Nuri was speechless.
Not because she didn’t have words, but because she’d never had a man say some shit that real with his chest and mean it.
Silas didn’t just talk, he backed his words up with presence. He stepped in behind her, pulling the towel gently off her hair and tossing it to the side.
“We gotta keep it low for now until I figure this shit out,” he told her, voice low, but heavy with certainty. “Just know… I ain’t just tryna fuck. I’m tryna make you mine.”
She turned to look at him, eyes calm, lips parted. “You got a way with words, Si’.”
He shook his head, and leaned down until they were eye to eye. “Words don't mean shit with no actions to solidify them.”
Then just like that, he dropped to one knee. Not with a ring—with intention. He reached for the Baccarat body butter and opened it slowly, dipping his fingers into the jar like he was about to apply it to a muthafuckin’ work of art.
“I got this foryou,” he said.
Nuri sat on the edge of the ottoman, legs spread slightly, with only a towel wrapped around her top half. Silas started with her calves, massaging the butter into her skin like she was made of gold. His touch was slow and in circular motions. He didn’t rush a single moment.
“You soft as hell,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than her.
She chuckled, smoothing her hand over his deep, ocean waves.
“You do this with all your students, Professor?”
He looked up with a smirk.
“Theirs only been one woman that was able to fuck around and take over my mind like you did.”
Speechless again…The tension was so thick it could be bottled and sold.
Two Hours Later…
Nuri was still glowing when she left. Outfit hugging every curve. Skin soft. Energy still carrying the aftershocks of a night that rewired something in her. She didn’t even try to mask the satisfaction in her walk. That was the thing—when a man touched your mind before he touched your body, everything else fell in place naturally.
Silas stood in the doorway shirtless, arms crossed, watching Nuri back out slow. Beyond the kiss he’d given her before she left, he gave her something heavier. His word to attend the upcoming block party even if he didn’t stay the whole time. They’d had breakfast together, seated at the bar in his open-concept kitchen while his chef moved in silence behind the scenes.
She wasn’t just a good night.
She was starting to feel like a good choice.
Twan had brought the keys back after Silas had fucked her into oblivion. He’d been on Silas’ payroll for years, and was always sharp, and didn’t speak unless spoken to. He’d shot Silas a text to let him know he was there, handed the keys off, confirmed the car was clean, then left without any further questions.
The chiming of Silas’ phone yanked him from his thoughts. As soon as he picked up his phone, Memphis’ name was lit up on his screen along with a picture from his thirtieth birthday..
“Yuh! What’s good, fam?” Silas answered.
"Not shit,” Memphis said casually. “What’s good with you?”
"Shit, from the looks of it, you had a good night."
Silas chuckled, thinking of the night he’d just had. “Hell yea, my night was lovely.”
He revealed, knowing that what he said would remain between them.
No details.
Just energy.
But Memphis didn’t bite, didn’t even play around with the moment. “Yuh… I can tell. But I gotta tell you some shit you not gon’ like.”
