Yes.” He stands suddenly and starts tucking himself back into his shorts. I look away and scramble off the other side of the bed.
“Where do you keep your clean sheets?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says as he yanks the sheet off the bed and storms out of the room, leaving me standing there. The heat is rising up my face to meet my still throbbing forehead. I look over at Honeycrisp who must have fled over to her usual seat in the leather chair sometime during our nocturnal mating session. She glances up at me before she closes her eyes. She doesn’t give a shit about our petty problems.
Silas comes back a few minutes later with a clean sheet. He flings it out over the mattress and tucks it around the foot of bed. “There,” he says, not looking at me. I don’t bother trying to get another word out of him. I put myself out of my misery and climb under the fresh sheet. I roll on my side and face the dresser. I feel the mattress dip under his weight. The light cuts off and then the sheet moves a little. He’s under there with me, but I feel how far away he is.
We’re both quiet. My chest is killing me. I swallow and swallow again. I try not to breathe. I reach up and wipe a few tears out of the corners of my eyes. I swallow again and the tears stop. I hear Silas sigh. I hear and feel him shuffle. I try not to flinch when his hand comes down on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he says for the fiftieth time. I don’t respond. I can’t. I don’t trust the sounds of my voice and I can’t stand the lies I’ll be forcing myself to tell. I pull the sheet up to my face and swallow again and let the cotton soak up my tears. He pulls his hand away. He’s snoring by the time my tears stop. I pray he’ll be gone in the morning before I wake up.
Eight
A loud crack of thunder wakes me up in the morning. Like Silas suggested it might, it’s pouring outside. The storm has rolled in. After last night, I don’t appreciate Mother Nature’s sense of humor or timing.
I’m alone in bed. Well, alone with Honeycrisp and Hank who have climbed on the covers sometime after Silas left for his farm duties. When I go to slide out of bed I almost step on Joe, who is curled up in a ball on the floor beside me. I apologize for almost squishing him and step into the bathroom.
A hard look in the mirror confirms the way my face feels. Pathetic and dried out. My eyes are still burning and bloodshot, and that ache in my ribs is still there. I know I got a decent amount of sleep, but I don’t feel like I slept at all. Still, I spent the rest of the night in a deep dreamless sleep, and it appears Silas and I were able to make it to the next day without accidentally assaulting each other in any way.
I use the bathroom, then wash and lotion my face. I don’t care what Silas has planned. I’m not going anywhere with him today. I’m too tired to pretend that I want to be around him, let alone that I decided to voluntarily date him. The kitchen served a perfectly fine work space. I’ll set up camp there for the day and catch up on work. I trick myself into thinking that there’s food in his fridge. I know I’ll have to call him or dig up a raincoat or a tarp and walk over to the cafe. I grab my phone off his dresser on my way to the kitchen. I stop when I see a note from Silas written on an old receipt under it.
There’s a breakfast burrito in the fridge and coffee on the counter. Back later. — S
I look at the note for a few seconds. I’m still mad at him. I have every right to be, but I can still appreciate food and coffee. When I see him again I’ll thank him for the food and beverages and then go back to pretending last night never happened. I walk into the kitchen and find a new one cup coffee maker on the counter with some instant coffee pods, two different flavored creamers and box of raw sugar packets. There's a note on the cabinet above.
Mugs. Take your pick.
I open the cabinet and find it jam packed with mugs. More mugs than should be shoved in a cabinet. I'm afraid to touch one because I know all five hundred of them will come tumbling out and smack me in the head or smash on the floor. I stand up on my tip toes and carefully grab an oversized mug from Starbucks Edinburgh. Under that there's a mug that says U-Hawaii Football. I look a little closer and it appears that all the mugs are emblazoned with something Scotland or New York Yankees. Further inspection turns up a New York Jets mug. I carefully pull that one out of the madness and rinse it out.
I look at my phone as my coffee brews. I’ve missed over a thousand messages in the chat app. No way I’m going through all that. Instead I call Brook. I might catch her before she goes into court.
“Hey! I was just about to text you,” she says.
“Where are you?” I can hear the sounds of the city around her and suddenly I’m so homesick. The McInroy farm is great and all, but I miss the noise and the crush of people.
