Chapter 11 #2
“That's right.” His teeth scrape against my pulse point. “Say my name like you need me to save you from whatever's chasing you.”
“I don't need saving,” I protest.
“Don't you?” His hands slide down my sides, fingers tracing the path of the chains. “Then why are you here? Why did you run to us looking like the hounds of hell were on your trail?”
I can't answer because he's right. I did run to them—ran to him—seeking something I couldn't even name. Safety, maybe. Or just the chance to disappear into someone else's world for a while.
“I'm not good at this,” I whisper.
“At what?”
“Trusting people. Letting them close.” The admission tears from my throat before I can stop it. “Everyone who's supposed to protect me ends up being the thing I need protection from.”
There’s a shift in his expression—the hunger replaced by possessiveness. “Not me.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because,” he says, hands framing my face, “I've been exactly where you are. Running, hiding. And I know what it's like to find someone worth staying for.”
I want to believe him, want to trust the heat in his eyes and the careful way he touches me. But trust is a luxury I can't afford.
“I can't—”
“You can.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “You're the bravest person I've ever met, Nova. You walked away from whatever was hurting you. You survived. You found us.” His mouth hovers inches from mine. “Now let me show you what it feels like to stop running.”
When he kisses me, it's not the desperate hunger from the dressing room. This is slower, deeper, a claim that goes beyond physical desire. He tastes like promises and dark possibilities, like everything I've been afraid to want.
I kiss him back with matching intensity, pouring all my fear and longing into the connection between us. The chains bind my body, but his touch frees a part of me I thought was dead and buried.
“Better?” he murmurs against my lips.
“Getting there.” My voice is husky with need. “Though I'm still trapped in your chains.”
“Are you complaining?”
I test the restraints again, feeling the way they hold me in place while somehow making me feel more secure than I have in years. “Not exactly.”
His laugh is dark, satisfied. “Good. Because I have plans for you in those chains.”
“What kind of plans?”
Instead of answering with words, he drops to his knees in front of me. His hands find the waistband of my practice shorts, fingers hooking in the elastic.
“The kind that involve finding out how many times I can make you come.”
He pulls my shorts down slowly, reverent in his movements. When they pool at my feet, he looks up at me with eyes that burn blue fire.
“Step out,” he commands.
I comply, suddenly grateful for the chains holding me upright. My legs feel unsteady, liquid with want. He rises, hands skimming up my thighs, over the curve of my hips, along the path of the chains.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, taking in the sight of me bound and naked except for the metal harness. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”
“Silas—”
“Shh.” He guides me backward toward his magician's cabinet. “I've got you.”
The back of the cabinet is padded, and he positions me against it carefully, making sure the chains don't dig into my skin. My hands are still bound behind me, but the angle gives me support while leaving me completely open to his touch.
“Comfortable?” he asks, though his hands are already roaming, mapping every inch of exposed skin.
“Define comfortable.”
His grin is wicked. “Comfortable enough for what I'm about to do to you.”
He drops to his knees again, and this time there's no teasing, no buildup. His mouth finds me immediately, tongue parting my folds, lips sucking on tender skin.
The cry that tears from my throat echoes through the empty tent. My hips buck against his mouth, but the chains limit my movement, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
“That's it,” he murmurs against my flesh. “Let me hear you.”
He works me ruthlessly, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on my clit. The combination of bondage and pleasure creates a feedback loop that has me climbing toward release embarrassingly fast.
“Already?” He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my sensitive flesh. “We're just getting started, beautiful.”
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them to find my G-spot. His mouth returns to my clit, and the dual stimulation drives me to the edge in seconds.
“Silas, I'm going to—”
“Come for me.” The words are muffled against my skin. “Come on my tongue, Nova. Let me taste you falling apart.”
The orgasm crashes over me with an intensity that steals my breath. I scream his name, the sound bouncing off the canvas walls as my body convulses around his fingers.
But he doesn't stop. If anything, my climax spurs him on, and he continues his assault with single-minded focus. The overstimulation borders on painful, but I don't want him to stop. Don't ever want this feeling to end.
“Again,” he demands, adding a third finger and increasing the pressure of his tongue. “Give me another one.”
“I can't—”
“You can.” His free hand grips my thigh, holding me steady. “I know you've got more in you.”
He's right. I can feel another orgasm building, bigger than the first. The chains dig into my skin as I strain against them, seeking more contact, more pressure, more of everything he's giving me.
When the second climax hits, it takes me apart completely. I'm overwhelmed by sensation, and underneath it, a feeling I don't want to examine—warm and dangerous and far too close to trust.
He gentles his touch as I come down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs while I shake apart in his chains. When he finally rises, his face is slick with my release, and his eyes hold a satisfaction that's purely male.
