15. TUESDAY AFTERNOON — THE REED LAND, NORTH CAROLINA #3
I slid my hands to his hips, digging my thumbs into his skin.
Little red crescent moons appeared as I guided him deeper and forced him to increase his speed.
The intense rhythmic pulse of his cock hitting the back of my throat caused pre-cum to collect against my tastebuds.
A slick and salty concoction that I now craved on a near daily basis.
With a few more shaky thrusts, Silas came hard down my throat.
His cock acted as a gag, pressing my forehead into his thighs as he shot out his thick release.
It coated the inside of my mouth, spilling out around the edges as my head swam from lack of oxygen.
With some difficulty, I swallowed around his mushroom head, massaging it with my larynx before my eyes began to roll.
When I was no longer dizzy, and Silas was unflustered, we ended up in the bathroom.
The marathon of orgasms had left us utterly exhausted and covered in a sticky sheen of bodily fluids. The shower had already been running for a few minutes, filling the large tiled room with thick steam. We stood in front of the large double vanity mirror, the glass aggressively fogging.
I was leaning my hands on the edge of the sink when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. It was awful. I looked…battered. I knew it wasn’t just from the physical toll of the day, either. It was from the years.
Every faint, silvery scar that crisscrossed my ribs was a reminder of table bumps gone wrong.
The dark ink that covered my arms and chest I got when I was angry in an attempt to look terrifying.
I saw the way my face, with its sharp jawline, slightly crooked nose, and perpetual scowl, looked infinitely harder, older, and rougher than I actually felt on the inside.
It started a spiral. A quiet, insidious descent, where the old and deeply ingrained critical voice in my head creeped up the back of my neck while whispering poison.
It told me I wasn’t enough for a man like Silas.
That Silas was golden, polished, a legacy.
And I was too rough, too broken. A brawler from Philly who had somehow tricked the prince into marrying him.
Silas must have seen it. I mean, he always did.
He saw the microscopic shift in my eyes, or the way my shoulders hunched defensively, before I even realized I was doing it.
Without a word, he stepped up behind me, his warm body pressing against my bare back.
His large hands gripped my hips tightly as he leaned in, his soft lips trailing up the side of my neck, kissing my tense muscles.
“Where’s your head at, baby?” he murmured against my throat. His voice was low, a soothing vibration perfectly timed with the feather-light kisses. When he made it up to my earlobe, the gentle bites began.
I shrugged, a jerky, uncomfortable movement as I didn’t know how to answer.
How did I explain the dark, unworthy places my mind wandered when I looked at my own reflection for too long?
Or, the suffocating memories of feeling like an imposter that plagued my brain when I stood in a shower longer than necessary?
Silas only knew the surface of what my life was like before the Donovans took me in.
And sharing any of those jagged, ugly pieces of myself right now, after hours of pure devotion and intimacy in its rawest form, after finally getting married and achieving the impossible, felt selfish in a wicked way.
I stayed silent. His hands trailed down my torso, his fingers mapping the ridges of my abs, causing me to lean my head to the side so his mouth had better access. My back arched ever so slightly, pressing my ass flush against the rigid heat of his cock as it rested against my cleft.
“Si…” I managed to get out in a cracked moan. It was raw with desire and a desperate want for him. For my husband. I felt like I would literally combust if I didn’t connect with him within the next sixty seconds. He needed to ground me.
To save me.
I turned to face him and pulled him into a kiss, our lips crashing together. I knew without a doubt he would feel exactly what I was trying to communicate, read the desperation in my touch.
But without warning, he pulled away. Arms on my shoulders, he spun me right back around to face the fogged-up mirror again.
“Look at yourself,” Silas ordered.
His voice had lost all its softness. It took on a sharp and unyielding dominance that came rarely, but made my breath hitch in my throat and a shiver race down my spine.
“Look in the mirror, baby.”
I did.
Through the streaks of condensation, I saw him standing behind me. His eyes were dark and intense, his bare, tan hands a stark contrast against my pale, tattooed skin.
His hands moved, swiping across my hips and down my ass, using the leftover slickness on our bodies to push a long finger into me.
A shocked, stuttering gasp was viciously pulled from my lips as I melted against him from the sensation.
