Page 90 of Where Your Scars Meet Mine
Then he takes the spoon out of my hand.
The motion is so smooth I barely register it until he’s already doing it, lifting the spoon to his mouth and taking a bite of my ice cream without asking. He doesn’t look down at the tub. He looks at me while he does it.
The casual theft of it sends a hot, ridiculous pulse through my chest.
On the phone, Kadin has noticed the silence again.
“Do you need to go?” he asks.
The concern in his voice should be grounding. Instead it only makes me more aware of the fact that Silas is standing close enough for me to feel the cold from the water bottle and the heat coming off his skin at the same time.
“No, I can keep talking.” The words rush out in a whisper meant for Kadin, yet the moment they leave me Silas moves.
His fingers snare a loose coil of my hair, tugging just enough to tip my head his way. Hoodie unzipped, chest bruised from sparring, sweatpants hanging low, he looks like he just crawled out of bed and straight into temptation. He drags the strand between his fingers, knuckles grazing the side of my neck slowly, eyes locked on every flinch. He isn’t touching my hair so much as taking inventory of every reaction.
It sends a shiver through me. I tighten my grip on the melting ice cream, cold dripping over my knuckles. The kitchen lights hum. The only sound aside from that is Kadin asking, “Octavia?” voice thinly wound with confusion.
Silas keeps playing, twirling the strand, then curling his fingers around it, guiding me closer by degrees. The motion is subtle, the effect isn’t.
He leans in until his lips brush the rim of my ear. “How long,” he murmurs, each word hot against my skin, “can you keep talking?”
My breath catches so hard it almost hurts.
He stays close enough that the air around me changes, charged with cold water, clean sweat, and the faint bite of whatever he’s been drinking. His fingers are still wound in that loose strand of my hair, holding me at the exact angle he wants, not forcing, just deciding. Kadin says my name again throughthe phone, softer this time, but it feels far away now, muffled behind the rush of blood in my ears.
Silas doesn’t answer the question he asked. He just lets the silence do the work.
Then his mouth touches the side of my neck.
Not a kiss at first. Just the warm brush of his lips below my ear, barely there, enough to make every muscle in my body lock. My hand tightens around the phone. The ice cream tub slips colder against my palm. He takes his time, dragging his mouth down the side of my throat with a patience that feels almost cruel. His breath follows, hot and damp. Then his tongue flicks out, slow and deliberate, tasting the place his lips just brushed.
A sharp inhale catches in my chest.
“Octavia?” Kadin says.
“I’m here,” I manage, though the words come out frayed.
Silas hums under his breath like he knows exactly how thin my voice sounds. The hand in my hair loosens only to slide down, skimming the back of my neck, following the line of my shoulder until it settles at my upper arm. The touch is warm, but impossible to ignore. He licks that same place again, longer this time, my knees nearly giving out.
He should not be doing this.
I should be stopping him.
Instead I stand there half-dressed in my parents’ kitchen with Kadin on the phone, letting Silas ruin my ability to breathe.
His mouth drifts lower. He noses along the strap of my tank top, then pauses, gaze flicking down. I follow it before I can stop myself.
The thin ribbon of melted rocky road that had slipped down from the edge of the spoon left a cold, sticky trail between my breasts.
Silas notices.
Shit.
His eyes darken in a way that makes heat pool low and fast in my stomach. He lifts one hand, slow enough that I could stop him if I wanted to, and cups my breast through the thin cotton of my tank top. The weight of his palm is enough to make my whole body jerk. His fingers spread, broad and possessive, thumb dragging once over the curve before sliding inward.
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.
His thumb catches the melting line of ice cream between my breasts.
