He laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. Instead, it was just bitter. "Your name was real, then?" he asked. "That's the only thing about you that wasn't a lie."
"You know that's not true, Silas," I said, my voice soft. "With you, it was real. We were real." He thought I'd deceived him, ripped out his heart and left West Bend - left him - without a care in the world.
He couldn't know how hard it was for me to leave back then. His mother had been right. I would only drag him down.
He had no idea how hard it was now, standing here before him.
"Do I know that, Tempest?” he asked. "You don't know the meaning of the word real."
"I did love you once," I said, honest. For once. “Back then. That was real.”
Something flickered across his face, painful and intense, and I almost regretted telling the truth. It was wrong, telling him something that would cause him more pain, years later.
Silas stepped forward, so close to me I could feel his warm breath, his face inches from mine. I heard him inhale, and every cell in my body responded to his nearness, anticipating his touch.
Desperate for his touch.
I wanted to know if his lips tasted the way they used to. I wanted to know if he felt the same way underneath my fingertips that he did years ago. I wanted to know if our bodies would meld together, fitting like two puzzle pieces, the way they did when we were teenagers, initially fumbling and naive.
But he didn't kiss me.
Instead, he slid his hand up my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake, until his hand reached the nape of my neck. He clutched at my hair, grasping a handful, and pulled me close to him. The movement sent a shock of pain through my body that made me wince.
Followed immediately by a rush of arousal at his touch.
"Outside," he growled. "Now."
Only barely loosening his grip on my hair, his hand still on my neck, he led me around the tables in the bar, past his friends, and through the tinted glass doors that opened onto a balcony, empty of anyone else. The cityscape stretched out in front of us, the twinkling lights of Vegas that went on for miles until they faded away at the edge of the desert. Music pumped softly over the speakers.
Silas pushed me forward until he reached the far end of the balcony, where a canopy with white billowing fabric framed matching white cushioned lounges and glass tables. Without asking, he took my purse from my hands and set it on one of the tables. He barely stopped moving. Instead, he guided me toward the edge of the space, his grip on me unyielding.
He only stopped when we reached the glass wall that lined the balcony, finally letting go of me.
I turned to face him, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. “Most people would say ‘Hello. How have you been? Have a seat. Can I buy you a cocktail?’” I said.
Silas didn’t smile. His expression was dark, his eyes greyer than the soft blue from my memories, like the kind of sky you see at the beach right before a storm.
Dark and foreboding.
He stepped forward, and I leaned back, the railing of the balcony cool against my skin, draped in the low cut fabric of my dress. Silas slid his hand around my waist, the gesture possessive. When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. “Would you like me to say hello?” he asked.
“That would be nice.”
“Hello, Tempest.”
The way he said it, deep in his throat, made me weak, and I swallowed hard before I spoke. “Hello, Silas.”
“Would you like to sit?” His hand slid to the middle of my stomach, lingering for a moment, and the movement sent a shock of arousal like electricity, running through my veins.
“No.”
“Can I buy you a cocktail?” He traced his finger up the middle of my abdomen, in between my breasts, to the top of my cleavage, and paused there.
“No.”
He lowered his gaze to my chest, as he traced the outline of the top of my breasts, just above the material on my dress. I lightly closed my eyes, thrown back to feeling seventeen again, anticipating his body pressed against mine.
"There," he said. "That's out of the way. Are you happy now?"
"Ecstatic," I said. “Was it so hard to extend a little courtesy to an old friend?”
He grunted in response. “Is that what we are, Tempest? Old friends? Why the hell are you suddenly showing up in my life?"
I shrugged, the gesture a hell of a lot more nonchalant than I felt. Outside, I was the picture of calm. Inside was an entirely different story. "Coincidence," I said. "Or maybe it's just the universe's twisted sense of humor."
I was aware of Silas's finger, paused at the top of my breast, unmoving. My breath hitched in my throat.
"What were you doing with Coker?" he asked.
"I can't tell you that, Silas." I wanted to explain, to tell him why I was doing what I was doing, to tell him that I wasn't who I was back then, back when I was an accomplice to my parents' scams. But I knew the explanation would ring hollow. Besides, what the hell did I know about Silas anymore? Could I even trust him?
Silas looked down at me, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of lust and anger. He slipped a finger underneath the fabric of my dress, against my bare breast.
