Chapter 28
I t’s 9:07, and we’re standing in Silas’s dimly lit kitchen, just like we did Friday night. But this time, instead of tea, Silas is fixing us both drinks. His back is to me, broad and impossibly distracting, as he moves with an unhurried grace. My spine presses against the edge of the island, the stone countertop digging into my palms where I brace myself for balance.
Natalie and Davey left only minutes ago. When Silas announced that I’d changed my mind and decided to stay, I could barely bring myself to look at them. Natalie’s grin was brimming with approval, while Davey’s narrowed gaze drilled into me. It was as though he could see right through me, searching for the hidden strings that tied me here. For once, he was wrong. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing or why I stayed.
All I know is the way Silas looked at me in the billiards room, his gaze a perfect blend of conviction and vulnerability, held me fast. Every rational part of me screamed to leave, to create distance, to flee before it was too late. But those parts fell silent in the face of the pull between us, an undeniable gravity I can’t escape. I know how this will end: heartbreak. Mine, maybe his. It doesn’t matter. He’s stripped me of logic.
“Talk to me.”
Silas’s low, steady voice pulls me from the whirlwind in my head. He glances at me over his shoulder. Those beautifully cosmic eyes glint in the warm, dim lighting, cutting through the fog in my mind.
At some point, while Natalie and Davey were still here, Silas excused himself to change. Now, he’s in sweatpants and a plain t-shirt that clings to him in all the ways that make it impossible not to look. The muscles of his shoulders and back shift subtly as he moves, and his glasses are gone, leaving his face sharper, more striking. It makes me wonder if he wears contacts sometimes, or if he just doesn’t need them for what comes next. My pulse quickens at the thought.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask quietly.
He turns fully then, holding two drinks. One is filled with dark amber liquid, the other is clear and bubbling, condensation trailing lazily down the glass. He steps closer, handing me the clear drink and his fingers brush mine, sending a flicker of warmth up my arm. He lifts his own glass in a subtle toast, his eyes never leaving mine. “Tell me why you’re so scared.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back the tidal wave of truths that threaten to spill. The real reason I’m here. How I promised myself that I’d never let it get this far. The inevitability of it all crashing down, destroying not only this fragile thing between us, but also my relationship with Natalie. How I’ll have to leave, sooner rather than later, and he’ll hate me when he finds out the truth. But instead, I cling to a simpler answer. The safest one.
“I don’t sleep around,” I reply.
It’s not entirely untrue. On the rare occasions I stayed in one place long enough to date, I occasionally said yes when asked out. But I never slept with them before getting to know them, and I certainly didn’t move into their house—however temporarily—before doing so. And while I feel like I know Silas better than I knew any of those men, none of them ever felt like this .
The weight of his gaze deepens as he considers my words. Without breaking eye contact, I raise my glass, reaching across the small space between us to tap it softly against his. The quiet clink reverberates in the stillness.
“And you assume I do?” Silas asks as we both take long sips. His eyes linger on me over the edge of his glass.
I give him an incredulous look, one eyebrow arching. He smirks, lowering his drink as his tongue flicks out to swipe along his lower lip. The sight sends a ripple through me, one I try to suppress by taking another sip of my drink.
“Silas,” I finally say, my voice edged with disbelief.
His smirk softens as he steps closer, setting his glass down on the counter beside me. The sound of the glass meeting stone feels sharp, final, like he’s just declared something.
“You still think I’m like this with everyone.” His voice is almost teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that’s hard to miss.
I press my lips together and hold his stare, trying to find cracks in his armor. “Am I wrong?” I challenge, the words sharper than intended.
He leans forward then, close enough that his scent—clean soap and cedarwood—wraps around me, heady and intoxicating, a reminder of how easily he overwhelms my senses.
“Scarlett,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, sending shivers down my spine. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked at anyone the way I look at you.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. I don’t know how to respond. So, I do what I always do; I retreat behind silence, raising my glass again and using it as a shield, a barrier between us.
Undeterred by my retreat, Silas reaches for a loose strand of my ponytail that’s fallen over my shoulder, his touch so light it feels like a whisper against my skin. He rubs the lock between his fingers, his eyes fixed on it like it holds all the answers he’s searching for. “Whatever you think I’ve done before, this isn’t the same,” he says simply. “ You’re not the same.”
His words send a jolt through me, almost mirroring the thoughts I was just having moments ago. The fact that he feels it too only seems to tighten the invisible thread between us. And that scares the shit out of me.
