6. Silas #2
I speed up. Hips snapping. Plywood rocking. Dust rising around us. The sound of our bodies slapping together echoes, wet and obscene.
She moans. A sound I've never heard from her. Low and desperate, ripped from her throat.
"Ohhh—Daddy—" Her voice breaks into a whimper. "I'm close—ahhh—please don't stop?—"
"Not yet."
I pull out, flip her onto her knees, press her chest against the stud wall.
Enter her from behind. The wood is rough against her skin, leaving red marks across her breasts and stomach.
She braces herself against the frame, forehead pressed to wood, hands gripping raw timber.
I pull her hair, tilting her head back, arching her spine, driving deeper.
Her voice cracked, a desperate Oh escaping her lips, followed by Daddy, the word dissolving into a moan.
"So deep. Feel that?"
"I feel it—I feel all of you?—"
I reach around, pinch her nipple, roll it between thumb and forefinger. She cries out. Her walls spasm. I push deeper, feel her body shake, feel her come undone against the wall of what will one day be our house.
She's still trembling when I turn her one more time, lower her to her knees in the dirt, press her mouth open around my cock.
"Open. Take it."
She takes me. Gagging. Tears streaming. Her hands grip my thighs. Her throat works around my length, hot and tight and slick. I feel the pressure building at the base of my spine.
"Look at me."
She does, her eyes glassy with tears, her mouth stretched around my cock.
"Look at what you do to me."
I pull out before I finish, not inside her mouth. Instead, I lift her, lay her back on the plywood, and enter her one final time—face to face, eyes locked, my body covering hers, my weight pressing her down into the rough wood beneath us.
I push deep, burying myself to the hilt, and I don't move. I let her feel every inch of me, let her feel how completely I fill her.
"Mine," I growl. "Say it."
"Yours." She gasps. Her body convulses around me. "Yours, Daddy. Yours."
I follow, pouring into her, hot and thick and endless. I feel it pulse out, filling her to the brim, spilling around my cock and running down her thighs. I keep thrusting through it, keep filling her, keep telling her she's perfect, she's mine, she was made for me.
She's still clenching. Still crying.
"I'm never letting you go," I say, forehead pressed to hers.
She laughs, broken and breathless. "Promise?"
"Forever."
We stay there, chest to chest, both of us panting and trembling. I pull out slowly, grab my shirt from the floor, and clean her with tender, unhurried hands. I trace the marks on her thighs, her hips, her breasts, pressing a kiss to each one as I whisper her name.
She smiles, dazed and glowing, still trying to catch her breath.
I wrap her in my jacket, lifting her carefully, cradling her against my chest. Her head lolls against my shoulder, her body spent and claimed and completely mine.
She's asleep before I reach the truck, and I carry her there, laying her in the passenger seat and covering her with a blanket I keep behind the seat.
I kiss her forehead and whisper, "I'm not letting you go. Never again."
She doesn't hear me, but she smiles in her sleep.
I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other between her legs, keeping myself inside her as long as possible, feeling my release slicking her thighs, feeling her heat, her pulse, her trust. The Atlantic glitters beside us, the sun setting, the world turning.
We arrive at 6:47 PM. Dad is standing on the porch, a drink in his hand, his silver hair catching the last light. He watches me help Selene from the car, watches her stumble, watches the way I catch her, the way my hand finds her lower back, the way she leans into me like she's already my wife.
He sees her swollen lips. The marks on her neck, the bruises peeking below the jacket hem. The way she moves, slow and sore, wincing with every step. The way she clings to me like she can barely stand. The way I hold her, possessive and protective, utterly unashamed.
He says nothing.
He doesn't move for a long moment. His eyes lock onto mine, cold and hard, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. He knows. He knows exactly what we did. Then he turns, walks inside, and closes the door behind him. The sound echoes in my chest like a sentence.
Selene's hand finds mine, trembling.
"He knows," she whispers.
I squeeze her fingers, lift her into my arms, carry her toward the house.
"Let him know," I say, my voice steady, my heart hammering a rhythm that says mine, mine, mine.
"Let them all know. Tonight, we tell them.
Tonight, we stop hiding. Tonight, you belong to me completely, and I belong to you, and nothing in this world or any other can tear us apart. "
I carry her up the stairs, past Richard's closed study door, past Stella's humming in the kitchen, past Maya's sharp eyes watching from the guest room threshold.
I carry her to my room, lay her on my bed, and settle between her thighs one more time, claiming her again, slower, deeper, more deliberate than before.
She's mine now, body and soul. The size difference that once kept us apart now binds us—she grew for me, stretched for me, hurt for me, and the pain became pleasure, became worship, became love.
I thrust into her, feeling her walls flutter around me, her breath hot against my throat, her small body taking all of me and asking for more.
"Say it," I growl against her ear. "Tell me you're mine forever."
"I'm yours." Her voice breaks. "Forever, Daddy. I'm yours forever."
I climb in beside her, pull her against my chest, and press my lips to her hair. She curls into me, her breath slowing, her hand still gripping mine.
And I lie there, watching the door, waiting for the knock I know is coming.