“Now,” he says, reaching for his belt, “let's see how you handle the real thing.”
He strips quickly, revealing the lean muscle and intricate tattoos I've been dreaming about since our first encounter. His cock stands proud and hard, already slick with precum.
“I want to touch you,” I say, tugging at the chains.
“Next time.” He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance. “Right now, you're exactly where I want you.”
“Silas—”
He silences me with a kiss as he pushes inside, filling me completely in one smooth thrust. The stretch is exquisite, made more intense by my inability to control the angle or pace.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my lips. “You feel even better than I remembered.”
He starts moving, setting a rhythm that's slow and deep and absolutely maddening. Each thrust drives me higher, but the chains prevent me from meeting his movements the way I want to.
“Please,” I gasp. “More.”
“More what?” His teeth find my neck, biting down just hard enough to sting. “Tell me what you need.”
“Harder. Faster. I need—” The words dissolve into a moan as he adjusts his angle, hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
“You need to let go,” he says roughly. “Stop fighting me. Stop fighting this.”
“I'm not—”
“You are.” He pulls back to look at me, his movements never faltering. “You're holding back, trying to stay in control. But that's not how this works.”
His hand slides between us, toying with my clit. The added stimulation makes me cry out, my body arching as much as the chains allow.
“That's better.” His thumb circles the sensitive bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. “Stop thinking, Nova. Just feel.”
The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, threatening to consume me completely. I'm balanced on the edge of an abyss, terrified of falling but unable to step back.
“I've got you,” he murmurs, sensing my hesitation. “I promise, beautiful.”
The certainty in his voice finally breaks through my defenses. I let myself fall, surrendering completely to the sensation and to him.
The orgasm that follows is unlike anything I've ever experienced. It starts deep in my core and radiates outward, consuming every nerve ending until I'm nothing but pure sensation. I'm dimly aware of screaming, of my body convulsing around his cock, of him following me over the edge with a roar.
We stay frozen like that for long moments, both breathing hard. He's still buried inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, and I can feel his heartbeat hammering against my chest.
“Christ,” Silas pants.
He pulls out carefully, then immediately begins working at the chains. His fingers are gentle as he unlocks each restraint, massaging feeling back into my skin where the metal pressed deep.
When I'm finally free, my legs give out. He catches me before I can fall, gathering me against his chest and holding me close.
“I've got you,” he says again, and this time I believe him.
We sink to the floor together, his arms wrapped securely around me. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel safe. Protected. Like maybe I don't have to keep running after all.
“Nova.” His voice is softer now, careful. “Can I ask you something?”
The question I've been dreading. The one that will force me to lie or reveal truths I can't afford to share.
“What?”
“Whoever you ran away from...” His hand strokes through my hair, soothing. “Did they hurt you?”
The simple question opens floodgates I've kept locked for years. Suddenly I'm sobbing, the force of it shaking my entire body.
Silas just holds me, one hand rubbing circles on my back while I fall apart in his arms. He doesn't ask for details, doesn't push for more information. Just offers comfort while I cry in his embrace.
When the tears finally subside, I feel hollow. Scraped clean. Like I've been carrying a weight I didn't realize was there until it was gone.
“Better?” he asks gently.
I nod against his chest, not trusting my voice.
“Good.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “For what it's worth, I'm glad you ran. Glad you found us.”
“Are you?” I pull back to look at him, searching his face for signs of pity or disgust. Instead, I find only warmth and tenderness.
“Yeah.” His thumb brushes away the last of my tears. “I am.”
We lie there in comfortable silence, my head on his chest, his fingers combing through my hair. Outside, the carnival comes to life as evening approaches—distant music, the calls of vendors setting up for the night's crowd.
“We should get ready for tonight's show,” I say eventually, though I make no move to leave his arms.
“Probably.” But his grip strengthens slightly, like he's as reluctant to let go as I am to leave. “Nova?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever you're running from—whoever hurt you—they'll have to go through me to get to you. You know that, right?”
The fierce protective tone ignites an ache in my chest. I want to warn him that I'm more trouble than he knows, that caring about me is dangerous for both of us. But the words stick in my throat.
Instead, I press closer, breathing in his scent and pretending for just a little longer that I can have this. That I can have him.
“I know,” I whisper against his skin.
And for the first time since I stabbed Roman and ran, I almost believe it might be true.
Even as a voice in the back of my mind whispers that it's only a matter of time before my past catches up with me.
Before I have to run again.
But not today. Today, I'm Nova Calder, escape artist, wrapped in the arms of a man who makes me feel like I might actually be worth protecting.
Tomorrow can take care of itself.