Chapter 25 – Lydia - No More Masks
I wake pinned beneath him.
Not violently—just thoroughly. His arm locks across my waist, his chest a solid wall against my spine, his breath slow and even at the nape of my neck. He's still asleep, but his body hasn't let go.
The room smells like us—sweat, sex, something raw I can't name.
The sheets are ruined, twisted into knots, damp where our bodies pressed together.
My hips ache. My throat stings where his teeth scraped skin.
Between my thighs, I'm sore in a way that makes every small shift a reminder of how hard he took me, how much I let him.
I should slip out. Get distance. Rebuild the walls before he wakes up and sees too much.
But I don't move.
I stay exactly where I am, his arm heavy across me, and I don't know if it's because I want to or because I've forgotten how to leave.
My hand rests against the mattress, fingers twitching with the need to push him away, grab my clothes and slip out of here.
It would be so easy to turn, grab it, remind him that nothing in this world comes without a leash.
But the thought drifts away as quickly as it comes, because the truth is worse: I don’t want to.
I want to feel his arm locked around me a little longer.
The bastard sleeps like he’s earned it. His breath fans against the back of my neck, steady, too steady for a man who burned through me like he meant to tear me apart.
I hate the calmness it brings me. I hate the thought that I might sleep better knowing he’s pressed against me, a wall of muscle and obsession wrapped around my ribs.
I tilt my head just enough to look at him over my shoulder.
His face is rough, unshaven, a faint scar cutting across his jawline, another along his eyebrow.
Lines fan from his eyes, not weakness but years of watching too much, carrying too much.
He doesn’t look soft even in sleep. He looks like a wolf that simply closed his eyes because there was nothing left to kill.
And still, my body reacts. My chest tightens, my stomach knots, my thighs rub against each other under the sheet.
I should slip free. I should run. But I stay pinned.
Just then, I feel it, the subtle shift in his body, the way his chest firms against my back, the change in his breathing. He’s awake. He’s been awake, maybe the whole time, just waiting for me to move first.
His arm doesn’t lift. His hold doesn’t ease. His mouth is close to my ear when he finally speaks, voice rough from sleep but steady as stone. “You’re awake.”
I turn slightly, enough to catch him in the dim light. His eyes are open now, sharp and clear, blue-gray locked on me like they never left. There’s no grogginess, no drift. Just focus. Always focus. His lips tilt faintly, the kind of smirk that feels like it’s been waiting all night.
“Unfortunately,” I murmur. My voice sounds raw, bruised.
He chuckles under his breath. The vibration hums through my spine, too intimate. “Liar. You like waking up next to me.”
I roll onto my back, forcing him to shift with me. His arm stays hooked over my ribs, his body still crowding mine. I let my eyes trail across him shamelessly—broad chest streaked with the lines I left, the faint bruises blooming along his collarbone where my teeth dug in. He’s a mess. My mess.
“Would you have cuffed me if we met differently?” I ask suddenly. The words taste dangerous in my mouth, sharp and bitter.
His eyes narrow, studying me like I’m a puzzle he already solved. He doesn’t blink. “I should have.” His hand slides along my waist, possessive, grounding. “I never will.”
The answer slices through me. It isn’t flirtation. It isn’t even a promise. It’s a vow, brutal in its simplicity. He should have put me in chains. He didn’t. He won’t.
My chest tightens. I force a laugh, sharp, ugly. “That’s your mistake, Silas.”
His hand slips higher, fingers curling around my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. He leans close enough that his mouth nearly touches mine, his eyes burning into me. “No, Lydia. That’s yours.”
The words sit between us like a loaded gun.
And I don’t pull away.
He doesn’t release me when I push at his chest. He only moves when I slide out from under his arm, bare feet hitting the floor, the sheet dragging with me. My legs ache, my hips ache, my cunt aches—and I feel it with every step, the soreness he left in me like a signature.
The bathroom is small, tiled in gray, the mirror cracked at one corner, the bulb overhead buzzing faintly. I twist the shower on, steam filling the space almost instantly. The water spits out hot and soothing, stinging against my skin when I test it.
I step inside.
The heat slides over me, washing away dried sweat and the remnants of sex, but it doesn’t clean anything that matters. I tip my head back, letting the water hit my face, tracing the bite marks on my throat, the bruises on my ribs. Every inch of me screams about his signature all over me.