I dart my eyes anywhere but at him, nursing my drink until the glass is nearly empty, desperate for anything to keep me planted in reality. Silas doesn’t move until I set the glass down on the counter with trembling hands. Only then does he shift, sliding the glasses further away and gripping the edge of the island on either side of my waist, caging me in. There’s a sliver of space between us now, just enough for me to tell him no if I choose.
But I don’t.
Instead, I press my hands behind me, locking them against the small of my back, as if that will stop the urge to touch him. My pulse pounds in my ears, each beat echoing louder than the last, drowning out the frantic warnings in my head.
Silas hums softly, the sound deep and thoughtful. His eyes flick back and forth, studying me, and I can’t help but wonder what he sees. Watching his mind at work has always been one of my favorite things about him, and now, more than ever, I wish I could crawl into his head and see how the cogs turn.
“How about this?” he finally says, his voice a low rumble that feels like it’s vibrating through me. His face inches closer. “We’ll run a few tests to see if Saturday was just a fluke. If it was, we’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”
“Tests?” I whisper as my throat tightens. His gaze dips to my neck, tracking the movement as I swallow.
“Yes,” he breathes, his voice dropping further, rich and velvety. His lips hover just above mine. “Just be a good girl and sit still.”
His mouth is light and tentative, like he’s waiting for me to pull away, but the heat of him engulfs me, incinerating every last ember of resistance I had left. It’s reckless, inevitable—like stepping into a fire and knowing I’ll burn, but wanting the flames anyway. I lean into him, and the moment I do, his restraint shatters.
He claims me with a confidence that shakes my foundation. Hands move to the underside of my jaw, holding me in place as he presses his weight into me with a firm, possessive grip. When his teeth pull against my lower lip, tugging just enough to make me gasp, I fist the front of his shirt, as if letting go would pull me back into reality.
This isn’t the exploration of Saturday night. This is a declaration, a confession, a collision of everything we’ve both been holding back. He’s drinking from me, taking what he wants, and I know I should stop, but I can’t. Not when he kisses me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted.
We could have been like this for three minutes or thirty—I lose all sense of time. Everything else fades away until there’s only Silas. There’s no room for anything else.
He pulls back first, his breath ragged, but he doesn’t let go. His forehead rests against mine, his dark eyes smoldering, rich and intense like freshly brewed coffee, swirling with untamed heat.
“That was a really good test,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine as he speaks, the words laced with both satisfaction and longing.
“It was,” I manage to whisper, my voice shaky. My own breathing is embarrassingly heavy, every inhale causing my chest to brush against his, amplifying the tension between us.
Why can’t I have this, just this once? Why can’t I enjoy the thing I want most when it’s standing right in front of me?
Almost as if he can sense my final surrender, his fingers trail up the back of my head, tangling in the base of my ponytail. Then, with deliberate precision, he pulls sharply. The burn on my scalp is a delicious contrast to the heat pooling low in my stomach. A soft, involuntary moan escapes me before I can stop it.
His response is instant. A groan vibrates in the back of his throat, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me. Taking full advantage of my exposed neck, he leans down, his teeth grazing my skin as he leaves a trail of biting kisses that are just on the edge of pain. The friction is intoxicating, and I shudder against him, my fingers clutching him harder, desperate for more.
“I’m going to fuck you on this counter,” he promises in a low growl as his teeth sink into the spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
I tilt my head back, sighing at the sensation. His hands slide down my sides, pausing just below my ass before lifting me onto the cold stone of the island. My legs part instinctively, making room for him to step between them. Before I can take another breath, his mouth is on mine again. Rougher. Hungrier.
I submit to him, letting him take control, letting him consume me. Right now, I’m his, and he can have anything he wants. Anything at all.
His palms move up and down the sides of my thighs, hands warm against my skin. My fingers find the hem of his shirt and I slip underneath, savoring the heat of his hard, toned body beneath my touch.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He mutters against my lips, rough and unsteady. The words sending a rush of warmth through me and I run my tongue over his bottom lip, earning a low, almost desperate curse from him.
Then his movements quicken, his need for me evident in every touch. Hands grip the bottom of my shirt, and with one fluid motion, he pulls it over my head as if it were nothing more than an obstacle in his way. My bra is next, unclasped and discarded with the same efficiency. Only then does he pull back slightly, his gaze trailing over my now-bare chest. His jaw tightens as he takes me in, fighting a losing battle with his control.
“Fuck, Scarlett,” he whispers, his eyes roam over me, savoring in every inch. The way he looks at me addicting, a blend of hunger and reverence that sets my skin ablaze.
“It’s only fair if I can also see what I’m working with.” I lean back on my hands, trying to steady my breath. My tone is teasing, but the anticipation pulsating through my body is anything but.
