Chapter 25 – Lydia - No More Masks #2
“Louder.” His mouth crushes mine again, swallowing my moan, his pace brutal, ruthless, designed to tear me apart. I buck against him, chasing it, riding his hand until my whole body trembles, the climax hitting sharp and fast. I come hard, clenching around his fingers, gasping into his mouth.
He doesn’t stop. He pushes me harder against the wall, pulls his fingers free, and lifts my leg high, hooking it over his hip. His cock presses at my entrance, thick and throbbing, sliding against my slick folds.
“You ready for me?” he growls.
I smirk, biting his bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss. “Do it, Agent Ward. Show me how far you’ll fall.”
He slams into me in one savage thrust, burying himself to the hilt. I scream, nails clawing down his back, my body stretching, filled so deep I can’t breathe.
“Fuck,” he snarls, his hips pounding into me, each thrust harder than the last. The sound of our bodies slamming together echoes off the tile, water pounding over us, steam filling every corner.
He fucks me like he wants to break me. My back arches against the wall, my leg trembling against his hip, my cunt clenching around him with every brutal stroke.
“Say it,” he growls, his hand at my throat again, pressing just enough to make my head spin. “Say you’re mine.”
“Never,” I gasp, even as my body betrays me, tightening around him, milking him.
He laughs darkly, slamming deeper, his teeth biting my shoulder. “Then I’ll make you.”
He thrusts faster, harder, my moans echoing, my nails leaving bloody crescents in his skin. I’m shaking, the orgasm building again, clawing at me. I hate him for it, for knowing my body better than I want him to.
My climax rips through me, violent, leaving me crying out, clinging to him as I shatter against the wall. He follows instantly, moaning my name, slamming into me hard, coming deep inside me, filling me until it spills down my thighs.
We collapse against the tile, his forehead pressed to mine, our bodies trembling, locked together in the spray. His hand grips the back of my neck, not gentle, but grounding.
“You’re mine,” he whispers again, voice raw, desperate.
And this time, I don’t answer. I just hold onto him, shaking, knowing I’ve let him take something I swore I’d never give.
The water cools too quickly, the kind of lukewarm trickle that makes steam fade and reality creep back in. He’s still inside me, softening but not letting go, his chest pressed against mine, his mouth resting against my jaw like he can breathe me in.
I should shove him off. Instead, I sag against the tile, spent, trembling, unable to pretend I don’t want to stay here another minute.
That’s when his phone rings.
A harsh, metallic buzz against the counter outside the bathroom. It doesn’t stop after one, or two, or three. It keeps going, insistent, demanding, until he curses under his breath and pulls out of me with one sharp thrust. I hiss at the loss, clinging to the wall as he shoves the curtain back.
“Stay,” he snaps at me, as if I’m the one about to walk out. He grabs a towel, stalks into the room, dripping wet and still half-hard, water trailing down his back.
I wrap my arms around myself, forcing my legs to stop shaking, listening.
He answers with one word. "Ward."
Naomi's voice cuts through, sharp and impatient as always. "You're behind. Drazen's moving. I want updates. Names. Don't tell me you've lost focus."
My jaw tightens. She's calling earlier than usual, more insistent. The leash is getting shorter.
I step out of the shower, dripping, wrapping a towel around myself, silent as I move closer to the door.
“You’re not my priority anymore,” Silas says. His voice is flat, steel on steel.
Naomi’s voice hardens. “Don’t play games. You belong to the Bureau, Ward. You’re an asset, not a man. Don’t mistake the two.”
Silas’s laugh is humorless, jagged. “Not anymore. I’m done with your leash.”
There’s a pause. I can almost hear her breathing spike, the way people do when control slips. Then: “Then don’t expect me to catch you when you fall.”
The line goes dead.
He stares at the phone for a beat before tossing it onto the table like it’s trash.
I lean against the doorway, dripping water onto the floor, towel clinging to my body. “So,” I say, voice sharp, cutting through the silence. You burned it,” I tilt my head, studying him. “You just severed yourself from the only thing keeping you untouchable. For me.”
He doesn’t look away. “Not for you. With you.”
Something twists in my chest. It’s not comfort. It’s dread, hunger, and rage tangled together. Men who give me everything always want more in return. Always.
I cross the room, stop in front of him, tilt my head up so we’re eye to eye. “You’re a fool, Silas.”
He grips my jaw, thumb pressing hard enough to make my lips part. “Maybe. But I’m your fool now.”
I should laugh. I should spit in his face. Instead, I stand there, dripping, trembling, with my pulse hammering inside me, knowing he just made himself mine in the worst, most dangerous way.
He’s still gripping my jaw when I push his hand away, more a shove than a swat. “You just torched your entire safety net,” I tell him, wrapping my towel tighter. “No badge, no Bureau, no leash. What are you now, Silas? A man without a country? Without a code?”
He doesn’t flinch. His eyes track me as I move across the room, dripping water onto the floorboards. His cock is still half-hard, glistening from me, but his face is carved from steel.
“I told you already,” he says. “Not for you. With you.”
I laugh, sharp, ugly. “That’s not romantic. That’s suicidal.”
He steps toward me, slow and steady, until my back hits the wall again. He smells of water and sex and something darker—gun oil, sweat, the faint copper of my own blood under his nails.
“I don’t do romantic,” he says. “I do necessary.”
His hands come up, bracing on either side of my head, caging me. “You’re the only thing in this city that feels real. Everything else is a job, a cover, a lie. But you…” He dips his head, eyes boring into mine. “You’re not a lie. You’re the fracture I can’t fix.”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. I press my palms flat to his chest, feeling the heat of him, the scars, the muscle. “You’re insane,” I whisper.
He leans closer until his lips hover over mine, not kissing me, just breathing me in. “Maybe. But you’re in my insanity now. And I’m not letting you crawl back out.”
I close my eyes, trying to summon the armor I always wear. The words that should come—sharp, cruel, dismissive—stick in my throat. All I can hear is Naomi’s voice in my head: You’re an asset, not a man.
The words should terrify me. They should snap me out of whatever this is. Instead, my thighs press together under the towel, and my hands curl tighter against his chest.
I open my eyes again and find his still on me, steady, relentless.
I search his face, looking for a flicker of doubt, some proof this is just another mask he’s wearing. There isn’t one. Only fire. Only him.
I let the towel slip a little, baring my cleavage. His eyes drop, his pupils flaring.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I say, even as my body betrays me, leaning toward him.
He runs a thumb along the mark he left, his touch rough but careful. “You’ll keep telling yourself that until you start believing it,” he murmurs.
I should step aside. I should pick up my knife, put the distance back. But I don’t. I stay against the wall, dripping, trembling, letting him stand there in front of me like a wall I don’t want to scale.
“Go on then,” I say, my voice a rasp. “If you’ve burned it all, show me what’s left.”
His hands slide down my arms, catching my wrists, pulling them around his waist. He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closing for the first time since I’ve known him. “What’s left is this,” he says. “Us. In the dark. No masks.”
I don’t kiss him. He doesn’t kiss me. We just stand there, steam fading, water dripping from our bodies onto the floor, locked together in a moment that feels like a choice neither of us can take back.