I inhaled sharply, tasting the coolness of the air, and looked behind him to the restaurant, aware that he was barely blocking my body with his.
"Would you rather be inside, with your business partners?" he asked, noticing my glance. His finger slipped further down, brushing over my nipple, which stiffened immediately in response to his touch.
I heard a moan escape my lips.
"I'm out here with you, aren't I?" I asked. I couldn't think. Not when he began teasing me, swirling his finger around and around my nipple.
"Yes, but I did have to drag you out here by your hair," he said. "If you'd like to leave..." His voice trailed off, but his finger didn't stop moving. I didn't respond to his implication that I was free to go.
Not verbally, anyway.
Instead, I arched my back into his touch.
Giving him permission.
Silas pressed me harder against the balcony wall, leaning closer against me and nudging my knees apart with his leg. I felt the fabric of my dress rise up my thigh. He didn't take his eyes off mine as he took his hand from my breast and reached down to the hem of my dress, on the inside of my thigh.
I shook my head. "Not here." I could barely get the words out. Arousal flooded my head, making it impossible to think.
"No one can see us," he said. His fingers touched the crease at the top of my thigh, and I gasped.
"Silas," I said, more of a moan than an intelligible word.
"No panties?" he asked, his tone more of a statement than a question. "Jesus Christ, Tempest."
I shook my head. It was dizzying, being so close to him again. "Panty lines," I said softly. "I don't like them."
"Fuck."
"Is that what you're looking for, Silas?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I was challenging him or offering. "A quick fuck, for old time's sake?"
His hand moved, inched its way between my legs, and his finger found my clit. When he touched me, I moaned, louder than I intended. He leaned in close to me, his mouth near my ear, and spoke low. "I'm definitely going to fuck you, Tempest," he said. "But there's going to be nothing quick about it. I'm going to feel you come, right here, right now, on my fingers. And then I'm taking you to wherever the hell you're staying, and I'm going to reacquaint myself with how it felt to have you come on my cock."
Heat rose over my face, and I could feel my cheeks flush. "You're brazen, aren't you?" I asked. "Not exactly the old Silas I used to know."
Silas teased my entrance with the tip of his finger until I was clutching him, digging my fingers into his arms. Then he plunged his finger inside me. "Things change," he said.
"Not everything," I said. Some things stay exactly the same.
Silas made a sound, low in his throat, something akin to a growl, and lowered his mouth to mine, kissing
me hungrily, his tongue seeking mine. It was rough, hard.
If it was possible for a kiss to be filled with years of unspoken anger, this was that kiss.
It was familiar and strange.
Silas was familiar and strange all at the same time.
My body felt like it was on fire, ignited by the warmth of him against me. I wanted to rip his clothes off, press my body against his, feel his skin on mine. I wanted him to crush me with his touch.
I arched my back, meeting him as he kissed me, not wanting him to let go. Not wanting him to stop doing what he was doing between my legs, his fingers beckoning inside me, stroking me, bringing me higher and higher.
When he tore his lips away from mine, I threw my head back, my hair spilling over my shoulders. Silas ran his lips down the side of my neck, then up to my ear, the flicker of his tongue over my earlobe sending a shiver up my spine.
"Oh God, Silas," I said.
He whispered, his lips close to my ear. "Come on me."
"You...shouldn't...out here...Silas." My voice was breathy, my words coming out in between gasps.
"Come on me," he said, his voice insistent. He stroked me, the pads of his fingers inside me pressing against that most sensitive place.
"Silas...you...should...stop."
He paused. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked. "Be damned sure about that."
No. That wasn't what I wanted.
What did I want again? I pressed against his hand.
"That's a no, then," he said. "You want me to keep going."
"Yes," I said.
But he didn't move. Instead, he ran his tongue over my earlobe, breathed heat against me. "Say it, then."
"Yes. Keep going," I said, my voice nearly a whine.
He made a clucking sound with his tongue. "You really need to learn manners and courtesy," he said. "Ask me nicely."
I laughed, turned my face to meet him, my lips grazing his. "You're joking."
He rolled his thumb over my clit. "Hardly," he said. "What do you want, Tempest? If you want me to keep going, you should say it - please, Silas, bring me to the edge, make me come right here, on your fingers."
