Page 45 of Every Hidden Truth

And later, “Silas, I’m gonna—”

And when it was over and I was cleaning my hand with my discarded shirt, he exhaled on a sigh. Grasping fingers softened to soothing caresses. He whispered words I couldn’t hear against my throat. And I wondered if this was what it felt like to be adored.

“Told you I had skills,” I said smugly as I kissed his sweaty temple.

He laughed, biting my shoulder playfully, and I squeaked.

As his breathing evened, he sat back and blinked slowly, like he was coming out of a daze. His face was flushed, lips swollen and wet. His blond curls were wild, and a thin layer of sweat made his skin gleam under the living room lights.

He looked entirely fucked out, and yeah, that fed my ego. I wanted to make him look like this all the time.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes finally focusing.

He offered me a loose grin, and I laughed. “That good, huh?”

Ducking his head shyly, he nodded. “Yeah, that good. Thank you.”

I’d never been thanked for a handjob before. “Uh, you’re welcome?”

We snickered quietly before Ben gripped the back of my neck and dragged me down for a kiss that was all tongues and teeth.

“My turn,” he whispered.

And I said, “What?”

Then I yelped as my world turned topsy-turvy. Ben practically manhandled me until I was lying on my back, and I made an embarrassingly whiny noise in the back of my throat as his thigh slipped between my legs.

Instinct had me grinding up against him as his weight settled over me. Trepidation trickled through the back of my mind, but I ignored it, surging up to kiss him. My enthusiasm had him losing his balance, and he nearly crushed me as he struggled to get one of his arms underneath to prop himself up.

I wanted—needed—more, but the pressure of him pushing me back into the cushions sent a zing of fear through my veins, cooling the fire in my blood. He blazed heat down my throat with his mouth, and I shook away the apprehension, focusing on how good he felt against me.

But I wasn’t sure if he felt good anymore. Because he was a little heavy, and I couldn’t move very well. A faucet was leaking—no! No, there was no leaky faucet. I was in my living room with Ben as he set me aflame with his touch.

Everything was spring soap and spearmint. Spring soap and spearmint... and cucumber melon.

“Ben,” I said.

There was waterdrip, drip, dripping.

Fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans.

“Ben.” I pushed on his shoulder, but he was too heavy. He was so heavy, and I couldn’t breathe. “Ben, wait. Stop. Stop!”

And everything stopped.

“Silas?”

“Get off me,” I whispered. “Please, get off me.”

He got off me.

Clutching the back of the couch in a white-knuckled grip, I sat up and sucked in a lungful of air. I blinked through the blur of tears and fought the panic suffocating me.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” Ben said, sounding utterly gutted.

I shook my head. “You didn’t do anything. I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

Scrambling to my feet, I shook out my hands and fought to calm my breathing. I glanced at Ben, then away. He looked stricken, and I couldn’t bear to see it.

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