“Outside of the courthouse.”
“Is it raining there?”
“No. Sun’s out and it’s already as hot as a full bag of dicks in a dick sauna. Is it raining where you are?”
“Uh, yeah a little bit.”
“I know, I know. I won’t ask. I’m just wondering.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I know, but yo
u’re rightfully paranoid. I snooped down at the D.A.’s office a bit yesterday. Your boy had mad priors, son,” she says in that voice that always makes me laugh. “Whatever… it sounds like you got a real piece of shit off the street. If that makes you feel any better.”
“It kind of does, but stop snooping, Brook. I don’t want you involved in this at all. Please. I only have one sister.”
“Okay!” she says defensively the way she does when I’m momming her too much, and then her tone softens. “But you’re okay, right?”
“I’m fine. I’m holed up in a nice place with a dude the size of a small building who has strict orders to keep an eye on me. I’m fine.”
“But you don’t know when you’re coming back?”
“Hopefully soon, like in a few days. I’m going to make some calls today and hopefully get some more info, and you’ll be the first to know.”
“Well just make sure you get your undercover justice before Claudia’s bachelorette weekend. We booked the spa packages. I mean, this is really important, Lizzie. You gotta be there. We’ll get you a prosthetic nose and chin. Some fake teeth. No one will know it’s you.”
I laugh a bit hysterically and open the microwave. The burrito inside is the size of my forearm, wrapped in foil and paper. BACON EGG CHEESE HASHBROWN is scrawled on the paper in black pencil. I touch it. It’s still warm. “I’ll definitely come out of hiding for that. Now that I know there are fake teeth on the table.”
“I miss you,” she says.
“I miss you too, Brookie. Text me when you’re done for the day. I’ll talk to you then.”
“Liz, wait!”
“Yeah?”
“This guy you’re with. How’s he look?”
“Busted.”
“Yeah?”
“Real busted. His face is all fucked up. Plus he’s old. He’s just large and scary looking, pretty sure he’s strapped. He owns a gas station. He’s definitely the right man to scare off any more repeat offenders.”
“Good. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I say my goodbye and hit end on the call. Then I text Scott.
Too early to check in?
I look up as I wait for his reply and I realize I’m not alone in the kitchen. All five dogs have joined me. Joe has somehow fallen asleep again, curled up in his old man ball in the corner under this old bread box stand, but Honeycrisp, Gala, Hank and Morty are just sitting there, like they are looking for some guidance.
“I’m not sure what you guys want from me, but I’m going to get my computer and enjoy this burrito and this coffee your actual owner picked up for me. You guys are on your own.” Since they are dogs, there’s no verbal response. Hank does sniff the side of Morty’s head though as my phone vibrates with Scott’s reply.
Of course not. Nothing yet.
I’m gonna talk to Tillery at 4.
How are you holding up?
Si talking shit about me?
He adds a laughing emoji. For some reason, I don’t like that question. Or the emoji. Even though Silas talks plenty of shit about Scott whenever his name comes up. I text him back.
No, why would you say that?
It’s nothing. Just hang tight.
Tillery’s good.
What is our plan once Tillery
finds what we’re looking for?
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Gotta go. Punch Si for me.
I won’t be doing that, but thanks.
Talk to you soon.
I don’t respond again to the light brown peace sign emoji he sends. I trust Scott, but something feels off. The smell of fresh coffee reminds me my breakfast and a mountain of work emails are waiting for me. I’ll have to worry about both sides of the McInroy brother coin another time.
I fall down another work hole. When Silas comes stomping through the back door, soaking in a rain slicker and boots, my whole body reminds me how long I’ve been sitting at the dining room table with no breaks. I can feel my joints and muscles screaming as I turn in the hard wooden chair. I can also feel the nerves tensing in my throat. I’d put him out of my mind for the morning, so far out of my mind that I’m not ready to see him standing there, looking back at me.
I hate how much of him I take in. How he looks like some hyper manly sea captain coming back to warn the townspeople about the storm on the horizon. I hate that my eyes track the drop of water that runs down the side of his face. I hate how he’s looking at me. He must hate it too because he coughs and looks away as soon as his eyes meet mine.
