04 The Silence Between Us
785 Words
Eve didn’t hear the door open. She only felt the shift in the air, the familiar scent of cedar and musk that always clung to him. Her breath caught, heart thudding as she kept her eyes closed, willing herself to stay still.
She knew it was Ryan. They were the only ones in the wing. After his drunken fit, she had expected him to fall asleep where he collapsed, but he hadn’t. He had come to her.
The mattress dipped as his weight pressed into it, the springs groaning softly. A moment later, his body slid against hers, the heat of him seeping through the thin silk of her nightgown. His hand found her hip, fingers curling inward, firm, claiming. Not cruel. Not tender. Just… taking.
His mouth brushed her shoulder, tracing a line to the base of her neck. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening. She wanted to turn, to kiss him, to wrap her arms around him and whisper something, apologies, wishes, love, but she knew better. Ryan didn’t want those things. Not from her.
His lips pressed harder, his hand tugging the hem of her nightgown slowly upward, dragging it across her thigh. She opened her eyes and fixed them on the wall, the shadows the moon cast across it, her throat constricted as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric.
He was always like this when he came to her, silent, angry, needing. Never explaining, never lingering after. But in the way his breath caught against her skin, she sometimes imagined, just for a second, that there was something more beneath it.
His body pressed tighter to hers, hard, insistent, desperate. She bit her lip, torn between the low ache blooming in her belly and the emptiness curling in her chest.
Finally, she turned to face him. His eyes were shadowed in the dim light, his jaw set. For a fleeting heartbeat she thought she saw something flicker there, pain, maybe, or longing, but it vanished before she could catch it. His mouth captured hers in a kiss that was deep, intense, and without tenderness.
She kissed him back anyway, tasting whiskey and heat, because this was the only way she was allowed to love him.
Clothes were stripped away without a word, their bodies tangling in sheets that whispered with every movement. His hands roamed with rough desperation, not coaxing but claiming, dragging moans from her throat. She arched into him, giving what he didn’t ask for, surrendering what he didn’t want but always took.
He f****d her with a rhythm that was relentless, almost brutal in its beauty. Her nails curled against his back, her lips parting in gasps, each thrust carving through her like both a wound and a balm.
His breath rasped hot against her ear, his grip on her hips bruising, holding her like she was the last tether keeping him from vanishing.
She whispered his name once, her voice trembling.
He never said hers.
Her body trembled around him, pleasure cresting sharp and fast, tangled with grief. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she came, silent, unseen. He didn’t notice. Or he pretended not to.
When it was over, he pulled away with a sharp, uneven breath, rolling onto the edge of the bed. His back to her, shoulders tense, muscles locked. The sheets still clung to her skin, damp and warm, but the cold settled in anyway.
She didn’t speak. Neither did he.
He stood and reached for his discarded shirt, pulling it on with practiced detachment. His belt snapped into place, his tie shoved carelessly into his pocket. He didn’t look at her.
Eve watched him, her face calm, her body aching, not just from the force of what they had done but from the hollowness that followed it. She didn’t beg him to stay. She never did.
He didn’t kiss her goodnight. He didn’t ask if she was all right.
Without a word, he opened the door. Left it ajar. The hallway light spilled in, bright and unflinching. He disappeared, footsteps fading, silence expanding.
Eve turned her face to the pillow, dragging the blanket over her bare skin. His scent lingered, sharp and haunting. Her tears dampened the cotton, small and quiet, because this was what love looked like when it was twisted by resentment and born of betrayal.
Ryan would never love her. Not while she carried her father’s shadow. Not while she was a pawn in a game neither of them chose.
And yet, when he came to her, night after night, she let him. Not because she had no choice, but because for a few minutes, she could pretend he was hers.
Even if it was only for the taking.
- Writer
