Page 22 of Yours on the Canvas

I know his nurse instincts are kicking in. I know he sees the signature map of a fight written across my skin, recognizing the bruises left by fists and feet better than anyone. Not just because he’s a nurse, but because of his abusive ex.

Eli used to wear bruises just like mine; the only difference is that I willingly take the hits, while Eli never did.

“Nothing.” I’m not talking about it, not with Hale beside me.

Eli takes the hint and leaves it alone. CJ and Silas come back in with coffees, and for the next hour, I sit, Hale wrapped around me, Silas sitting next to me with his thigh pressed hard against mine, and CJ and Eli filling the silence.

* * *

Later, after CJ and Eli have left, Hale and Silas help me back to Silas’s bed. Hale climbs in right beside me with his tablet and chucks his headphones on, while Silas sits on the edge of the mattress, his hand sits next to my thigh.

“You need anything right now? Your meds are due soon, but what about something to eat?” Silas asks.

“You know, you make a pretty perfect mother hen, Sol,” I say with a small smile.

The movement pulls at my split lip, breaking the scab open, and I feel the warm slide of fresh blood.

Silas reaches up, and gently wipes the blood from my lip. “Only for you, Jack,” he says quietly, slipping his blood covered thumb straight into his mouth.

My breath hitches. I freeze.

Silas’s eyes stay locked on mine as his lips close around his thumb. It’s slow, unconscious, and the room seems to narrow around us.

He pulls his thumb free, “Hmm,” his hum is barely a sound, but the sound has heat in it to send a warmth rushing through me so fast it’s dizzying.

I can’t speak, let alone move. I can only stare at him, at the softness in his shoulders, at the way he’s trying to look unaffected and failing miserably.

Hale shifts beside me, pulling my attention from Silas and his finger, which still hovers in front of his mouth. I snap my gaze back to him, and watch as his fingers move to my lip again. He brushes the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, and I pull in a sharp breath.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low, as he watches my lips.

I swallow hard, dragging in another breath. My ribs ache, my lip throbs, I have to shift to hide my extremely hard cock from Hale, and my entire body is exhausted, but none of it matters. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Not when the air between us feels thick enough to touch.

I nod, because words aren’t happening. Not right now.

Silas squeezes my hand once, gentle, then shifts back just enough to give me space, without actually letting go.

And I lie there, stunned, trying to pretend I’m not unraveling under the weight of him.

6

Silas

Two weeks.

Fourteen days of tiptoeing around each other like we’re walking on broken glass.

Jack is healing, but he’s being stubborn. His bruises are starting to turn yellow at the edges, his eyes less swollen now.

I lay in bed looking at him as he moves against me. He slowly rolls to the side of the bed, and I quickly move to help him up, but he slaps my hand away, “I’ve got this,” his voice rough from sleep, and filled with hint of frustration.

I watch as he slowly stands and he’s panting by the time he takes his first step, heading to the en-suite, closing the door, he shuts me out. Message received.

Hearing the shower turn on, I rub a hand down my face. I know he wants to be independent, but I also know that he’s still in pain.

“Bullshit” I mutter as I head to the bathroom.

Shoving the door open, Jack’s just stepping into the shower, his lean muscular body still peppered in bruises and cuts, water running over every inch of his sinful lean body. He hasn’t seen me yet, and my breath hisses at the sight he gives me, his cock and balls heavy between his legs, and as he leans for the shampoo, I see his hole just begging to be filled.