Chapter 23
Colette
“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered beneath me as he pressed a kiss against my thigh. “Desperate. Shaking. Mine.”
I sobbed his name, wrecked and ruined and drenched, knowing he had me exactly where he wanted. I’d climaxed from his hands… from his tongue, three times since the snow storm started.
That’s when the idea popped into my head.
I slid off the counter before I could talk myself out of it, my knees hitting the cold floor as his fingers slipped from me.
He stood, looking down at me like I was daring him, like he knew exactly what I meant to do and was already ten steps ahead.
My fingers fumbled at the tie on his pants anyway, triumphant when the knot wriggled open.
And then I freed him.
God.
My mouth snapped shut. He was thick and heavy in my hand, a cock you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to, flushed at the tip, a bead of slick already waiting for me. My stomach flipped. For once, I didn’t have a single clever thing to say.
“Cat got your pretty little tongue?” His voice was pure smoke, amused and wrecked all at once.
I forced myself to smirk, but it wobbled. “You wish.”
I leaned down and wrapped my lips around the head of his cock before I lost my nerve.
The taste hit my tongue, salt and heat, and I tried to set a rhythm that made me look in control.
But Silas didn’t buy it for a second. His fingers slid into my hair, not rough at first — just guiding, testing how far I’d let him push.
Then he tugged. Firm. Inescapable. My throat tightened as he eased me down farther, and the burn in my lungs made my eyes water. “Fuck, Colette,” he groaned, head tipping back, voice gone ragged. “Look at you.”
I tried to glare up at him, spit slicking my chin, but he only grinned, dark and feral, and pressed me lower. I gagged, nails digging into his thighs in warning.
His grip softened immediately. His thumb stroked my cheek, gentling even as his cock pressed against the back of my throat. “Tap twice if it’s too much. You hear me?” His tone had dropped, steady and grounding beneath the filth.
I managed a nod, heat rushing through me at the mix of it — command wrapped around care. Safe in the danger.
Then his smile sharpened. “Good girl.”
The next drag of his hips was ruthless. He fucked my mouth, using me, keeping me where he wanted me.
I couldn’t set the pace, couldn’t do anything but take it while my throat worked and my pride burned.
And he praised me through all of it, filthy encouragement spilling out of him, each word unraveling me more.
You take me so well.
Your throat was made to be fucked.
Just like that, baby.
His grip tightened, the rhythm turning brutal, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t adjust. All I could do was let him use me. My throat burned, spit running hot down my chin, humiliation and heat tangling in my gut.
“That’s it,” he groaned, hips rolling deeper. “Take me. God, you’re perfect — on your knees, choking on my cock.”
I whimpered around him, nails biting into his thighs, not sure if I wanted to claw him open or melt.
He held me down, relentless. “Such a smart mouth… finally doing something useful.” His laugh broke into a moan, rough and needy. “You love this. Don’t pretend you don’t. You love letting me fuck your throat.”
The shame of it, the way my body reacted anyway, made me shake. My eyes blurred, chest heaving, and he stroked his thumb across my jaw, soft against the harshness of his thrusts.
“Good. That’s my girl. Taking me so well.” His voice cracked, deeper, darker. “You’re gonna swallow every drop, sweetheart. Don’t you dare waste a single bit of me.”
I moaned, helpless, and the vibration made him curse viciously. His hips stuttered, muscles taut, and then he spilled hot and thick ropes against the back of my tongue.
I almost choked again, but he held me steady, guiding me through it, muttering broken filth above me. “That’s it. Swallow me down. Fuck, Colette, you’re unreal.”
When he finally let me go, my lips were swollen, chin wet, chest heaving — and his eyes, wild and dark as they dragged over me, told me he liked me ruined exactly like this.
Silas sunk to his knees before me, cradling my face in hands still trembling from aftershocks. His thumbs brushed my cheeks like I was breakable — like he’d just discovered something worth praying to.
“Christ,” he breathed, forehead resting against mine, eyes still dark and unfocused. “You’re going to be the fucking end of me.”
The words weren’t teasing. They were raw. Reverent.
And when he opened his eyes again, that spark — the one I’d been dancing around since the moment we met — flared like he finally understood just how doomed we both were.
Silas stayed there on his knees, chest still rising unevenly, eyes flicking over me like he couldn't decide whether to kiss me or wreck me all over again.
His fingers slid down from my face to my throat, feather-light but possessive, and his voice — low, ruined — pulled something molten straight through me.
“You taste like sin," he murmured, lips brushing my jaw. "And I’m a greedy, greedy man."
His hand slid lower, tracing the edge of his shirt where it had ridden up, thumb grazing bare skin. The heat in his eyes was back, the kind that promised hours — days — of being undone.
“You get on your knees like that for anyone else,” he said quietly, obscenely calm, “and I swear I’ll drag you back here and fuck you on every surface of this house until you forget every name but mine.”
He pressed a slow kiss to my collarbone. “Starting with this fucking floor.”