Chapter 31 – Lydia - Thin Ice #3
“You think you hate me?” His words scrape against my mouth, his breath hot, his teeth catching my lower lip. “Prove it.”
I buck against him, wrists twisting, but his strength is unrelenting. His hand engulfs both of mine, the other sliding down to clamp at my hip, dragging me closer into the press of his body. He’s hard already, a heavy, insistent pressure against my thigh, and the shock of it rips a gasp out of me.
He seizes it. His tongue pushes back into my mouth, swallowing the sound, making it his.
I try to hold on to anger, but it fractures under the burn of his touch. His palm slides up my ribcage, rough fingertips grazing the side of my breast through the thin fabric of my shirt. My body betrays me, arching into the heat, chasing it before I can stop myself.
His mouth tears from mine, dragging down my jaw, my throat. He bites hard enough at the juncture of neck and shoulder that I cry out. His tongue follows, soothing, then sharper again as he sucks a bruise into my skin. Claiming. Branding.
My stomach knots, my thighs clench, and I hate myself for the flood of heat between my legs.
His free hand slips lower, dragging up my thigh, shoving my legs apart with a brutal impatience. His knuckles press between them, grinding against the fabric of my jeans until the friction sparks white in my vision.
“Silas—” It tears out of me raw, half warning, half plea.
He lifts his head, eyes feral, his lips wet and swollen. “Say my name like that again.”
The pressure between my thighs intensifies as his fingers press harder, dragging over the seam. I bite back a moan, but it breaks free anyway, muffled, desperate.
“You don’t hate me.” His voice is iron. His fingers slide up, tugging at the button of my jeans. “You need me.”
I’m shaking my head, but my hips rock against his hand. My wrists strain in his grip, not to get free but to hold on tighter.
“Say it,” he demands, the button snapping open, his hand sliding inside. The heat of his palm presses through the thin barrier of my underwear, his fingers dragging over soaked fabric. “Say you need me.”
“I—” The word sticks in my throat, my pride choking me even as my body melts. He circles my clit with his fingertip, slow and devastating, and I break. “I need you.”
His groan rips through the air, his mouth crashing back to mine, his kiss rougher, hungrier, triumphant. His hand plunges deeper, pulling the fabric of my panties aside, sliding into wet heat.
My head slams back against the wall, a strangled cry escaping me. His tongue swallows it whole, his fingers fucking into me with ruthless precision. Every thrust feels like a promise he means to carve into me, unrelenting.
I’m trembling, nails digging crescent moons into my palms where he still pins my wrists. The room tilts, the dresser groans under our weight, and I’m drowning in the sound of his growl against my mouth, the slick rhythm of his fingers inside me.
“You’re mine,” he rasps, curling his fingers, dragging me higher. “Every time you come, you remember it’s me. Not Drazen. Not Elias. Me.”
The orgasm slams into me so hard I bite his lip to keep from screaming. My whole body clenches, breaks, then melts into his grip. He doesn’t stop. He fucks me through it, relentless, until I collapse against him, gasping, every nerve raw.
He frees my wrist and tears my jeans down in one rough pull, yanking them all the way off. His belt’s already undone, his cock hard and heavy in his fist as he frees himself. My stomach flips at the sight, thick and swollen, veins pulsing.
He lifts me onto the dresser like I weigh nothing, shoving my legs apart with his hips. His cock drags over my entrance once, slick with me, teasing, threatening. His eyes pin mine, unyielding, daring me to look away.
“Say it again.”
“I need you.” My voice breaks. My pride is gone.
He thrusts into me in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sound I make is a strangled sob, his cock splitting me wide, filling me so deep I swear I’ll never get him out again.
His grip clamps on my waist, anchoring me as he pulls back and slams forward again, the dresser rattling, the walls shaking with every thrust. His rhythm is savage, his mouth crushing mine between curses and groans.
I claw at his shoulders, nails raking over hard muscle.
My legs wrap around his hips, dragging him deeper, harder, until every thrust hits that spot that shatters me.
“You’ll ruin me,” I gasp against his mouth, the words spilling without thought.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so his teeth can scrape my throat. “Then I’ll keep the pieces.”
The second orgasm crashes through me like lightning, ripping me apart, making me scream his name.
His thrusts grow ragged, desperate, his cock pulsing inside me.
With a guttural curse, he buries himself deep and spills into me, hot and claiming, his face pressed hard into my neck as he groans my name.
We collapse against each other, my thighs trembling around him, his cock still buried inside me, pulsing. His breath rasps against my skin, his heart hammering against mine.
He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t whisper comfort. He just holds me there, caged by his body, his seed inside me, his eyes blazing when he finally pulls back enough to look at me.
“You’re mine Lydia.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My body is still shaking, my pride shattered.
But I don’t push him away.
My thighs ache from being spread around his hips, my skin stings where his stubble scraped raw, and my heart hasn’t settled into a steady rhythm yet.
Silas is still inside me when I finally drag air into my lungs. Still hard enough that I know if I shift, if I taunt him, he’d fuck me again without hesitation. His eyes hold mine, too sharp, too steady, like he wants to pin me to this dresser forever.
I shove at his chest, not hard enough to move him, just enough to prove I still have teeth. “Get off of me.”
He leans in instead, his warm mouth brushing the corner of mine. “No.”
The word lands like a brand. My body flares hot again, traitor that it is, even as I force myself to slip out from under him.
My legs wobble when my feet hit the floor, stepping on my jeans that he tossed aside like paper, I pick them up shamelessly and wear them back, yanking them up my thighs with shaking fingers, refusing to look at him.
“You’ll choke on that obsession,” I snap, buttoning my jeans.
“Then I’ll choke happy.” His tone is almost amused, almost cruel, but the glint in his eyes isn’t humor. It’s possession.
I can’t hold his stare, not when my body still throbs with his, not when my chest aches with something I refuse to name. I push past him, tugging my shirt down, and slip into the hall.
The house is too still. The floorboards creak under my steps, the faint hum of the fridge carrying from the kitchen. Voices drift up from below: Elias’s, steady and clipped, and Mara’s softer, steadier. I stop at the top of the stairs, half-hidden in the shadows.
“She’s already gone to him,” Elias says, his voice carrying in that way men’s voices do when they want to sound like truth. “Obsession always looks the same.”
My hand grips the banister until my knuckles blanch.
Mara’s voice is lower, not soft but firm. “Don’t make it sound like weakness. You, of all people, should know better. Or are you so comfortable being a hypocrite, my love?”
A pause. Then Elias mutters something I can’t catch, but I hear the scrape of a chair, the clink of his mug.
The knot in my chest pulls tighter. Elias isn’t wrong. I feel the hold he has on me. I feel it every time Silas looks at me, every time he touches me, every time his name rips out of me without my permission.
And yet—Mara’s words stay lodged in my head. Weakness. Strength. Which is it when I let him own me like that?
I turn back down the hall, slipping into the room we just wrecked. Silas is sprawled against the dresser now, shirt hanging open, his chest still rising and falling heavy. His eyes track me the second I walk in, like he never doubted I’d return.
I slide into the bed, sheets cool against skin still too hot. He joins me a moment later, his arm slung heavy across my waist, dragging me against him like he’s daring me to leave.
His heartbeat thuds against my back, steady and relentless. I stare straight at nothing in particular, my body still humming from him, my mind choking on Elias’s words.
Obsession always looks the same.
I don’t know if what binds us is love, survival, or a noose tightening by the day.
But I don’t move.
I don’t pull away.