Forbidden Hands on My Silk Robe - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
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Rage and humiliation burned through me as I sank my teeth into his arm. The second he jerked back in pain, my palm cracked across his face. "Daniel Laurent, get a goddamn grip!"
His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine before he retaliated—a stinging slap that made my head whip sideways. "You fucking tease! Don't play innocent now. Weren't you the one complaining about home being off-limits but anywhere else being fair game?"
My vision swam. When had I ever—? I'd only mentioned his brother being home. How the hell had he twisted that into this?
The impact left my cheek throbbing. I leveled him with a glare that could melt steel, silently promising an assault charge if he laid another finger on me. If he had any balls left, he might as well push me off this damn mountain right now.
Something in my expression must have gotten through. The color drained from his face, anger giving way to panic.
"Sophia, I—Jesus, I don't know what came over me. Please don't tell Michael. Swear to God it'll never happen again. Please."
He dropped to his knees like a penitent sinner, alternating between slapping himself and clawing at my hiking boots.
What choice did I have? He was Michael's baby brother. Telling my husband would just leave him torn between fury and helplessness. First priority: get Daniel the hell out of here.
"I'll let it go. But you're leaving. Today."
Only miles between us would make me feel safe again.
Relief washed over his face. "Yeah, absolutely. Let me—let me make it up to you. I'll cook tonight, leave at dawn. You'll never see me again."
After a beat, I nodded. Him bolting suddenly would raise too many questions.
On the hike down, I ducked into a roadside creamery, pressing an ice-cold lemonade against my cheek until the swelling faded enough to face Michael.
He noticed instantly. Taking in our rumpled clothes, his thumb brushed my tender skin. "Baby, what happened to your face?"
I dodged his touch with a playful shove. "Your brilliant hiking idea, that's what. Got swarmed by gnats—both of us did. Feels like fire ants under my skin."
While Daniel pretended to tie his shoe, Michael's hand slid south. "Need me to... scratch that itch later?"
"Mm, you wish. Next time you're getting eaten alive too."
His easy grin made the lie slip out smoother than I expected.
Dinner was unsettlingly domestic—Daniel moving around our kitchen like he belonged there, Michael uncorking a Cabernet while they laughed about some childhood story.
Daniel kept topping off my glass, toasting my "hospitality," emphasizing his imminent departure. Relief warred with suspicion—until the room started tilting, sending me staggering to bed while their voices blurred downstairs.
Heat pooled low in my belly as sleep dragged me under. Not the pleasant warmth of wine—this was wildfire, every nerve ending screaming for contact. I twisted in the sheets, thighs clamping together against the unbearable ache.
How long had I been thrashing? Then came hot breath on my neck, calloused hands gripping my hips, slipping between—
"Someone's desperate."
With a broken whimper, I locked my ankles behind him. The hard planes of his body sent fresh desperation coursing through me. "God, just fuck me already!"
Back arching, I surrendered completely.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine before he retaliated—a stinging slap that made my head whip sideways. "You fucking tease! Don't play innocent now. Weren't you the one complaining about home being off-limits but anywhere else being fair game?"
My vision swam. When had I ever—? I'd only mentioned his brother being home. How the hell had he twisted that into this?
The impact left my cheek throbbing. I leveled him with a glare that could melt steel, silently promising an assault charge if he laid another finger on me. If he had any balls left, he might as well push me off this damn mountain right now.
Something in my expression must have gotten through. The color drained from his face, anger giving way to panic.
"Sophia, I—Jesus, I don't know what came over me. Please don't tell Michael. Swear to God it'll never happen again. Please."
He dropped to his knees like a penitent sinner, alternating between slapping himself and clawing at my hiking boots.
What choice did I have? He was Michael's baby brother. Telling my husband would just leave him torn between fury and helplessness. First priority: get Daniel the hell out of here.
"I'll let it go. But you're leaving. Today."
Only miles between us would make me feel safe again.
Relief washed over his face. "Yeah, absolutely. Let me—let me make it up to you. I'll cook tonight, leave at dawn. You'll never see me again."
After a beat, I nodded. Him bolting suddenly would raise too many questions.
On the hike down, I ducked into a roadside creamery, pressing an ice-cold lemonade against my cheek until the swelling faded enough to face Michael.
He noticed instantly. Taking in our rumpled clothes, his thumb brushed my tender skin. "Baby, what happened to your face?"
I dodged his touch with a playful shove. "Your brilliant hiking idea, that's what. Got swarmed by gnats—both of us did. Feels like fire ants under my skin."
While Daniel pretended to tie his shoe, Michael's hand slid south. "Need me to... scratch that itch later?"
"Mm, you wish. Next time you're getting eaten alive too."
His easy grin made the lie slip out smoother than I expected.
Dinner was unsettlingly domestic—Daniel moving around our kitchen like he belonged there, Michael uncorking a Cabernet while they laughed about some childhood story.
Daniel kept topping off my glass, toasting my "hospitality," emphasizing his imminent departure. Relief warred with suspicion—until the room started tilting, sending me staggering to bed while their voices blurred downstairs.
Heat pooled low in my belly as sleep dragged me under. Not the pleasant warmth of wine—this was wildfire, every nerve ending screaming for contact. I twisted in the sheets, thighs clamping together against the unbearable ache.
How long had I been thrashing? Then came hot breath on my neck, calloused hands gripping my hips, slipping between—
"Someone's desperate."
With a broken whimper, I locked my ankles behind him. The hard planes of his body sent fresh desperation coursing through me. "God, just fuck me already!"
Back arching, I surrendered completely.
End of Forbidden Hands on My Silk Robe Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Forbidden Hands on My Silk Robe book page.