Silas doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside without a second thought. The sight of him is breathtaking. His chest and stomach are just as I imagined—defined, strong, and entirely distracting. The tattoos on his arm extends to his shoulder, depicting a snowy mountain landscape, while another intricate design wraps around his side, hinting at a story I can’t quite decipher from this angle.
I realize I’ve stopped breathing when Silas steps closer, his devilish smile making my heart skip. “What’s the verdict?” he asks, his hand trailing lightly across my abdomen, creeping upward with featherlight strokes that send shivers across my skin.
“I’ll have to see how the lower half holds up, but I feel pretty good about the odds,” I quip, leaning into his touch.
The sound of his laugh wraps around me like silk. “You’re such a brat,” he says with mock exasperation before leaning down to capture one nipple between his teeth.
I arch into him instinctively, a sharp inhale escaping as the sensation shoots through me. His tongue follows, soothing the bite with warm, wet strokes before his lips close over the sensitive peak. His free hand teases the other, brushing lightly before rolling the nipple between his fingers, drawing a soft moan from my lips.
“Si,” I breathe, the nickname slipping out without thought as my fingers thread through his tousled hair. It’s softer than I imagined, but the realization is lost in the storm of sensations coursing through me.
He groans, his breath hot against my chest. “I love hearing you call me that.”
Moving slowly, he worships my body before his lips close over my other nipple, I let out a shaky exhale, my back bowing to press myself further into him. The way he touches me, so deliberate and precise, feels like he’s playing an instrument he’s spent a lifetime mastering, and I’m powerless against it.
“Please,” I whisper, grinding my lower body against him, desperate for more.
He releases my nipple and pulls my upper body closer, his nose brushing against mine as his lips hover just a breath away. “Please, what, princess?” he taunts, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.
“You know what,” I reply breathlessly, though my impatience bleeds through. His expression shifts, a feral look overtaking his features that steals what little resolve I have left.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growls through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into my thighs as he pulls me closer to the edge of the countertop. “Do you want me to fuck you, Scarlett?”
The question, spoken in that rough, commanding tone, should have made me hesitate. It should have reminded me of every reason why this is a terrible idea. But instead, it only fans the flames, obliterating any semblance of doubt.
“Yes,” I breathe, my voice steady despite the chaos within me. My hands reach for the waistband of his joggers, desperate to close the space between us.
But Silas stops me, his hands catching mine and gently redirecting them to the counter. His focus shifts to my jeans, and with deft fingers, he unfastens them before lifting me slightly to slide them down my legs, along with my panties. The air against my bare skin is a shock, but his hands are quick to follow, fingers trail lightly along the crease of my thighs, lingering just enough to make my breath hitch.
“We can take our time with all the niceties later,” Silas mutters, almost to himself, his voice rough with restraint. I commit the moment to memory—the way he looks at me like he’s just taken the first hit of a drug he’s craved his whole life.
“This is a one-time deal,” I manage to say, though my voice lacks conviction.
He gives me an infuriating, knowing grin. “We’ll see,” he murmurs, as he slowly lowers himself to his knees. His hands trail down my thighs, leaving a blazing path in their wake.
Without breaking eye contact, he spreads my legs wider. Fingers dig into the soft skin and he pauses as if daring me to look away. But I don’t. I feel laid bare before him, vulnerable in a way I rarely let myself be.
A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping between my thighs. The rich brown of his irises fades, overtaken by black. “Look at you. So pretty and ready for me.” His head dips to press a kiss to the inside of my calf, but his eyes stay locked between my legs—transfixed, as if he can’t bear to look away.
For a moment, panic grips me as I remember the cameras scattered throughout the house, including the ones here in the kitchen. My body tenses, my gaze darting around the room, but before I can say a word, Silas notices.
His movements slow, his breath warm against my skin as his lips brush the inside of my thigh. “They’re off,” he murmurs, as if he’s plucked the thought straight from my mind. “Do you really think I’d ever let anyone else see you like this?” His mouth drags higher, the next kiss lingering. Possessive. “This,” he continues, a whisper away from where I ache for him, “is only for me.”
The absoluteness of his words washes over me, dissolving the fear that flickered to life. I believe him. I believe every word because I know Silas would never allow anyone else to have this. Not when his claim is absolute.
I exhale, tension melting from my body as I ease back onto my elbows, in surrender. His hands inch higher, the touch slow and deliberate, each kiss a silent vow. Heat coils low in my belly as his lips trail closer, teasing, until his nose grazes my clit. The contact is fleeting, barely there, but it’s enough to rip a whimper from my throat.
