Chapter 38 Evie
EVIE
Silas makes me come twice more before carrying me to the en suite. He sets me down on the shower bench and turns on the water, waiting for it to warm. Only when the air is steaming around us, does he angle the spout, allowing for the gentle patter of water to soothe my aching body.
“There’s a bath inside the house,” he says, dragging a sponge that smells like him across my breasts as he kneels on the tiles. That wicked smirk of his is back, tugging at my heart. “But I thought you’d want to wash before we risk running into anyone.”
“Yes,” I confirm with my own shy smile, watching as he wipes away a particularly heavy smear of blood across my lower stomach. Dried blood that confirms I’m no longer a virgin.
I thought I’d feel different. Like I’d sense my soul being slotted for eternal damnation, or that God would send a lightning bolt and strike me down for all to see.
In my darkest nightmares, I dreamed a branded letter would appear on my breast, probably from that book where the townspeople ostracized an unwed woman for getting pregnant.
But as I watch Silas—his dark hair wet, his toned skin beaded with water and branded with tattoos as he cleans me with something akin to worship—I know I’ll never regret last night.
I’d choose to lay my body down for him again and again. To submit to his will, his rule, because Silas’s devotion to me is absolute. Maybe I did sell my soul to the devil, but if the promised heaven doesn’t have him by my side, I don’t want it.
So I choose this life—this eternity—of love and delicious, beautiful darkness.
I hiss when the sponge dips lower, parting my thighs for Silas’s ministrations. He’s gentle as he works, but I can see how his eyes dilate, how his cock is still hard from licking me earlier.
“You need rest,” he says, more to himself than to me. “You’re sore.”
Setting my now clean legs down, Silas stands.
Water pings across his shoulders, running down the murals of tattoos covering his hard stomach and thick-veined forearms. And his hands—god, his hands—have been everywhere.
On me. In me. Shoving cum back into my swollen core before forcing their way into my mouth, coating my tongue with the sweet, bitter tang of our pleasure.
I grab his hand as he starts to turn, letting myself admire the crisp black lines across his knuckles before looking up. He must see something in my eyes, because his body goes still, cock twitching, the thick length just inches from my lips.
I meet his gaze, emerald flecks striking against the deep green tiles behind us, as I guide his hand to my head, adjusting my position until my lips hover over him.
“My mouth isn’t.”
Only once all the cum is cleaned from my face and neck, and my hair is brushed, do I exit the washroom.
There’s a pair of Silas’s sweatpants and a T-shirt waiting for me, along with a new toothbrush still in its packaging, and my favorite toothpaste and floss set beside it on the counter.
With minty-fresh breath and a subtle ache between my thighs, I step into the main studio and find Silas seated at a fresh canvas, still naked.
A forest-green towel is wrapped around his waist as he perches on his stool, but the edges have fallen low, revealing the top curves of his ass. The hard muscles across his back flex as his paintbrush flies across the canvas, and I realize what he’s rendering.
The large rectangle set on the easel is a mixture of pearl and eggshell whites, twisted with flashes of scarlet. Most would assume it’s impressionistic or perhaps modern with its bold strokes, but all I see is the backdrop of the bed Silas stares at as his hand moves.
“You’re painting the sheets?” I ask, padding toward him.
“Yes and no,” he says, tilting his head toward me, though his eyes never stray from the silk sheets—marred forever with my ruin—until the last splash of red is added to the canvas and his brush falls still. “I’m painting you. Us. Just in another form.”
He tugs me to his side, pressing his head into my stomach, and I inhale the masculine scent of him. I run my fingers through his still-damp hair, my heart thrumming at how vulnerable he looks right now. How open he is with me—only me.
“I have this need to tell you I love you,” Silas whispers, pressing a kiss to my navel. My breath hitches as he holds me there, staring up at me. “But that word isn’t strong enough. I love you, and my soul is yours as much as it is mine.”
His fingers tug on the drawstring holding my pants up, and the loose waistband slips down, leaving me in nothing but his oversized shirt.
“I love you, and I would gladly worship at the altar of your body for eternity.”
He lifts the hem of the fabric, sending sparks of electricity across my skin as he exposes my nakedness. Silas’s fingers tease my core with gentle strokes, just enough to have me slick with need, despite the lingering soreness. And god above, I already want him again.
He pushes the towel from his lap, tugging me forward until the most sensitive part of me is poised over his straining cock, the velvety head sliding through my slick folds.
“I love you, and I would erase any threat.” Gripping my thighs, he slams me down, impaling me on his length before lifting me again. This position draws him so deep I swear it feels like he’s etching ownership into my bones. “Punish anyone foolish enough to hurt you.”
His words are punctuated with another deep thrust, and I cry out from the sharp pleasure.
He captures the sound with his mouth as he sets the rhythm, moving me with ease, as though I weigh nothing.
Our bodies writhe together, desire already smoldering into a raging inferno of need and want and love.
Silas sucks hard on a nipple, and I cradle his head to me as his teeth find the other.
“I love you,” he pants, his grip on my back tightening with his release just as mine crashes into me.
“And I’d destroy the world to keep you.”