Chapter 20
Everly
His mouth brushed lazily over my nipple, warm and wet, tongue flicking once before he closed his lips around it again. I whimpered. Every inch of me felt raw and tender, used and loved. He hadn’t stopped all night. Yet he woke me up at some ungodly hour to wreak havoc again.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, because I meant it. “I won’t mention her again in our bedroom.”
He hummed, the vibration shooting straight through my chest. “My poor baby. Ready to give up?” His breath was hot against my skin, his tone thick with amusement.
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to surrender and let him win. But when his hand slid down my stomach, cupping between my thighs, my body arched into his palm all on its own.
A needy sound escaped me before I could stop it.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured. “Still greedy. Still my wet little fucktoy.”
I nodded, dazed and pliant, letting my legs fall open under the sheets.
Because no matter how wrecked I was… I’d always want more.
“That’s my good girl, open up for your husband,” he murmured, moving between my legs to kneel over me. The sheets dragged with him, warm from our bodies, smelling like sex, sleep and him.
“I can’t get enough of these beauties,” he mused before lowering himself over my breasts.
His breath hit first—slow, deliberate—coasting over my skin like he wanted to remind every cell who it belonged to. His hands framed my waist, thumbs stroking idly, almost tender… except nothing about his stare was soft.
He took his time. Too much time.
“Silas…” I breathed, my hips already shifting, seeking the pressure he hadn’t given me yet.
He ignored the plea, dragging the tip of his nose along the swell of my left breast, then the right, inhaling me like he was starving. Like he was memorising the shape of me all over again.
“Do you feel that?” he asked quietly, rubbing his cock against my thigh. “I woke up hard for you—only you.”
His tongue flicked out, barely a touch, wickedly gentle.
“And this—” another brush, lower this time, right where he knew I’d jerk, “—is for you.”
A frustrated gasp broke out of me. He smiled against my skin, slow and satisfied.
“Good,” he murmured. “Show me what an obedient toy you are.”
He closed his mouth around my nipple again—finally—sucking slow enough to tease and hard enough to claim, one hand sliding down my thigh like he was marking territory inch by inch.
He slid two fingers through my slick, slow enough to make my eyes roll back.
“This—” he pressed lightly against me, just enough to make my hips jerk, “—is the only place for me.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“That woman doesn’t exist in my world anymore.” His fingers sank deeper, curling. “But you do.”
A sound broke out of me—needy and raw.
He dropped back down and sucked my nipple into his mouth with a ferocity that stole the breath from my lungs—long, deep, claiming pulls—while his fingers pushed deeper.
It was a slow, ruthless invasion, and his mouth left my breast with a wet sound that made my whole body jolt. He didn’t move away. He hovered—eyes locked on mine, breath hitting my lips, like he needed me to feel every word.
“Look at me.”
I tried. God, I tried. But my eyes kept flickering shut as pleasure rolled through me.
His free hand snapped up, gripping my jaw—not painful, but firm enough that my eyes flew open.
“There she is,” he murmured. “My pretty little wife.”
My chest tightened. “Silas—”
“No,” he cut in softly, dangerous in the quiet. “You said you’re sorry. You said you wouldn’t bring her into our bed.” His thumb pressed under my chin, forcing my face higher. “She is nothing to me.”
His smile was dark and unbearably confident.
“See?” he whispered. “You get wetter every time I tell you she means nothing.”
My breath hitched; embarrassment and arousal tangled in my stomach.
He leaned closer, lips brushing my cheek—but not kissing. Not giving. Just hovering like a promise.
“Say it,” he murmured. “Say you’re the only woman I’ll ever fuck.”
I swallowed, heat burning through me. “I—I am.”
“That’s right,” he crooned. “My wife. My obsession. My favourite toy.”
His fingers thrust deeper, harder now, deliberate—just shy of overwhelming.
“You think I’m angry because you mentioned her?” His mouth reached my ear, voice a low, lethal caress. “I’m angry because you still think you’re competing with someone I already buried.”
