28. 28 – Stasi
H e stills. His body stops, every movement ceasing as his eyes flick to mine. “Say that again.”
So I suck in a breath. “Punish me, Silas. However you want to.”
His eyes close, and I force myself to push out the words. “Do what you want. Just… just don’t hate me anymore.”
And when his eyes open, they look like an ocean storm. Dark and swirling, even as he presses his forehead to mine.
“Stasi,” he says roughly. “God fucking forgive me.”
And before I can take in the words, before the possible consequences of my permission have time to sink in, he turns me.
One moment, I’m staring into his face, and the next, I’m pressed against the wall.
He drags my hands down, slowly, pressing them against the cool wall until they’re level with my shoulders, my cheek pressed against the deep blue.
“Keep your hands there.”
I do as he says, my breathing shaky as he skates his hands down my back. Sliding down the wet black cotton of my shirt.
Lower.
My breath hitches as I feel him trace the sides of my hips, his touch soft. Too soft.
Almost… reverent.
He presses his face against my lower back. “Tell me to stop.”
It sounds like a plea.
But this Silas. This undone, heated, passionate part of him, this is the Silas that I want. Not the cold, angry, sarcastic man.
And I know that’s part of him too - the hurt, angry part, but the man in the room with me right now is the real Silas. And I’ll do whatever it takes to bring him back.
So instead of responding, I push myself back, pressing my chest against the wall and stepping back with my legs. Pushing into him. “No.”
I don’t know what I’m even asking for. But I jump when I feel the undeniable bite of teeth sink into my skin through my leggings. Silas pulls back, rubbing his thumb over the small sting.
“The things I want to do to you,” he says slowly. He doesn’t stop touching me, the sting changing to a burning heat that spreads across my body. “Fucking hell, Anastasia.”
“Tell me,” I whisper, and he pauses.
“I want to tie you up,” he says slowly. “I want to take those fucking chains, and tie you to my fucking bed, where you can’t get into trouble and I don’t have to worry about you.”
My breathing hitches at the thought. Not that I’m particularly keen to be back in chains, but the image burrows inside my head, lying there, spread for him as he walks towards me—
I swallow, hard. Well, fuck. “What else?”
His hand cups my ass. “I want to peel off these clothes, and I want to spread you across my lap and spank you until the only sound you can make is my fucking name. I want to open you up and look at that pretty cunt of yours and see what it looks like when my fingers are buried inside it.”
My moan slips out, unbidden, dropping into the space between us. My pussy clenches like he’s stroking it in time with his words, wetness spreading across my underwear.
I cry out when a finger presses against me, through the material. He pushes in, his fingers exploring me without apology as I press back against him.
“If I’d known this was an option,” I choke out, “I would probably have taken this over the chores.”
He pauses, then. “This isn’t… I don’t expect this from you.”
And I know we’re both thinking of the same thing.
“Don’t worry,” I breathe. “I expect to do my full complement of chores tomorrow, Silas. Just don’t fucking stop .”
I have no doubts that this will make things messy. But I still can’t bring myself to stop him as he continues his slow, tortuous movement.
“When I’m finished fucking you with my fingers,” he says in a low voice, “I’ll spread you open for me, Anastasia. Hold you down as I push my cock into you, making you take every damn inch of it.”
My legs shake, and he grips my hips. “I’d fuck myself into your skin,” he says hoarsely, “Brand you with me until you can’t breathe, can’t move without remembering the feel of me owning you.”
The desire, the possession, is clear in his words. I close my eyes, drinking them in.
This is Silas.
“You want to own me.” My words are soft. “Don’t you?”
He swears, low and violent. “I need to own you like I need fucking breath in my lungs, Stasi. I’ve spent ten years hunting you down, and now you’re here and I’m scared I’ll fucking break you with how much I need you.”
Even all those years ago, he watched me with ownership in his eyes.
Ownership that extended to his brothers, but to nobody else.
He stole my words, my memories, my secrets, all of them, taking them and keeping them for himself in that little hallway.
And I knew, knew from the way he watched me, from the way that they all watched me that I was theirs.
Even at the age of fifteen, even though none of them laid a hand on me, we all knew.
There was never going to be anyone else for me, once I had them.
And when he realized that I was not just his – that my mother still had a claim on me – he lost me, through his temper and his rash actions.