He didn’t rush what he was doing. He never did, and normally I was deeply grateful for that patient part of him.
But right now, his slow-moving preparation felt like torture.
My body was aching for more, practically begging to feel the fullness of him, all while still adjusting to his slow intrusion.
My eyes connected with his in the mirror, and as much as I wanted to close my eyes, to bow my head and look away from the reflections staring back at us, I couldn’t. The commanding tone of his voice held me captive.
“N-need you,” I managed to choke out. It sounded like a broken begging more than a demand, but regardless, Silas did exactly what I asked.
He removed his finger, and the sudden emptiness made me whine. Thankfully, my man didn’t make me wait. The broad, blunt head of his thick cock teased my tight hole, allowing me to feel his impressive size against my entrance.
“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” he demanded in a growl against my ear.
With a vice-like grip around my hips, Silas thrust inside with a single devastating motion, burying himself to the hilt.
It caused a shakier, louder moan to escape me.
One that I’ve never heard come from my own being.
The sound echoed loudly off the bathroom tile as he set a ruthless pace.
Steady, yet hard and relentlessly deep, it was completely devoid of the normal, tender sweetness he usually carried.
“Watch yourself as you take me,” Si whispered into my ear, his eyes still locked onto mine in the mirror.
“See how good you look when you belong to me. You’re beautiful, perfect.
You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted. The only one I’ve needed.
You’re my husband, mine. You’re doing this to me. Look at how you make me lose my mind.”
It was exactly what I needed, a total and forceful reset of my brain.
Hearing him talk like that, with raw, unfiltered possessiveness and deep-seated primal lust, all while explicitly ordering me to see myself through his eyes, shattered the spiral completely.
My insecurity couldn’t survive in the face of his absolute worship.
After retrieving my truck from Scott’s space, we sat on the bed in our pajamas, staring at each other. The time had come, and there was no way we could avoid it any longer. I reached forward, collecting both our phones from the end of the bed, and handed Si his.
“Ready?” I asked.
Silas took a deep breath. “Ready.”
We turned them on at the same time, and it was instant. The vibrations were constant. A digital avalanche of missed calls, texts, DM’s, alerts, and tags that didn’t stop for a full three minutes.
The first thing I saw was a more recent text from Scott:
I’m sorry about Mav. He’s an old fool and he’s already regretting it, but too stubborn to say it. You guys did what you had to do. We’ve got you. Talk soon.
Silas, meanwhile, was staring at his screen, his face turning a shade of pale that made me reach for his hand.
“Voicemail,” he whispered. “From Presley.”
He clicked it, and the quiet room was suddenly filled with the sound of Presley Murran screaming:
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MINDS?! I told you, I specifically told you, no spectacle! I told you to stay quiet! And you go and pull a stunt like this? You elope and post it to the world? You two are in huge, irrevocable trouble. You will be dealt with accordingly. Monday morning, in Minneapolis. Be there, or don’t bother coming back at all.
You’re lucky my father isn’t your boss, because the punishment would have been a million times worse.
You’ve killed the Reed name, Silas. I hope it was worth it. ”
Silas and I looked at each other for a beat. Then, unexpectedly, Silas started to giggle. It was a small, bubbling sound that turned into a full-on laugh. I laughed, too, the sheer absurdity of Presley’s tantrum finally hitting home.
“‘Killed the Reed name,’” Silas wheezed, wiping his eyes. “He’s so dramatic. It’s like he thinks he’s in a movie.”
“He’s just mad he didn’t get to sell the wedding on pay-per-view.” I shook my head. “Let him scream. We’re married. He can’t fire us for being in love.”
“I’d like to see him try.”
The next day was spent packing and doing laundry. We’d be heading to Minneapolis to meet Presley and for the Monday night taping. Our house was a mess of open suitcases and discarded clothes, but the energy felt different, more purposeful.
A heavy knock pounded against our front door, and my hackles rose.
It felt like a threat. I didn’t want to answer it.
The world outside of our blissful bubble was still very much on fire.
Every time I looked at my phone, there was a new headline or tag, but worst of all, each notification brought back the memory of Maverick’s hands on me.