Right Man, Right Time

I don’t know if I’ve ever been more satisfied than I am at this very moment, driving back to my dorm, a fuming Silas Taters next to me.

He thought he could just charge into my dorm, demand I join him, threaten me if I don’t, then expect everything to be okay?

Ohhhhhh no.

Not this girl.

I knew going into this event with him that I would have to be reserved in what I said. Frankly, these are networking opportunities for me as well, and making a fool out of myself is not the best idea. But I knew if I turned up the heat, I could teach our friend Silas a lesson.

And I did.

I can tell he’s ready to snap from his grip on the steering wheel and the tightness in his jaw.

Guess what, Silas? You deserve it.

Don’t fuck with me.

When we pull up to my dorm, I get ready to hop on out, but when he doesn’t swing to the front of the building and parks instead, a light trickle of sweat forms on my upper lip.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He doesn’t respond.

He exits the car, walks over to my side, and opens my door. He then undoes my seat belt and takes me by the hand, helping me out of the car.

Uh-oh.

Once he shuts the door, he holds on to my hand tightly as if he’s afraid I might take off and maintains his hold all the way up to my dorm. When we reach my door, I turn to him and say, “Well, thanks for walking me up here, but you can go now.”

Without a sound, he takes my clutch, opens it up, and pulls out my key. He unlocks the door, parts it open, and says, “Get in. Now.”

Okay, so you remember when I was feeling fully satisfied like five minutes ago? That feeling has completely vanished as I walk into my dorm, Silas following closely.

The door closes, and I feel my body still, ready to see what he’s going to do next.

He sets my clutch down on the desk before coming up behind me, his chest firm against my back. He dips his head so his lips are right next to my ear. Chills race up my arms from his heady proximity.

“Did you have fun tonight?” he asks in a menacing tone as his hand travels up my back until it reaches the nape of my neck. “Fucking around with my cock, trying to make me hard?”

“I didn’t have to try,” I say.

Not sure why I decide to poke the bear, but I do.

Unhappy with my response, he moves me up against the wall. His large, muscular chest eclipses my back, and the only reason my face isn’t pressed into the white paint in front of me is because my hands are bracing my body.

“It wasn’t fucking funny,” he says, his tone clear. He’s ready to snap.

I swallow hard. “Sorry to say, but you said nothing about not turning you on.”

“It’s in the fucking contract,” he virtually spits. “We don’t do that.”

“We don’t fuck. Nothing says we can’t tease,” I say, unable to stop myself from mouthing off.

“Is that in the fine print?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer just as his hand finds the zipper to my jumpsuit.

“Good to know,” he says in such a sly, knowing voice that I fear what he’s about to do.

With one hand on my waist, keeping me in place, he slides the zipper of my outfit down until my back is exposed. His body is so close that I can feel his body heat against mine.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Helping you,” he says as he lowers the sleeves on my jumpsuit down my arms, and for some reason, I assist him and let them fall all the way off, only to brace myself against the wall again, this time, my breasts exposed since I wasn’t wearing a bra. He slides his hands along my bare sides and then pushes my jumpsuit down the rest of the way, leaving me in only my thong.

I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get back at me for what I did at the party. It’s clear as day. The easy thing to do would be to tell him to leave. To turn around and put space between us. But I don’t seem to open my mouth, and I don’t seem to find it within me to step away from him. Instead, I allow him to come up behind me and move his hand along my bare stomach.

“You liked fucking with me tonight, didn’t you?” he asks, his thumb trailing up my stomach.

I bite the side of my mouth.

“I was impressed you held it together.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to hold it together?” he asks as his hand moves south to the waistband of my thong. I suck in a sharp breath as his finger runs along the elastic. The soft touch sends zing after zing of arousal down my legs and up my stomach. “Or do you think you’ll crack?”

With his other hand, he slips it under the strap of my thong at my waist and holds me tight against his chest with his large, calloused hand. He drags his other hand up my stomach, just below my aching breasts. I want him to touch me.

I want him to touch me all over.

I suck in a sharp breath just as his thumb knocks against the underside of my breast, sending me into a tailspin of need.

“Fuck,” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear me.

But as his grip on my waist grows tighter, I know he did.

His scruffy jaw rubs against my smooth cheek as he swipes his thumb against my breast again.

I grind down on my teeth, telling myself I won’t moan. Not for him, not when he’s trying to prove a point.