I opened my mouth, my head clouded by desire. God, it would be so easy, so incredibly easy, to just say please. To beg Silas, the way he wanted me to.
But fuck that arrogant son of a bitch.
"No," I said, my eyes trained on his. "You know I'm not that kind of a girl."
"The kind who says please?" he asked.
"The kind who begs," I said, coming to my senses. Who the hell did Silas think he was, waltzing back into my life, grabbing me by the scruff of the neck, and telling me what to do? Telling me he was going to fuck me senseless if I just asked him politely?
The corners of Silas' mouth turned up. His fingers still lodged firmly inside me, he leaned close to me, kissed me on the lips, this time gently, taking my lower lip between his teeth and tugging at it before letting it go.
Then he slid his fingers from between my legs, and brought his hand to his mouth. Slowly, he ran his tongue from the base of his fingers to the tips. "You taste exactly the same."
I flushed, a mixture of sexual frustration and irritation at Silas for his arrogance. For his damn game playing. And irritation at myself, for the way that, when he said the word taste, the image of him naked, lying back as I took him in my mouth, flashed in my mind.
I couldn't help but wonder if he tasted the same.
And the fact that I was wondering pissed me off.
"I should let you get back to your friends," I said. Meanwhile I needed to go take a cold shower. I winced at the throbbing between my legs.
Something that looked like surprise flitted across his face, and I felt a sense of smug satisfaction. Did he think I was really going to cave and beg him to do me right here? Now that his touch wasn’t distracting me anymore, the idea seemed stupid. Silas had always been cocky.
"Yeah," he said. "It's been an...interesting...reunion."
He stepped back, and I remembered something. I reached for my purse on the nearby table "Wait."
Silas paused. "What?"
"Here." I pulled out the medal, the decision impulsive, before I had the chance to reconsider. It had served its purpose - it was a reminder of what had been between us, a long time ago. But it wasn't lucky.
We hadn't been lucky together. We’d been exactly the opposite.
Silas turned it over in his hand, his brow furrowed. "My state championship medal," he said.
I nodded. "I figured you knew I'd taken it."
He looked up at me. "You kept it."
I laughed. "Did you think I pawned it or something?"
He stood still, unmoving. "No. Yeah. Hell, you took my savings. Why wouldn’t you pawn it?”
"First of all,” I said, “It’s a wrestling medal. It’s not made of gold. Second, what are you talking about? I never took your savings."
"When you left," he said. "You ran off with the money I'd saved up to get out of West Bend. Taking the state championship medal, that was just the icing on the cake."
I shook my head slowly. "No," I said. "The medal was the only thing I took. I felt badly enough about that. And about the leaving. I wanted to tell you in person, but I left the note instead. Your mother -"
Silas interrupted me. "What note?"
"I left a note in your room the day my parents and I left town."
"No," Silas said. "There was no note. Stuff was just gone."
"Didn't your mother tell you?" I asked reflexively before I realized. "No. Of course she didn't. She wouldn't have."
Silas looked at the medal in his hands, then back up at me, his expression hard to read. "All this time," he said. "I thought you'd just taken off."
"You thought I’d taken off without saying anything?" I asked. "And stealing your savings? I knew what that money was for. It was to get out of West Bend, to get away from your father."
He looked at me. "Us," he said. "It was supposed to be for us."
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. "Yes," I said. "And for us."
"We were going to get married," he said, turning the medal over and over in his hand.
"You don’t have to remind me,” I snapped. “It’s not like I forgot.”
I couldn't forget. Even if it had been a lifetime ago.
"I hated you," Silas said. "For a long time, I hated you."
I nodded, blinking, biting my lower lip to distract myself from the tears that threatened to well up in my eyes. "I know."
"Why did you keep it?" he asked, stepping forward again, closer to me.
"Luck," I said. It was the automatic response I gave when Iver and Emir and Oscar had asked me about it, immediately followed by the honest answer. "I needed a reminder. Of you. Of us."
Silas looked at me for a long moment, his gaze steady. For a moment, it was like he was that same boy again, the one I had loved before. "Okay," he said. "A reminder of us…”
But his words weren’t wistful. They held all the promise of what he wanted to do to me, and I shivered. Standing on my tip-toes in my high heels, I brushed my cheek against his. "Take me somewhere," I whispered. "Somewhere that's not here."
"Ask me nicely," he said.