“You’re so fucking wet.” His voice thick with satisfaction, breath fanning over me before his tongue follows in a slow, methodical taste. The sensation detonates through my body, sharp and overwhelming, making my vision blur.
“You might think this is a one-time deal,” he muses, his words a dark promise, “but your pussy already knows better. It’s begging for me to do it again.”
The taunt is filthy, but I can’t respond. I can’t think. I can only gasp as his tongue moves in devastating, calculated patterns, each stroke designed to unravel me. My hands slap against the cold marble, unable to ground myself against the onslaught of pleasure.
The sound fuels him. His grip is unyielding, holding me open, keeping me exactly where he wants me.Then, he slides one hand between my legs, teasing at my entrance before pressing a single finger inside with unbearable slowness. I gasp, back arching, but he drags it out, savoring the way I react. When he adds another, stretching me, my hips jerk against his mouth, seeking more.
“So responsive,” he mutters against me in a low, wicked drawl. He flexes his fingers, curling them deep before setting a steady rhythm, each stroke in sync with the relentless flick of his tongue.
It’s too much and not enough, the tension winding tighter inside me with every calculated movement. My body is no longer my own. Right now, it belongs to him and it’s like he knows every hidden trigger, every spot that will break me apart.
“Please,” I whimper, my voice wrecked with need. “Please, please ...”
Silas chuckles like the devil himself, reveling in my undoing. “Impatient,” he muses. Then, as if to punish me, he presses deeper, curling his fingers just right—hitting the spot that makes my entire body seize. “Say my name again.”
“I swear to God—” my threat dissolves into a moan as his pace increases, his mouth and fingers working in tandem.
“How about another ‘please’?” he taunts, flicking his gaze up at me. His lips glisten as he smirks before he curls his fingers again.
My orgasm crashes through me, violent and all-consuming, pleasure so intense that for a moment, I forget how to breathe. My entire body shakes, thighs clamping around his head as I come apart beneath him.
“Si,” my voice breaks as my hands find him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard. He growls against me, the sound low and primal, vibrating through every overstimulated nerve.
He doesn’t stop. Not until the last aftershock fades, not until I’m slumped against the counter, boneless, my chest heaving and limbs molten. Only then does he rise, pulling me upright with a firm grip on my wrist.
“I guess I’ll have to wait for the ‘please’ next time,” he retorts, thick with amusement, though his uneven breath is proof of how much he enjoyed ruining me.
I huff out a breathless laugh, but it dies the moment Silas’s hand slides from my wrist to my throat. His thumb strokes the skin there, a tender contrast to the intensity of everything else.
Lips, swollen and slick from his own destruction, curve into a sinful smile before he yanks me forward and crashes his mouth against mine.
The kiss is a fresh onslaught, his tongue sweeping past my lips to claim and dominate. He kisses like he owns me—like he’s branding me from the inside out. Normally, I’d push back, fight for control. But with Silas, it’s different. With him, surrender feels like freedom. It feels safe.
But I want more .
My hand slips between us, determined to finish what he started as I free him from his pants. The heat of him is undeniable, searing against my palm as my fingers wrap around his length, stroking once. His breath hitches, his kiss faltering for the first time, and the sharp exhale that follows sends a thrill racing through me.
I steal a glance between us, my breath catching in my throat. Jesus. Silas is confident for a reason. He’s more than I expected, thick and heavy in my grasp, and for a moment, all I can do is marvel at the sheer size of him before dragging my thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of wetness there.
“Fucking hell,” he grits out, his voice raw. His head tilts back slightly, the muscles in his jaw ticking as he fights for control. A losing battle. “I’m not going to be gentle with you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmur, squeezing him just enough to make his hips jerk into my hand. My reward is immediate—a deep, guttural moan that sends heat pooling low in my stomach.
There’s something untamed about his messy hair, dark eyes blown wide, skin flushed with heat. He looks almost feral, like a man barely holding himself back. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was under some kind of spell.
“I’m clean,” he says, his voice steady despite the tension radiating off him in waves. “Are you?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “And on birth control.”
His eyes burn hot at my admission, the fire in them threatening to consume me whole.
Fuck .
Scooting closer to the edge of the counter, I tilt my hips, guiding the thick length of him to my entrance. It’s enough to reignite the flames licking at my stomach, sending anticipation clawing up my spine.
Leaning in, I drag my hand down his chest, tracing the sharp ridges of his muscles, feeling the way they tense beneath my touch. My lips hover over his, so close our breaths tangle. “Were you serious about not being gentle?” I ask, my voice a low, teasing challenge. A dare.
His fingers flex around my throat, his lips curling deviously. “You’ll see just how serious I am.”
Then he thrusts forward.
