Page 48 of The Cost of Silence

And I can’t do this anymore. One more second and I’m going to have her splayed out like my next meal, tasting her until she screams my name. “Come on,” I say gruffly, standing before I drag her onto my lap like a madman. “You’re tired. We’ll pick this up after dinner.”

She nods, gathering her notebook, and I watch the way she moves out of the room, slower than she used to, but steadier too.

Stronger.

She’ll be fine.

She has to be.

I stand alone in the kitchen long after she’s gone, staring at the doorway she disappeared through.

My mind is running.

My blood is loud.

And every instinct I have is screaming the same thing.

If I’m not careful, if I’m not disciplined, if I don’t put a wall between us, she won’t just be someone I’m protecting.

She’ll be someone I can’t live without.

14.Nico

I hearher before I see her. Light footsteps padding across the hardwood, the faint drag of her hand along the wall as she makes her way into the living room after dinner. She’s tired, I can read it in her posture, in the slow lift of her eyes when she finds me on the couch, remote in hand, pretending to be choosing something to watch.

Truth is, I’ve been waiting for her.

All fucking day. Ever since that conversation yesterday where she called me sir, I’ve been hard as fucking stone. My restraint and her tiny winces of pain are the only thing stopping me from stripping her bare and making her come so hard she blacks out from the pleasure.

She looks… softer tonight. Wrapped in one of the cashmere sweaters I bought her, hair damp from her shower, skin flushed a warm pink from the heat. Her ribs still make her move carefully, and every time she winces, something sharp and violent coils inside my chest. That’s what makes this woman so dangerous. Not because I want to fuck her so bad my dick hurts, but because I want to hold her afterwards and make promises I have no business making.

“Are you working?” she asks, voice small around the edges.

“No.” I pat the couch beside me. “Come sit.” I’m playing with fire here, and I know it, but I can’t help myself.

She hesitates, she always does, like she’s checking whether it’s safe to be close to me. Safe for her, or safe for me, I can’t tell. Either way, the answer is no.

But she comes.

She curls up cautiously on the cushion next to mine, leaving a polite few inches between us. The distance is ridiculous. Infuriating. Necessary. I haven’t decided which.

“What are we watching?” she asks as she tucks her legs beneath her.

“Something pointless.” Translation: something that will stop her from thinking.

She gives me a look. “You hate pointless.”

“I can make exceptions.”

Her lips twitch, the closest thing to a smile she’s managed tonight. It hits me in a place I didn’t realize had gone cold.

I pick something quiet. Slow. Warm lighting, soft music, a story with no explosions. She relaxes by degrees, her shoulders lowering inch by inch, breath deepening.

Halfway through the movie, her head tips sideways.

Slowly.

Gently.