The door opens behind me. I don’t need to turn to know it’s him.
“Didn’t invite you,” I say flatly.
He steps in anyway, crowding the small stall, his hand bracing against the tile near my head. The water soaks his hair, slicking it back, rolling down over his chest, catching on the lines of muscle and the scratches I left. He looks brutal in the steam, a storm that refuses to pass.
“You don’t have to invite me,” he says, voice low, roughened by the water and the space between us.
I should shove him out. Instead, I press my palms to his chest, pushing once, testing. He doesn’t move. His eyes pin me, blue-gray burning through steam.
I bite his chest, sharp, just above his nipple.
He groans, gripping the back of my head as my tongue flicks over the bite.
I take his nipple between my teeth, rolling it, sucking until his hand clenches hard in my hair.
He hisses, his cock jutting needily against my stomach, literally prodding me for attention.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re dangerous.”
I grin against his skin. “And you’re already hard again.”
I drag my mouth lower, across his ribs, down the line of muscle that leads into his hips. He’s panting by the time I sink to my knees on the slick tile, water running down my face as I wrap my hand around his cock, stroking him once, twice. He’s heavy in my hand, the head flushed, leaking, begging.
I lick him from base to tip, slow, savoring. His head tips back against the wall, a curse tearing from his throat. I smirk, wrapping my lips around the head, sucking, swirling my tongue until his hands fist in my hair again.
“Don’t tease, Lydia,” he groans.
I slide him deeper, gagging slightly, saliva mixing with the water, dripping down my chin. His hips thrust forward, fucking into my mouth, and I let him, my throat stretching around him, my nails digging into his thighs.
He looks down at me, eyes blazing through steam, jaw tight. “Look at you,” he groans. “On your knees for me.”
I pull back just enough to smirk up at him, lips wet, voice raw. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
His answer is to drag me up, spin me, press my front against the tile. His hand grips my throat, pinning me there, his cock grinding against my ass. The water pours over both of us, the heat making my skin slick, sensitive, desperate.
“Don’t think for a second I’m done with you,” he growls against my ear.
I arch back against him, daring. “Of course you aren’t. How could you be? You just can’t resist me, can you?”
His body presses into mine, cock thick and urgent against my ass, his hand still at my throat, not choking, but holding me where he wants me.
Water sluices down over both of us, hot enough to sting, steam curling around our skin until it feels like the whole world has narrowed to this small, scalding box.
I close my eyes, lean into the tile, let him feel me soften against the restraint, then tense again when he squeezes just enough to remind me that he could take everything if he wanted.
“You keep giving me reasons to ruin you,” he growls against my ear, his voice low and rough.
I smile, my lips curving against wet stone. “Maybe I want to see how far you’ll go.”
He spins me fast, pinning my back to the wall now, my breasts crushed against his chest, his cock grinding against my stomach. His eyes burn through the steam, jaw clenched like he’s holding back something feral.
“You think I won’t go too far?” he asks.
“I think you already have.”
The words ignite him. His lips slam into mine, all heat and fury, teeth biting, lips bruising. His tongue thrusts deep, claiming, devouring. My hands claw down his back, nails dragging red lines through wet skin. He groans into my mouth, the sound guttural, possessive.
His lips break away to find my throat, sucking hard, biting until I whimper. He marks me where no one else can miss it, where every look in a mirror will scream his name.
“You’re mine,” he rasps, his mouth against my pulse, his hand sliding down my body, cupping my breast. He squeezes, thumb flicking my nipple until it stiffens under his touch. I gasp, hips arching, and he bites harder at my throat in answer.
“Say it,” he demands, fingers rolling the peak between rough fingertips.
“Fuck you,” I pant, even as I press into his hand.
His laugh is dark, sharp. He bends, taking my nipple into his mouth, sucking, flicking his tongue until I moan, my body arching helplessly. He bites lightly, then soothes it with his tongue, moving to the other breast, giving it the same ruthless attention.
I grab his hair, tugging hard, forcing him to look up at me. My eyes meet his, and I see it—the hunger that isn’t just lust. It’s not even just obsession. This… this is devotion turned savage.
My head tips back against the tile, a sharp moan breaking free. His fingers curl, hitting that spot that makes my knees weak, his thumb circling my clit, relentless.
“Silas,” I choke, nails digging into his shoulders.