Except now I’m back. And as his hands roam my body, cupping and touching as though every inch has been made for him, I know that he will never let me go again.
And I wonder who made the decision for my imprisonment to last for twenty years.
His admission sucks the air from my lungs, even as his hand pushes further, rubs at me until I stand on my tiptoes to try and escape the curling, growing heat inside me. But I want more, my body bucking as he holds me.
“Silas,” I groan.
And my eyes fly open as he pulls away from me. “W-what—,”
But his hands are sinking into my leggings, dragging them down along with the basic black underwear Kit bought for me.
They stick to my skin stubbornly, but he yanks at them until they drop to my ankles and I kick them off.
They land with a wet thump, and I shiver in the cool air as his hands spread over the back of my thighs. “What happens now?”
Silence. I swallow hard as his hands move, pushing me apart.
“Now,” he says softly. “Comes the punishment.”
His hands abandon my skin, cool air dancing in his wake, and I crane my head around. My eyes widen when I see him wander over to the huge wooden desk. He takes a seat in the leather chair, his eyes on my body where I stand braced against the wall, my legs and pussy bared to his gaze.
When I shift, his voice rings out. “Don’t move. I want to look at you, Anastasia.”
The words wash over me, leave me breathless. “Look at me?”
“Mmm.” He leans back in his chair. “I spent ten years without you. Now that I have you, I want to soak in the feeling for a while. Watch your greedy, wet little pussy as it twitches for me. And while I’m doing that, you can decide how many times I should spank your ass for driving me absolutely, irrevocably fucking insane .
Today, and every other day that you haven’t been right fucking here . ”
I only hesitate over the words for a split second. “It’s not all my fault that I wasn’t here.”
Silence. Such deep silence that I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to look behind me. Finally, I suck it up and throw a quick glance over my shoulder.
Silas raises a dark eyebrow. “You done?”
I purse my lips. Consider it. Nod, slowly. “For now.”
We have a reckoning coming, he and I. For that day.
But for now, I’ll let him have this. Have me. Punish me, in whatever way he deems fit.
And hope that it’ll banish that icy cold from his expression when he looks at me outside of this room.
“Good,” he says silkily. “So consider what you feel your punishment should be, Anastasia. And perhaps we can discuss mine another time.”
He sounds mildly disgruntled at the thought. But then, he doesn’t know. He has no idea what happened to me after that day. On that day and every day after. For years .
I wait. Behind me, Silas shifts. I hear the rustle of papers. But when I glance over my shoulder, his eyes are pinned on me. Slowly, I push myself out. Spread my legs a little further. Revel in the hitch of his breath, even as my skin begins to heat again, just from the feel of his gaze on me.
“Ten,” I murmur finally, and I feel his attention on me.
“Ten hits,” he says, his voice musing. “I suppose I had better make them count, then.”
When I turn, craning my head, he shifts back in his chair. And he pats his knee.
A short laugh escapes him when my eyes widen. “Come here, Anastasia.”
Hesitantly, I let my hands slide away from the wall. The dampness of my palms has left a print against the paint, and I turn to Silas with an uncertain expression.
He holds out his hand, eyes burning. “I said, come here.”
Slowly, I take a step. Another. And his eyes trace me, full of possession and fire as I walk towards him, my lower half completely bare.
He inhales sharply as I stop in front of him. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
The words warm my skin. But—
“You didn’t say that before,” I say quietly. Remembering the pain.
His eyes meet mine, and he lets me see it. The truth. “I didn’t mean it. Not a fucking word.”
He doesn’t ask me again. He waits with his hand held out, waits for me to decide if I should take another step.
I know that if I turn my back now, he will never ask me again. And the distance between us will only get bigger, a void that neither of us will be willing to cross for fear of opening ourselves back up again. Only to be shut down.
My fingers shake as I reach out, wrapping them around his. Silas draws in a breath, and I wonder if I’m imagining the hitch. He draws me to his side. “Lie down. Face up.”
My own breath catches.
And slowly, I turn, and I sit. My hands hold his leg for balance, strong and steady beneath me as I carefully lay myself down across his lap until my head hangs over the side, his legs spreading to hold me up.
I can almost feel the rush of blood to my head, the dizziness of my position and Silas’s hand sliding up my leg.
I clear my throat, force out the words around the prickling need as he traces circles into my skin. “Shouldn’t I be facing down?”