The sudden, brutal stretch steals the air from my lungs. It’s a delicious, unbearable burn, but my body welcomes the invasion, softening, adjusting, desperate to take him. A choked sound escapes my throat as my nails dig into his skin, every nerve alight with pleasure laced with the sharpest edge of pain.
He doesn’t move. Not yet. We stay like that, bodies locked, breathless, chests rising and falling in sync. The moment stretches, the tension unbearable.
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses through his teeth, eyes locked on the spot where our bodies are joined, watching the way we fit together. “So tight.”
I clench around him, and his fingers tighten around my throat, followed by a sharp inhale. His lips twitch into a strained, wicked smile—like he enjoys the torment just as much as I do.
“Remember,” I manage to whisper, my mind already slipping into the haze of pleasure. “Not gentle.”
The challenge ignites in his eyes. “Not gentle,” he repeats, voice pure sin.
Then, without warning, he lifts me by his grip on my throat and hip, controlling every movement, only to slam me back down onto him. The force of it steals my breath, knocks the air from my lungs in a silent scream.
The sensation is devastating. Overwhelming. Pleasure ignites like wildfire as he repeats the motion, dragging me up just to bring me crashing down again, each thrust deeper, harder, more merciless than the last.
The sound of it—the obscene meeting of our bodies—fills the space around us, mingling with our desperate breaths. My head spins, vision swimming at the edges. The pressure of his hold around my throat is a reminder of who is doing this to me as I close my eyes.
“Faster,” I rasp, my hands gripping the counter for support as I roll my hips against him, meeting every thrust.
A curse rumbles from his chest before he gives me exactly what I asked for. His movements turn brutal, each snap of his hips tearing through me like a shockwave, leaving me trembling, gasping. He guides me effortlessly, owning every moan that spills from my lips.
The pressure builds, blinding in its intensity, but it’s not enough. Not yet. And Silas notices. Of course, he does. His dark gaze drops between us, watching the way my body takes him, his breath shuddering as he devours the sight.
Then his hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit with unerring precision. The sharp pinch sends a bolt of electricity through me, detonating the pressure that’s been building.
Pleasure crashes over me in almost painful waves, my body seizing around him, dragging him deeper into my release. Silas lets out a strangled moan as his hands slip beneath the backs of my knees, pulling me closer, spreading me wider, opening me completely for him.
He ruts into me, desperate, possessed—like he’s pouring every unspoken word, every ounce of longing from the last three months into my body. It’s erratic until finally, he buries himself to the hilt, his entire body going rigid as his release floods through me.
His weight pins me there. Like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
Holy fucking shit.
For a few moments, neither of us move. Silas’s body is draped over mine, his breath warm against my chest where he rests, each slow exhale fanning over my flushed skin. My back is pressed firm against the cool marble, a stark contrast to the lingering heat still humming through my body.
My fingers slip into his hair, nails dragging lightly over his scalp, and he exhales, his muscles unwinding against me. The hands that once held me with bruising force now soften, his touch slow, reverent.
Eventually, our breathing evens and the fog of ecstasy slowly begins to clear, but neither of us speaks. Silas shifts first, pushing himself upright, but instead of pulling away, he takes me with him. The movement feels effortless, as if gravity bends for him and the world has always tilted to his will.
When we’re both upright, his hand slides to my nape, fingers threading through the damp strands at the base of my skull, careful to avoid my injury. He pulls me into a kiss that’s slower. Savoring. Like he has all the time in the world to taste me.
My eyes flutter shut, and I let myself sink into him, the lingering spice of his scent, the possessive weight of his hand holding me steady.
As the kiss begins to fade, I can’t help myself and catch his bottom lip between my teeth, biting down just enough to make him feel it before releasing him. When I open my eyes, he’s already watching me. His gaze glassy and laced with something I can’t quite name.
“Those tests were very enlightening,” he says, voice rough. The slow, menacing smile that adorns his face sends a jolt of both excitement and dread through me. “I think we’re going to need a few more trials.”
A laugh slips from me, though it’s more air than sound. I try to ignore the way his words settle low in my stomach, stoking embers that haven’t fully burned out. “That good, huh?” I tease.
Instead of answering, his hand drifts from my neck to my chin, tilting my face up. His thumb brushes over my lips, pressing lightly, and without thinking, I part them, welcoming him in. He slides the pad of his thumb past my lips. I bite down, not hard, just enough to make his pupils blow wide with something dark and pleased.
But his control doesn’t waver. If anything, it sharpens. “Better than good,” he murmurs, his tone soft but thick with intent. His thumb presses further, dragging against my tongue. “Maybe enough to ruin me.”