“Brought you lunch,” he says as he puts a plastic bag on the counter. Rainwater drips off the outside and onto the gray surface. I start to think about how soggy everything must be inside, but then the smells of warm food and yummy dessert washes over me. I almost close my eyes and moan. “I didn’t think to text you so I just got you tomato soup and a grilled cheese and some more pie. I hope that’s okay.”
I swallow and find my voice. “Yeah. Thanks. Perfect for a day like this.”
“Breakfast was okay?”
“Yeah it was great. Thank you. Do I need to feed them or anything?” I say, gesturing to the
dogs. All of five of them are still crowded around the kitchen floor.
“No. They just hate the thunder and lightning. I usually find them in a literal dog pile on days like this. They are just piled around you this time.”
“Oh okay.”
“I’m gonna—I’m going to take a—I’m gonna use the bathroom while I’m here.”
“’Kay.” I look away as he shakes out of his raincoat and drapes it on the chair across from me. Gala and Morty follow him out of the room. I try to focus back on the document on my screen and consider the true fun of labor disputes. Still, I can’t think at all with Silas in the house. He takes up so much space. He sucks all the air. I check my phone instead and sneak a look at the girls in our chat. Noa and Claudia are talking about Shep’s father and what actually constitutes treason. Not the light topics I was hoping for.
I hear Silas walking back toward the kitchen and think about how weird it would be for me to just get up and run upstairs to avoid talking to him before he heads out again, and before I can stand he’s there, blocking the door to the rest of the house. My options are the laundry room, the pantry and the backyard. He leans against the door jamb. He’s quiet for a minute, but I can’t ignore him forever.
“I wanted to uh—apologize for last night,” he says. His voices sounds more than a little unsure.
I look up at him. I sit back and my hand automatically goes to my earlobe. Being in the same room with him is awful. I have to do something with my hands.
“I’m sorry about the way I reacted. I uh—I wasn’t disgusted by you or anything.”
“Oh,” I say. “That’s… okay.”
“What I mean is. I was… embarrassed. That shit was embarrassing as hell. We’ll go with that. And I was definitely asleep. I was having a dream that you and I were fuck—having sex. I had a dream we were having sex and apparently I was trying to simulate the act in real life.” He punctuates his confession with a little thrusting motion of his fist. “I want you to know that I know how out of line it was for me to… touch you and to basically ejaculate on you. Is your head okay?”
“It’s fine now. Thank you.”
“Good. So… I know why I did what I did, even though that doesn’t excuse it, but you were awake when you kissed me. Is there any reason why you kissed me?”
“Is there a reason you’re still having wet dreams at what? Thirty-five?” I reply.
He stares at me for a minute and then his eyebrows drop like he’s finally worked something out. “This has nothing to do with why you’re here. This is deeper than that. This is old shit.”
“I’m not talking about this with you.” I grab my laptop and try to leave the room. He grips my arm, stopping me before I can squeeze by him.
“Please let go of me.”
His hand drops immediately. “
Sorry.” I don’t move another inch. Mostly because he’s still blocking ninety-five percent of the doorway, but there’s this other part of me who is sick of running. Or maybe part of me is sick of people expecting me to be alone because of how I look and what I do for a living and how fucking good I am at it. Everything about me is too much and what kind of man wants a woman who is too much? I slipped. I made a mistake. I’m not going to pay for it though.
Silas lets out a deep breath and moves out of the way, but he’s not done talking.
“Listen. I’m basically a stranger. A stranger who clearly keeps fucking up, but sometimes it’s easier, shit, better, to unload on someone who knows nothing about you. Something happened last night. What’s going on?” he says. “Tell me.”
“Tell me why you’re single,” I reply.
“What?”
“Tell me why you’re single. Look at you. You’re built, you’re fine as hell. You own your own business. Everyone around here loves you. Surely there is some buxom school teacher in town somewhere looking for a man like you to build her artisanal furniture and bring her fresh pies. Why are you living in this giant house alone with nothing but five dogs to keep you company?”
SANCTUARY: Beards & Bondage Page 9