Chapter 17 Ophelia #3
There’s a trick to opening those, he’d said, and instead of sending me on my way, he’d reminded me that I was too good for Ethan and left it at that as if he knew why I was up there.
He’d popped the cork and we’d shared the bottle.
Well, he’d had most of it. I’d had a few sips. I don’t really like champagne.
And then we’d kissed. Well, I’d kissed him for about three seconds.
I look up at Silas now and nod. “Of course I remember. How could I forget?” I also remember how I’d told him his eyes were the color of my favorite beach in Mexico. And the moment that followed the awkwardness of it all.
He smiles, brushes a lock of hair that’s fallen from my up-do back behind my ear and the gesture is so tender, his smile so soft, it touches that aching inside me. That space like loss, which is ridiculous, since to feel loss you must lose something. It’s not like I ever had Silas Cruz to lose him.
That smile vanishes fairly quickly though when his gaze lands on the choker. I touch it. Although it’s in my head, I swear the rubies feel like shards of glass against my throat.
“Mira’s?”
I nod.
“It’s hideous. You look like you’ve been decapitated,” he says.
He turns me around and his hands brush my nape.
I shudder at this touch. A moment later, the cool stones slip from my neck and into his hand.
He sets the necklace aside and I feel like I can breathe again even though they weren’t really choking me.
“You and Ethan? It’s over?” he asks, tone serious.
I nod.
He studies me, then reaches out to me again, and this time, he tugs the pin holding my hair in place out, and curls tumble down over my shoulders. I watch him as he watches, then brushes my hair back, away from my face.
“That’s better,” he says before setting one hand on the flat of my belly and pressing me backward into the wall.
His other hand slides to the back of my head to cup it and his eyes grow dark and then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he’s kissing me.
He’s kissing me and his lips are warm and soft and my heart flutters in my chest. My hands come to his shoulders not to push him away, but to touch him.
To feel him. His strength. His solid mass. The safety there.
He looks down at me, eyes searching my face, my lips.
He dips his head to mine again and whispers something I don’t hear before kissing me so deeply, I’m left gasping for breath when he draws back to trail kisses along my jawline, down to my throat, to my racing pulse.
My fingers curl around his shoulders as he brushes his jaw over the hollow above my collarbone.
When he straightens, I push his jacket off, my fingers fumbling with his bowtie, tugging at it, then at the buttons of his shirt because I need to feel him, feel his skin against my skin. I need him like I’ve always needed him.
Silas tugs on the zipper at the back of my dress, and a moment later, it slips to the floor and when he stands back to look at me, I push his shirt half off, two buttons popping.
I take in his muscled chest, wide shoulders, the dusting of dark hair.
I can’t stop looking at him, touching him, almost unsure this is really happening.
He dips his head again to kiss me, his mouth wet as he leaves a trail down the center of my chest, my belly, crouching down before me to slide my panties off, eye level with my pussy.
He kisses the flat of it and when he draws away, I shudder with the cool air against the space his mouth was.
He combs his fingers through the small patch of hair I’ve let grow in, and when his mouth closes over my clit, I’m not sure whether it’s him or me moaning.
I weave my fingers into his hair as he bends his head to lick my pussy before rising up, licking each of my nipples before straightening to his full height.
“Fuck, Ophelia,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.
“Ever since that night, after The Grande, I’ve wanted this again.
I can’t get you out of my fucking mind, do you know that?
” He kisses me again and lifts me up, the lock of our lips never breaking as he carries me to the chaise and strips off the dust cloth.
He sits me down and drops to his knees between my legs.
He pushes my thighs apart and kisses my mouth once more before tugging me to the edge of the chaise and burying his face between my legs.
I drag my fingers through his hair and tug him close as I lean backward, hooking my legs on his shoulders as he tastes me, his tongue so soft and wet and testing before devouring.
When his lips close around my clit, I bite back my moan, but when he sucks hard on that little nub, I cry out, calling out his name so fucking loud they must hear it over the orchestra in the ballroom.
I’m trembling when it’s over and he straightens, stands.
I look at him as he strips off his ruined shirt, drops it onto the floor, my gaze moving to the outline of his rigid cock pressing against his slacks as he undoes his belt with those big hands and pushes his pants and briefs down just far enough to release his cock.
I drop to my knees before him. I will worship this man. And when I taste him, I moan, because I missed his taste. Missed his hands. I missed him so fucking much.
I take him as deep as I can, which isn’t very, and I know he’s being careful as he closes his eyes and guides me over his length. He groans and draws me off.
“Not your mouth, not tonight,” he says, drawing me up to stand, lifting me. I wrap my legs around his hips as he takes us to the wall and presses my back to it. He kisses me again. “I need to be inside you. I need to come inside you.”
I nod, kissing him, my throat dry as I feel his heat between my legs, his solid, firm length, the skin soft around his hard cock. He pushes my head back with one hand as he draws my ass cheek out with the other.
I cling to him, and he’s not gentle when he takes me. I bury my face in his neck to muffle the sound I make, unable to get close enough, needing more, so much more.
“Look at me. I want to see you,” he says, cupping my face, making me look at him.
I bury my fingernails in his shoulders and nod as he thrusts again, hard and deep and impaling me. A sound comes from his chest, his throat.
“Fuck. O. Fuck you are so tight.”
He’s big and my body needs a moment to adjust.
“I can’t be gentle,” he groans, and I know he’s trying to hold back.
“I don’t want you to be gentle. I want you. I want you, Silas Cruz,” I say, taking his face in my hands and making him look at me now. “I want you as you are. I want you so deep inside me I will always feel you. And I want to watch your beautiful face, your eyes when you come inside me.”
At that, he smashes his mouth against mine, cupping my head, burying himself in me, impaling me deep. But it’s not enough. I can’t get close enough. I want more. I want all of him. I cling to him, kissing him, as his thrusts come harder, our eyes locked, his dark, so dark.
“Jesus. Ophelia.”
Our kisses are no more than a colliding of lips and tongues and teeth.
He’s more animal than man, wild and feral, my Silas.
He shifts both hands to my ass cheeks and watches me as he brushes his fingers over my tight hole.
I moan, my clit rubbing against him with each thrust. When he pushes his finger into my back hole, I cry out, coming hard, harder than I’ve ever come before.
In the periphery of all that blood pounding against my ears, I hear him call out my name as his fingers dig into my cheeks, and his cock pulses inside me.
His mouth is still on mine when I feel his release, feel him come inside me, and all I can think is I have him inside me now and I know this is it for me.
I know. I know that I’m in love with him.
I have been for a long time, since I was a girl.
I realize I’m crying when he pulls out of me, tugs his pants up but doesn’t bother to close them before gathering me in his arms, taking a seat on the couch and cradling me against him.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, pressing my cheek against his chest. “Fuck. I should have been gentler. Shit, Phee, did I hurt you?”
I curl into him, shake my head so he knows he didn’t hurt me. He’s so big, so much bigger than me, and when he wraps his arms around me it’s the safest I have ever felt. Ever in my life.
“Silas,” I start, because I need to tell him.
I need to say the words. I need him to know how I feel, how this is real for me.
But I don’t get to finish. Neither of us gets to say another word because the door slams open, crashing against the wall, and that’s when I realize the orchestra has stopped playing.
And there, standing in the doorway, are Sly and Ethan Fox and three police officers behind them.