The words hit like a physical shock.
“Silas—”
“Shh.” He dragged the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, smearing spit. “I’ll talk. You listen.”
A shiver went through me.
“I don’t want you thinking about my past but our future,” he said, tone dropping lower, darker. “I want you thinking about the way I put our baby in you days after she signed the damn divorce papers.”
His fingers curled inside me, hitting that spot that made my vision blur. A cry tore out of me before I could stop it.
My entire body clenched around him.
He felt it. Of course he felt it.
“Oh… you liked that,” he breathed, stunned and delighted. “You’re giving me something she never could?”
I whimpered—because he was right.
His lips finally touched mine, a slow drag, a dark seal. He swallowed my gasp, my breath, my surrender—like he’d been waiting all night to claim this exact sound.
When he pulled back, just enough to speak, his voice was nothing but devotion sharpened into madness.
“After this,” he murmured, eyes burning into mine, “there won’t be a single piece of you that doubts who you belong to.”
“Fuck me, Silas,” I whispered feverently, gripping his cheeks. “Feed me every last drop. It belongs to me.”
Something snapped behind his eyes.
He grabbed my thigh and dragged it up his hip, forcing me open wide for him. I gasped as the head of his cock slid against me—hot, heavy, unmistakable—and his whole body shuddered like the contact alone nearly finished him.
“Say it again,” he rasped, voice breaking apart at the edges. “Say I belong to you.”
I held his face between my hands, thumbs brushing the sharp line of his cheekbones.
“You. Belong. To. Me.”
He made a sound—low, filthy, reverent—and then he pushed inside me in one slow, devastating stroke. My back arched off the bed, heat slamming through me like I’d been plugged into him, into his madness, into that feral thing he’d been holding onto all night.
“Oh, fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenching as he sunk deeper. “You feel that? You feel your husband’s cock filling what’s his?”
I whimpered—because it was too much, too good, too deep, and he caught the sound with a dark smile.
“That’s right,” he said, breath ragged. “You claim me with your words…”
He thrust again, harder.
“…and I claim you with this.”
My fingers clawed at his shoulders, trying to ground myself, but he pinned my wrists above my head, forcing me to take all of him, every inch.
“You want to own me?” he asked, voice shaking with unhinged devotion. “Fine. But while I’m inside you, you’re my toy.”
His hips ground forward, deliberate, ruthless, stretching me around him.
“My fucktoy.”
Another thrust.
“My pretty little wife who breaks open for me.”
Another.
“My favourite thing to ruin.”
My breath shattered into a cry.
“Oh, you like that,” he growled against my mouth. “You get tighter every time I call you my toy.”
His forehead pressed to mine, sweat mixing with mine, eyes black with need.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re my fucktoy.”
I swallowed, trembling around him. “I’m your fucktoy.”
He lost it.
A guttural sound ripped from his chest, and he drove into me harder, deeper, pinning me into the mattress like he needed to imprint himself onto every part of my body.
“Good girl,” he snarled. “Now take it. Take your husband’s cock. Take every fucking drop I give you—because you’re mine.”
His pace broke—wild, punishing, and, unhinged—like he was trying to fuse us together.
I seized his hips, forcing him deeper, meeting every thrust with a desperate, shaking need that bordered on madness.
The climax ripped through me like a scream I couldn’t contain.
Silas.
Silas.
Silas.
His name slammed through my head like a brand, echoing and echoing as my body shuddered violently around him—as if my orgasm belonged to him as much as I did.
“Good. Fucking. Toy,” he grunted, pounding me into the mattress with each word until my hips ached.
When he finally let go, I felt his hot come fill me up—not just the moment itself, but the weight of the vow threaded through it. His promise. His claim. His devotion twisted into something feral and irrevocable.
My last thought before the darkness claimed me was that I needed to do this again.
Perhaps in a few months… while I recovered in a wheelchair.