Page 106 of Yours on the Canvas

His hand leaves my dick and I whine in protest. Silas chuckles, kissing me lightly.

“Wait.” he growls, and I wriggle my hips, my feet pulling him tighter into me.

I hear his zipper and sigh, a smile on my lips as a heartbeat later, I feel Silas’s cock against mine, his hand wrapping around us both as he strokes us in a rhythm that sends a fierce jolt through my body.

Our cocks are wet with pre-cum as his thumb presses against my sensitive tip, stroking us together in a fierce, perfect beat.

His lips crash down onto mine, and our tongues battle as my hips meet his, electricity screaming through me like bolts of lightning through a storm.

“You’re doing so well, Dove,” he murmurs against my ear.

I whimper when he gives my ear a light nip, my hips thrusting instinctively toward him, brushing our hard bodies together.

“Mmm. Good boy,” he praises, and my hands move up to grip his shoulders, pressing my chest flush against his hard pecs.

“Silas,” I gasp, my fingers digging tight into his shoulders as my thighs begin to tremble. My lips search for his again, and he gives in willingly. I devour him, losing myself in the rhythm as his hand begins to move in a frantic pace.

“I’ve got you, baby. Come with me, Jack. Now, dove,” he murmurs against my lips, driving us both straight over the precipice.

My hands fly to his hair and I pull tightly, my lips drop to his shoulder, my teeth biting deep into his skin as my body completely takes over.

“Sol,” I moan, feeling my thighs begin to tremble, my body chasing the edge.

My hips punch upward into his hand one final time, and the electric snap of my climax rips through my body, blinding and absolute. I shatter against him, hearing Silas groan my name as he spills over our hands, our bodies riding out the violent, beautiful wave of our shared release.

As our breathing slowly evens out in the warm night air, Silas presses one final, lingering kiss to my temple, his arms wrapping around me like a fortress.

The ghosts were gone now, and the cage has been broken forever. There is only the steady, powerful beat of his heart against my back, the vast expanse of the ocean ahead, and the unbreakable certainty that I am finally, forever safe in his arms.

30

Jacks’ Epilogue

The afternoon light filters lazily through the big front windows of the bakery, casting golden rays across the tables and its customers.

Flour dust and coffee grinds coat my apron, and the comforting, familiar scent of freshly baked cinnamon and roasted coffee beans wraps around me like an old, warm sweater.

It’s been a full year since the smoke cleared over Seattle, since the dark shadows of that cellar finally lost their grip on my lungs. I don’t fight anymore, the canvas belongs to ghosts now.

I still run the cafe, here four days a week, and let my staff run it the others, so I can spend time with Hale and Silas. I know I’m still healing mentally, so taking days where I can concentrate on myself is important to me. And, Silas would throw a fit if I tried to work extra anyway, so, I take them, and I don’t actually hate it.

The phantom panic that used to seize my chest whenever someone moved too fast hasn’t vanished entirely, but it’s manageable now because of the therapist I’m now seeing. He’s Eli and Finn therapist, and I have been seeing him since I was fit enough to move. He’s performing miracles and he helps me unpack the wreckage piece by piece. For the first time in my life, my skin feels like my own.

A chime rings out above the cafe door, and I look up from behind the espresso machine, flashing a bright grin at Finn. He walks over, throws his arm around me, taking the milk jug from my hand. “Shift’s over, brother. Go on, get out of here. You’ve got somewhere to be, remember?”

Being touched is becoming easier. Finn is easier than most, but I can handle a firm hug or a casual hand on my shoulder now. Just not for too long, and the guys have been amazing about it. They’ve learned how to read the lines, knowing exactly when to step close and when to let go.

I look down at the clock on the wall, wiping my hands on a clean towel. A quiet smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

The police called me a few weeks after returning from Seattle. They told me that Dad and Ray were found dead inside the property, they put it down to murder, suicide. I had pretended to be upset, played the orphan role perfectly and then celebrated with a beer after. It had never tasted so sweet.

Peter Sale’s surviving network collapsed in on itself before the authorities ever had to kick the doors in.

But the call wasn’t just about closing a case. I then got a call from my mothers family lawyer.

Because Dad had never managed to legally pierce the tight legal ring-fencing of my mother’s estate, every cent of her inheritance, untouched and protected, rolled over directly to me. Combined with the massive trust fund left behind by my grandfather that had been tied up in probate, the reality had finally set in: I was now remarkably wealthy.

I didn’t owe a damn thing to anyone.