But when he does it again, this time closer to my nipple, I exhale sharply and lower my forehead to the wall.

I can practically feel his smile of satisfaction as he moves his hand back down my stomach, causing it to hollow out as he brings his fingers to the edge of my thong and slowly slides them under.

Fuck me.

I want it.

I want him.

I want his fingers inside me.

His cock.

His mouth.

I back my hips up into his pelvis, and I’m fully satisfied to feel him hard. He might be torturing me, but at least he’s torturing himself as well.

“You know you want me,” I say. “I’ve been feeling it all night.”

He doesn’t answer. He removes his hand from my thong and proceeds up my stomach again. This time, he runs his hand over my breast, barely caressing my nipple, and goes all the way up until he’s gripping my throat.

A wave of arousal hits me so hard that I know if he just touched me once, I’d come. That’s how turned on I am. That’s how much he owns me at this moment.

That’s why I’m falling into the way he plays with me.

Holding my neck tight, he whispers, “Swallow.”

Unsure of what’s going on, I do as he says, and I swallow.

He lightly moans into my ear and says, “That’s what it would feel like if my dick was in your mouth. But you would take me deep, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” I say.

His hand on my waist now twists around to the front and slides to the spot just above my slit. Right now, with him gripping my neck, toying with me in a way that has me so hot and bothered that I feel like I could explode, I know he owns me. I might have played with him earlier, but that was nothing compared to what he’s doing to me now.

“Ask for it,” he says, his lips running along my cheek.

“Ask for what?” I say, barely able to breathe from my pounding heart.

“What you want.” He slides his fingers even closer, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

Fuck I want it.

So badly, I’m willing to put aside all of the frustration, the contract, and the entire night, just to come on his hand.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

“Where?” he asks.

I swallow again, and he hums in approval. “Everywhere,” I answer just as he growls and slides his finger down my slit.

“Soaking,” he says as his finger connects with my clit.

“Yes,” I moan and rest my head against his shoulder. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” he says, his voice turning menacing again, and before I can reply, he removes his hand and releases me.

I fall into the wall, empty, cold . . . unsatisfied.

I stand there, stunned, panting . . . in need of release so bad that I place my arm over my breasts to conceal them and turn around to face him.

“You prick,” I say. “I never pushed you that far.”

He drags his hand over his mouth as his eyes trail down my body. “I told you not to fuck with me.”

He moves past me and heads toward the door. “Is this all some kind of game to you?” I ask, walking down the hallway as well, keeping my breasts covered because he doesn’t deserve to see them.

“You made it a game tonight,” he says, turning on me.

“I made it a game?” I ask. “You’re the one who threatened me tonight and forced me to join you.”

“I wouldn’t have had to force you if you had abided by the contract.”

“You didn’t even need my help anyway. I saw the way you were sitting so intimately with Sarah.”

His eyes turn murderous as he says, “I told her to get the fuck away from me. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“The part where you allowed her to touch your inner thigh. And why did you even need me there? I was useless.”

“You were anything but useless,” he yells.

“Prove it. What could I have possibly offered—”

“A shield,” he yells. “You were my goddamn shield. I don’t want to be around Sarah, I don’t even want to be near her, especially since Posey said she’s trying to win me back.” He takes a deep breath and pulls on the back of his neck. “I don’t . . . I don’t want her knowing she has a chance. That’s what you’re for. That’s what this was all about. It’s not my goddamn fault that you’re using me a different way, a way to get ahead.”

My eyes narrow. “I told you I wasn’t going to do that article. Jesus, Silas. Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Are you listening to yourself? Fuck, Ollie. I told you I don’t want Sarah. If I want anyone at this fucking point, it’s you.” Frustrated, he growls out an angry “Fuck” before he heads toward the door again.

“Wait,” I say, running up to him and standing in front of the door.

In a defeated voice, he says, “Move.”

“No, I’m not going to let you leave like this.”

“Oliana,” he says, unable to look at me. “Just let me go.”

“No,” I answer again and step up to him. With my hand that’s not covering my breasts, I press against his chest. “Why don’t you talk to me?”

“Because I don’t talk to anyone,” he says. “No one.”

