Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

He moved, and this pace was all about him. My orgasm had been satisfied, and although I doubted I’d get another, what he was doing still felt awesome. I loved his firm hands on my skin, pushing and pulling me exactly how he wanted it.

But the song . . . “I feel like we should be drunk after a Blackhawk’s game.”

He chuckled, but the muscles in his legs went tense. He set a hand on the table beside my shoulder and I clasped my fingers around his wrist, wanting more of a connection with him. God, I was already hopelessly past ‘casual,’ so far I couldn’t even see it anymore. His moan rose up louder than Steve Perry’s vocals. The hand on my hip clenched and he shuddered, letting lose a groan. As he came, I closed my eyes and savored the feeling. The slow, unhurried movements as he recovered. How his patterned forearm looked with my fingers encasing it.

His damp, warm chest pressed against my back as he leaned into me. His lips caressed my shoulder. It was tender. Sweet.

Dangerous.

His kiss caused me to go blurry. He was a soft-focus lens, making everything else seem better. I didn’t argue with him when he pulled up his jeans, collected our clothes, and pointed to the stairway. I didn’t fight the offered shower either.

The stall was like everything else in his apartment, it was tiny. I stood under the hot water and let my thoughts go to the man on the other side of the bathroom door. Why had I been mad at him? I liked persistence. Silas’s “I don’t take no for an answer” attitude was the same as mine. I had a bit of disappointment about washing away the charcoal handprints which lingered on my neck. I enjoyed his artistic marks on me.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed when I came out of the bathroom with one towel wrapped around my body and another on my head. His elbows were on his knees and his fingers laced behind his neck. He was still shirtless and his magnificent artwork was on full display.

Soft emo music played from the speaker in the kitchen.

“Hey.” Silas’s head snapped up when he heard the door, and the bed squeaked as he stood. “We need to talk.”

My mind went blank. Oh shit, what had happened? I sifted through my memories of the evening, taking stock of what I could have done to earn the dreaded phrase. Ironic how the tables had turned.

“Yeah?” I tried to play it nonchalant. Hopefully any sweating he saw he’d assume came from the steamy shower I’d just taken.

“Rougher,” he said. “Tell me about that.” His voice was soft and unassuming, and his expression was supportive. “Does it have to do with the man who . . . gave you the scar?”

I was scrubbing my hair dry with the towel, and everything turned to ice. Silas wasn’t a cop, but he knew more than the average person. He’d probably heard his fair share of domestic violence cases from his family.

My chest constricted. You said you wouldn’t lie unless you absolutely had to.

“Maybe,” I whispered. “But not like you think.”

He closed the distance between us. His hands settled on mine, tossing away the towel I’d been drying my hair with, like he wanted my full attention. He said it as an offer, not a demand. “Tell me.”

“I don’t like thinking about what happened.”

“I know. You said it was easier not to deal, and it’s none of my fucking business.” His fingertips slipped across my cheekbone, holding my cheek in his palm. “But you can’t push it down forever. That can’t be good.”

I stared up at his icy blue eyes and felt like I was coming undone. Was his hand on me the only thing keeping me standing? I hated the weak feeling, but I was also so tired of avoiding feelings altogether.

“He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me.” My voice was coated in guilt. “So, the truth is, I feel like I deserve to be punished.” Holy shit, I couldn’t believe I’d said it out loud. “How fucked up is that?”

His eyes went wide, and then his other hand was on my face, trapping me in his gaze. “It was not your fault. You didn’t make him shoot himself.”

&nb

sp; “Didn’t I?”

“No,” he said, his voice forceful. “You didn’t. Thinking that is stupid.”

My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“If he wanted out so bad, a guy like that finds a way. Suicide by cop, or he picks a fight in prison with the wrong guy on purpose, whatever. You did the right thing and probably saved lives. He chose to build bombs, just like he chose to take his life. You didn’t make him do either of those things.”

I blinked rapidly against the burning in my eyes. Tears? Forget it. I sucked in a calming breath. Silas was absolutely right, though. Part of me would always carry the guilt, but letting some of it out lessened the burden.

He leaned in to kiss me, but I met him halfway. My kiss was urgent and needy, and I shrugged out of the towel so I could press the length of my naked body against him. I hadn’t done it to provoke him sexually. I’d done it to encourage him to wrap his arms around me, and it worked.

His embrace sent my weakness running.