Chapter 18 #2
The kiss isn’t rushed. It isn’t gentle either. He’s a man tasting something he’s been thinking about for too long, the precision in his movements speaking volumes.
I match him, slow and deliberate, testing the edges of his patience. When I tug at his shirt, he steps back just far enough for me to pull it over his head. I take my time, and he lets me, holding his arms out like a smartass while I appraise the ridges of his abdomen.
My hands seek his skin, hot and hard beneath my fingertips. He groans against my mouth as I trace along the waist of his jeans with a featherlight touch.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice gone dark. “You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”
“Would you like me to stop?”
He smiles against my mouth. “Not a chance.”
That line… It reminds me of another night I’ve had recently, but now isn’t the time to focus on it, so I file it away for later. I have other things in mind.
“Tell me what you want,” he prompts.
“You first.”
He pulls back so I can see his intense expression, the kind that makes it hard to stand still. I’d really like to wither beneath him, just open up and let go, but I wait for his reply.
“I want to hear what kind of sounds you make when you come.”
“Then make me,” I challenge. “Should I tell you what I like, or can you figure it out?”
Silas drags his mouth down my throat, his response lost somewhere across my collarbone as he travels lower. He’s slow enough to make me tremble, not from surprise, but from the clarity of it. The control. Every part of me he touches is a prescribed sensation he’s already anticipated.
“You like that,” he murmurs in acknowledgement. “When I take my time.”
“Yes, keep doing that,” I breathe the words as if speaking any louder will break the spell we’re under. “Keep doing exactly that.”
He laughs softly. “Careful. I might start thinking you like me.”
“Who says I don’t?”
Silas stops for a second, eyes searching mine like I’ve shocked him. Then he kisses me harder, deeper, the question burning right through us until we’ve both forgotten.
His lips trail down my neck, open-mouthed and slow, hands exploring with quiet certainty.
He unzips my dress with such practiced patience, I’m starting to struggle with my tolerance.
Piece by piece, my clothing falls away, every motion deliberate, every touch designed to make me feel how focused he is.
I want to scream, yell at him to break already…
Until his fingers slip between my thighs. I gasp his name and bite his shoulder, my head lolling forward as all the fight leaves me in a rush for the promise of an orgasm.
It’s the only thing that’s rushed tonight.
“That’s it,” he whispers his encouragement, stopping long enough to turn me so my back is against his chest. “Just like that. Don’t hold it in.”
“How can I?” I snap at him, though it holds no true heat.
“Good.” He laughs against my ear, the delectable rumble causing me to shiver. “I want to hear every sound you make.”
He presses his thumb against my clit and circles as he drags his fingers through my wetness, holding pressure at my entrance but refusing any sort of penetration.
No, he’s enjoying watching my expressions in the mirror across from us.
Every time I moan or whimper, his rhythm changes to be faster, slower, teasing me until I’m panting.
I finally come on a groan that sucks the energy from my soul, my knees wobbling from standing through the onslaught.
“Good girl,”he murmurs, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
The words land deep in my core, where I’d really like him to be right now… Less command, more appreciation. I would preen over his praise, but he doesn’t allow me any time for banter.
Silas scoops me up, gently depositing me on the bed as he nestles between my legs. He kisses his way down my stomach, tracing the inside of my thigh before dragging his tongue lightly across my clit.
He takes his time, steady and patient, until the tension builds again, higher, sharper.
It’s impossible to contain, but I try my best not to fight against him or pull away when my second release hits me like a freight train.
I gasp his name, and he smiles against me like he’s been waiting to hear it.
“Your turn,” I say breathlessly, tugging at his hair.
Silas rises at my silent request, pale eyes fixated on me, pupils so wide he looks drunk off the pleasure he’s feeding me. He kisses me, the taste of my release lingering between us.
“You like the control,” he mentions casually, like he’s got me figured out. “So tell me how to fuck you.”
I grin because he’s un-fucking-believable in more ways than one, but right now, I don’t want to talk. “Hard enough for me to forget your name.”
“That’s not going to happen, Eris.” He groans as he lines himself up, but he stops to make sure I’m looking at him as he speaks. “You won’t forget me.”
When he slides inside me, it‘s all heat and tension, every torturous inch enough to make me want to live in this moment for ages. He starts slowly, thought-out as he waits for me to rejoin the living. I shift my hips in invitation, and he finally gives me what I’m asking for. What I need.
His rhythm builds until we’re moving in sync, the push and pull a twisted game neither of us can win. It’s command and surrender, on repeat, each motion feeding the next in an unending cycle.
Silas speaks against my neck, his voice electricity that dances over my skin. “Do you like that?”
“Yes.” I barely get the word out, but I know he hears me.
“Should I slow down?”
“Fuck,” I whimper. “No. Don’t stop.”
“Say it,” he grinds through his teeth, struggling with his restraint. “Tell me what you want.”
I reach my hands up to grab his face. “I want you to shut up and fuck me.”
That… breaks him. His well-crafted restraint vanishes as if it were never a thing.
He rolls his hips harder, deeper, and I sink my teeth into the muscle between his neck and shoulder, needing a violent outlet to match him. Our mixed breaths are ragged, filling the room with a savage sound that I’ll hear for days yet.
Silas comes just as I tip over the cliff of a third orgasm; every noise I try to make gets caught in my throat. But he says my name on the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard, like a prayer whispered to his deity.
He turns his head toward me, eyes soft but guarded. At first, neither of us says anything, just stares openly at each other. It doesn’t feel like silence, though; it feels like… The aftermath.
We lay in bed for a while, eventually curling against each other. He’s got one arm beneath my neck, the other hand drawing lazy circles along my spine. I idly trace the lines of his arm, watching his pulse beneath his skin.
Then he moves… And just like that, the spell is broken.
He dresses without turning another light on, using only the dim lamp. I watch him from the bed, the stark white sheet tucked under my arms.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he says finally, shaking his head as he sits beside me.
I smile softly, but I know it won’t reach my eyes. “Then why did you do it?”
“Because I wanted to.” His voice is almost a whisper. “And I don’t let myself want things very often.”
He leans to press his lips to my shoulder. Gentle. Intentional. It feels like an apology for leaving, but this is his hotel room… I don’t argue that point, though.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” he repeats as he stands and strides across the room like he needs to put distance between us. “But I’m not sorry I did.”
He lingers on the threshold a heartbeat too long, then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I stare at the empty space he left, knowing this isn’t something I’ll be able to leave behind either.
Because what happened in this bed doesn’t feel like a mistake.
It felt like a beginning disguised as one.
I guess I can understand why that would make him run.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling me from my thoughts. I open it before I can stop myself, not even bothering to read the banner.
My HimLock chat has one new message.
Locke:
You weren’t alone tonight.
I stretch out on the bed, lying on my side as I glare at the camera on my phone.
Eris:
How do you know that?
Locke:
You breathe differently when you’re trying not to think about someone.
Eris:
You can’t know that.
Locke:
I can know you.
Eris:
You can hear through the speaker on my phone?
I’m going to stop bringing it with me if you’re going to use it to be creepier than normal.
If you have a problem with my evening activities, then maybe you should come find me.
I don’t wait for a reply. I put the phone face down on the nightstand, rolling my eyes even as I fight a smile.
It’s not a friendly, happy smile, though. It’s more like irony hidden behind a thin silk curtain.
I want to go back to telling myself it’s just code. Just a string of predictive algorithms and psychological prompts. My chest aches with the weight of the denial. I refuse to carry it any further than this bed. At least not tonight.
I haven’t done anything wrong.
But maybe he’s done just enough to help me catch him.
At least one of them.