“Silas, please, you can talk—”

“No, I can’t,” he says, moving me against the wall again. When his eyes meet mine, I can feel his pain so vividly that my heart actually aches. “I can’t talk to you. I can’t tell you how I’m feeling. I can’t tell you how fucking frustrated I am with you. How irritated I am. How I wish I never met you because then I wouldn’t be in this situation of wanting to fuck you so bad that I actually can’t think when I’m around you. And I shouldn’t want that. I shouldn’t want to be buried between your legs because you’re not right for me. We are not right for each other.” He takes a step back and uses both hands to pull on the back of his neck. “Just move, Ollie. Please. Let me go.”

I press my trembling lips together and shake my head. “I want you to stay here.”

“I’m not fucking you,” he says.

“Then don’t. Just stay with me, sleep in my bed, don’t be alone.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the ceiling, and I can see his resolve wavering. I can see him considering the possibility of staying, so I press him more.

“Please, Silas. Stay with me.”

He blows out a frustrated breath and looks me in the eyes. Pain sears through his pupils as he says, “I’m not talking.”

“Then don’t. You can just lie down with me.”

He scans me and asks, “Why?”

“Because it’s clear you’re hurting.”

“I don’t need you to fix me,” he says, trying to move past me, but I stop him.

“I’m not trying to fix you, Silas. I’m trying to offer you comfort.”

“I don’t need it.”

I press my hand to his chest again. “Yes, you do. And I’m going to tell you right now, if you leave this room, I’m chasing after you, just like this. Nearly naked. Is that what you want?”

He wets his lips, looking me up and down again. “No.”

“Then stay. Please, Silas, just stay.”

He studies me, just standing there, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his damaged eyes taking me all in, wavering with what he should do. And when I think he’s going to physically move me himself, he takes a step back and turns back into my room, where he takes his suit jacket off, followed by the white button-up, and drapes them over my desk chair. He undoes his belt and pants but doesn’t take them off as he gets rid of his shoes and socks.

When he glances up at me through his hair, I feel a wave of euphoria hit me all at once. He stayed. He might not say it, but he finds comfort in me, in my small dorm, and this is where he wants to be. Not alone in his large apartment . . . but with me.

He heads down the hallway and quietly says, “I’m going to use the bathroom. Can I use your toothpaste?”

I nod, and as he passes me, his hand trails across my stomach before he shuts the door to the bathroom. When he’s out of sight, I let out a deep sigh and drop my arm.

God, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m in way over my head, and I know I shouldn’t want him in any way, but that damaged look in his eyes, it’s destroyed me. I’ve never seen such demons, such strength when it comes to keeping everything to himself. I want to help him, be there for him, let him know he’s not alone.

I push off the wall and walk over to his white button-up. I let the rich fabric rub between my fingers. Sarah must have really fucked him up for him to need me as a shield. And for him to make that happen, even if it means threatening me. He’s that desperate, which if I truly think about it, I don’t believe he would have said something. Even though he’d probably never admit it, I know he cares about me. I know he wants to protect me.

And that trust he has, it’s very thin, and he’s willing to take it away without blinking an eye. Which just means Sarah must have done the same thing.

I pick up his white shirt and fit it over my shoulders, the size difference easily noticeable as I button up the middle buttons. It feels warm, comfortable, like his arms are wrapped around me. And just as I start rolling the sleeves, he steps out of the bathroom and finds me.

The crease in his brow unfurrows.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

Slowly, he makes his way toward me, his every step sexier than the last with the attention he commands from his powerful body. When he reaches me, he pinches one of the buttons that rests just above my breasts as he says, “Yeah.”

One word, but it feels like a ton of bricks, knocking me down to my knees.

He wets his lips, and when his eyes connect with mine, I can feel my body tremble with a combination of need and anticipation. But even though his presence electrifies me, I can see something different in his eyes. Not anger, not pain, but vulnerability. It’s right there, in his worn, tired irises. He might not say it, talk about it, or acknowledge it, but I can see it, and that makes me feel like I’m something special to this consuming man.

When he steps away from me and heads toward my bed, I walk on shaky legs to the bathroom where I finish getting ready for bed.

I take my time, attempting to calm my racing heart, and tell myself that I’m just sexually charged right now. That’s why my mind is clouded with thoughts of Silas, not for any other reason.

After I finish washing my makeup off, I turn off the light and notice that the only light on in the main living area is my nightstand light. Silas sits on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxer briefs, and I can’t help but take in his muscular shoulders, rock-hard pecs, and the contours that wrap around his body from many hours in the gym. He’s carved and sculpted his body to perfection.

