Page 37 of Man of Lies

"Silas—"I gasped, helpless and pleading.

"I've got you, baby."

He thrust so deep I swore I could feel it in my stomach. One hand slid down my heaving stomach to grasp my spurting cock, pumping me through my climax. I slung one arm around his shoulders and bit down on the curve of his shoulder to muffle my cries—but they still ripped out of me, drowning out the deep, guttural groan that tore from his chest. One final, brutal snap of his hips, and he came too.

For a long time, neither of us moved.

His ragged breath gusted hotly against the side of my neck. He was heavy, but it felt so good sprawled beneath him, limp and boneless and safe. A wall between me and the rest of the world.

I should've moved. I needed to push him off and get cleaned up. Anything to put some distance between us. But instead, I turned my face to his throat and breathed him in, the scent of sweat and sex and leather.

Everything I wasn't supposed to want.

Humming lazily, he nudged my face with the bridge of his nose and kissed me gently as rain. "You're staying here tonight," he said fiercely.

It wasn't a suggestion.

It was a bad idea, but with his body still locked with mine and the scent of sex heavy in the sheets, I could barely manage a token protest. The air was thick with intimacy that I'd spent a lifetime avoiding.

"I've got work in the morning," I said, but even I could hear the lack of conviction in it.

"It can wait." He propped himself on his elbows to get a good look at me, as serious as I'd ever seen him. "The world won't end if you stop propping it up for a day."

"It'll damn sure get heavier," I scoffed.

"Then let it," he said, eyes locked on mine. "God knows when we'll get this chance again. Take it."

It went against my very nature. Everything in me was hardwired to keep moving, to control all the variables. Ben wasn't safe, the foster program needed too much work, and Dominic needed constant legal advice. There wasn'tenough timeto rest. But Silas's warmth was already crawling into my bones, and for once, giving in didn't feel like failure.

It felt like permission.

"Fine," I muttered grudgingly. "But just this once."

His stubble scraped my cheek when he smiled. "We'll see about that."

Chapter Seventeen

MASON

I woketo unfamiliar shadows and the dull, gnawing sense of disorientation. My body couldn't place where I was. It felt like I'd stumbled into some old, forgotten space I was never meant to revisit. The cracked plaster, the exposed wires, the thin mattress beneath me—all features of the houses where Ben and I grew up. Empty places. Cold places. Just like this one. A room that didn't try to feel like home, and never would.

My gut twisted with a low, sour churn.

But then I caught it—Silas's scent. It lingered on the pillow beside me, rich, spicy, and layered with a hint of smoke. I shut my eyes and let it slide into my lungs, and slowly, the chaos in my head quieted.

"Morning, counselor."

I caught a flash of movement from the kitchen and craned my neck. For a moment, everything stopped. Silas stood at the sink, bathed in the late morning sunlight spilling through the smudged window. He was naked and gloriously unashamed,glowing like a marble statue as he stirred a splash of milk into two chipped coffee cups.

The way he owned his space…it was enough to stop my heart for a second. I could've stared at him all day.

He crossedthe room with both mugs in hand, moving with the grounded, easy confidence that only came from a man who knew his body inside and out. Silas never second-guessed his presence. He didn’t take up space. He owned it.

Our fingers brushed as he handed me a mug, the casual touch far too intimate for something so simple. It shouldn't have sent a jolt of heat straight through my stomach, but it did. And the smirk that followed, that cocky, lopsided grin I was already too familiar with, told me he knew it.

I lifted the mug to my lips, expecting the familiar warmth of something drinkable. Instead, I got a mouthful of something acrid and bitter. The thin, sour taste stuck to my tongue, and I fought the urge to spit it out.

Silas chuckled, eyes twinkling with the same amusement he'd had since I first entered his bar. It wasn't cruel, but it sure as hell wasn't aimed at making me feel comfortable. It was a constant reminder that I wasn't as in control as I liked to think, but I'd gotten used to it. There was something almost affectionate in the way he watched me squirm.

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