The Sinister Silhouette

When she moves away to the pillow beside us, I lift up on an elbow and gaze down at her. Unable to help myself, I interlock our fingers together and kiss the back of her hand. Desire pools in her eyes, and the look ramps up my need. I place both of our hands beside her head.

Her amber eyes are soft with sleep, but still hold the same heat I feel running through me.

When her free hand flattens against my pecs, one of the strings around my control snaps. I keep my eyes on hers as I slowly lower my head. Her eyes are wide, but there’s no fear, so I close the distance between our mouths.

I’ve fantasized about how she would taste for weeks, but never in my wildest dreams did my imagination do it justice. Even just her lips taste heavenly. A groan rumbles from my chest. My tongue peeks out and runs along the seam of her mouth.

This is such a fucking mistake, but at the moment I don’t have the willpower to stop. The need to know what it’s like to kiss her is too great.

When she parts her lips, my tongue dives inside. My dick pulses in my briefs when her tongue hesitantly meets mine. Her fingers bite into the flesh on my shoulders.

Fuck, I could kiss her all day long and never want to stop. This woman is my addiction, my obsession, and I could so easily get lost in her and never want to find my way out.

With a will made of iron, I lift my head, not wanting to frighten

or push her. Her eyes are glazed over with lust.

“You get dressed, and I’ll cook us breakfast.”

“Okay,” she says breathlessly.

As sick as it is, I wonder if she responded to Theo all those years ago the way she just responded to me. I shake my head, because it only pisses me off to think of Theo’s hands on her.

With a smile and a small peck to her nose, I climb from the bed. Her sharp intake of breath alerts me that she saw the hard-on I have going and the piercing I have on the tip of my cock. I keep my back to her and slip on a pair of sweatpants before grabbing a shirt.

She still has her watchful eyes on me as I walk out of the room. I take care of business in the bathroom, then leave. A quick look inside my bedroom as I walk by shows her still in bed. I want to go back and join her, but I barely held on to my control a few moments ago. I don’t want to test my restraint.

I put on a pot of coffee, then grab out the ingredients to make omelets. I’m at the stove, flipping the eggs, when I feel her enter the room. I set the spatula down and turn around. She’s standing just inside the doorway, her expression uncertain, but no less beautiful. She’s changed into a pair of skinny jeans and a turquoise shirt. Her hair is falling down loose around her shoulders. Her feet are bare, and they look sexy as fuck with their pale blue polish. Aria told me the other day they did their own manicures and pedicures.

I tip my chin to the bar. “Take a seat. These are almost finished.”

As she sits, I pour some coffee in a mug, doctor it the way she likes, then carry it to her. My hands itch to grab her up and kiss the shit out of her, but I don’t want to freak her out. She’s been okay with our touching up until this point, but I don’t know what my limit is. I need to be careful with her.

As I stand there and watch her take a sip of coffee, I realize my thoughts refer to when I touch her, and not the adamancy of refraining from touching her. She’s always been off-limits to me for multiple reasons, but those reasons are becoming unimportant. In my mind, she’s not Theo’s anymore. She’s now mine.

“You must have remembered how I take my coffee. It’s just how I like it,” she comments after her first sip.

Her smile is sweet, and it really fucking tempts my determination to keep my hands off her.

I lean toward her and lower my voice. “There’s nothing I could forget about you.”

I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth that it’s a stupid statement to make, because I have forgotten about her. Although she’s invaded my dreams for years, and in a sense, I feel like I know her, and we technically met more than seven years ago, I still feel like we’ve only known each other for weeks.

I walk back to the stove and finish the omelets. I plate one for her then one for myself. We sit side-by-side and eat, and I once again get the feeling that this is somehow right. Like this is exactly where we’re both supposed to be.

Once we’re finished, I bring up a subject that I’ve been avoiding.

“Thanksgiving is in a couple of days.”

Wary amber eyes turn my way, and I hate that I put the look there. As much as I loathe to bring this up, it’s unavoidable. She needs to be prepared. With Mom not knowing what Theo did to Jules, there’s no way she would go for him not being at the family dinner. If it were up to me, I’d tell everyone. Theo’s royally fucked my loyalty to him, so I feel no qualms to protect his character in our parents’ eyes. But I know Jules doesn’t want them to know. It can’t be kept a secret forever though. The rest of the family needs to know what he did.

“Okay,” she says cautiously.

I turn in my seat to face her. “Theo’s going to be there.” My voice is even, despite the bad taste in my mouth at saying those words.

Fear flashes in her eyes, and I grit my teeth. I vow to myself to make sure she never has anything to fear ever again.

Grabbing her hand from her lap, I pry her fisted fingers loose from their tight grip. My eyes drop to the indents left in her palms by her fingernails. I smooth my fingers over the marks then look back at her.