When he notices my presence, he stands, towering over me in his height, and pulls the blankets back. Without a word, I slip into bed and move against the wall but face him. He slips in as well, turns off the light, and faces me. We both rest our heads on the pillows, and I reach out and press my fingers to his chest.

“You good?” I ask him.

“Okay,” he says and then molds his hand over mine. “I’m sorry, Ollie.”

“Silas, you don’t—”

“Please let me apologize,” he says softly.

“Okay.”

He places his hand on my cheek, and he says, “I feel like I’m constantly apologizing to you because I keep fucking up, but that’s what I am . . . I’m a fuck-up.”

“You’re not. You’re just hurting.”

“That’s not an excuse.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Just because I’m hurting doesn’t mean I need to hurt you.”

I lift my hand from his chest and cup the hand that’s on my cheek as I scoot closer to him. “I don’t know what happened between you and Sarah, and that’s your story to tell someday or keep in. It’s up to you, but what I do know is that she hurt you, that she took your trust, and she ran with it. And that makes me sad because I see you walk around, not allowing people to get close to you. I can even see it with your guys.”

“It’s how I prefer it. Can’t get hurt if you’re not close to anyone.”

“But you’re close to me right now,” I say, scooting in another inch.

“This is different.”

“Is it, though?” I ask.

“It is because even though you’re close, I don’t think I can fully let you in.”

I want to scream why? But I know the answer. I know he’s struggling with trusting people, and given his profession and celebrity, I don’t blame him. He probably has people asking him for something every day.

So I can pressure him, or I can let him realize that I am someone he can trust and maybe over time, he will let me in.

“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m just happy I’m close enough.” I smile at him, and he strokes my cheek. “But I need you to know something, Silas. I have no intention of hurting you . . . ever. That’s why I went to your place to talk about the hockey article because I wanted to figure out a way that wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“I see that now,” he says softly. “I’m sorry I thought otherwise.”

“I know why you did. And yes, was I mad about it? Of course. But do I understand? I do. Just know . . . I won’t hurt you. It might take you a while to find trust in me, but when you’re ready, it’s there.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “And you know I’m sorry, right? That I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, even though I made it seem like I would.”

“You’re a protector, Silas. Not a hurter. If anything, I feel safe when I’m around you. I trust you and your intentions, even if skewed at times by the hurt that rests tightly on your chest.”

With a heavy sigh, he rolls away to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. Why is he pulling away?

I move in closer and rest my hand on his bare chest as I prop myself up on my elbow so I can look down at him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he says quietly.

“Then why did you pull away?”

His eyes meet mine, and he says, “Because you’re too . . . fuck, Ollie, you’re too mature, too fucking smart, and it’s making me think I can do things to you that I shouldn’t be doing.”

My body tingles with anticipation.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Kiss you, hold you, touch you . . .”

I wet my lips and let my fingers roam his chest as I say, “You can do those things.”

He shakes his head. “You deserve better, Oliana. You deserve more.”

“Who are you to decide that?”

“I know what I can offer, what you need, and they don’t match up. That’s why this works, this arrangement. We both get what we need without complicating anything.”

“What if what I need has changed?”

He lightly shakes his head. “Don’t say that, Ollie. Don’t get yourself wrapped up in this, in me. I’ll only end up hurting you.”

“I don’t believe it,” I say. “But I also won’t push you.” I trail my fingers up to his chin and force him to look at me. “But promise me this, don’t pull what you did tonight on me ever again. If you’re going to threaten me, threaten me with your cock, not your words. And if you’re going to touch me, then you better make me come.”

“Then I should probably leave this bed,” he says. “Because I have no intention of making you come tonight.”

“Do you plan on touching me?”

“I considered holding you,” he says softly.

“I think I can make an exception for that,” I say as I turn away from him and snuggle into my pillow. He doesn’t shift against me right away, he doesn’t move at all. So from over my shoulder, I say, “The offer expires.”

That gets him moving.

With his large, beefy arm, he drags me into his chest where he buries his head into my hair. I marvel at the way he feels wrapped around me. Warm, safe . . . I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this, like nothing could happen to me when he’s near me. And that’s terrifying because I know this is just the beginning. I can easily see myself falling for this man, fast and hard.