Chapter 14
Silas
I wake up with Devin in my arms and the absolute certainty that something is wrong.
Not wrong in the obvious ways. He's here, warm against my chest, breathing slow and deep in genuine sleep. Not the library doze, not the alert half-rest of someone who's trained themselves to surface at the first sound. This is real sleep. Complete surrender. His hand is curled around my forearm where it crosses his waist, holding on even unconscious.
He stayed. He's safe. He's here.
But something is wrong.
My lion felt it last night, during. A moment, just a flash, where the signals didn't match. The way he tensed at first entry, the full-body clench that wasn't just tightness but surprise. The way he gasped when I found his prostate with my fingers, not the gasp of oh, that again but oh, that exists. The way he came untouched with a sound of pure shock, like his body had done something he didn't know it could do.
I told myself it was emotion. Intensity. The difference between doing something with someone who matters and doing it with someone who doesn't. He said twice. A while ago. Not like this.
But my lion has been awake since 4 AM, pacing behind my ribs, replaying details I was too far gone to process in the moment.
No one's ever done that for me before.After the blowjob. I'd taken it as, what? That no one had gone down on him withthat kind of attention? That was plausible. Plenty of people have sex without giving head. But combined with everything else...
I don't — I've never —When I asked if he could come untouched. He'd stopped himself, but the sentence was clear.I've never.Not I've never done it that way. I've never.
The way he held me. Not with the easy familiarity of someone who knows where limbs go, but with the desperate grip of someone who's never had another body pressed against theirs like that. Every touch a discovery. Every sensation new.
He's twenty-one. He spent his adolescence in foster care, then a shelter. When would he have had a relationship? When would he have had the safety, the privacy, the stability to be intimate with someone?
Twice. A while ago.
I close my eyes.
The morning light is gray through the window. Saturday. The library doesn't open until nine. We have time. Too much time, maybe. Too much quiet for the question forming in my chest.
Devin stirs. The way he wakes is the same as the library, the sharp breath, the flinch, the instantaneous alertness. But this time, instead of scanning the room for threats, his hand tightens on my arm. Confirming I'm still here. Then he relaxes, a slow unwinding that starts in his shoulders and moves down.
"Morning," he says, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I press my mouth to his hair. "Sleep okay?"
"Best sleep I've had in years. Maybe ever." He stretches against me, languid, content. "What time is it?"
"Just after seven."
"Mmm." He turns in my arms so we're face to face. His eyes are soft, unguarded in a way I've never seen. No mask, no careful blankness. Just Devin. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Last night was..." He ducks his head, pressing his face against my chest. "Really good."
"Yeah. It was."
I should let it go. He's happy. He's relaxed. He's lying in my arms without the usual hypervigilance, and that's a gift I shouldn't ruin with questions. Whatever happened before me isn't my business. He said twice. I should believe him and move on.
But I can't. Not because of ego or possessiveness. Because if I'm wrong, if I misread the signals and he's fine, then asking is embarrassing but harmless. And if I'm right, if last night was his first time and he lied about it, then something much bigger is happening between us, something that needs air and honesty or it'll rot from the inside.
"Dev?"
"Hmm?"
"Can I ask you something?"