21. Silas #2
She was sitting barely two feet away from me, her hair a little messy from the cold weather, stray strands clinging to her cheeks.
Her oversized sweater slipped down her shoulder—enough to show the soft slope of constellations across her collarbones.
The lamp light hit her just right, catching in her eyes, turning the silver into something warmer.
And that smile. Fuck , that smile. Faint, tired, barely there. But it hit me like a fist to the heart .
I was drowning.
It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. God, she was. But it was more than that. It was the way she tucked her legs beneath her like she was settling in for the night. Like this moment was safe. Like I was safe.
And that terrified me.
I needed to leave. Right now.
Before I did something stupid. Before I leaned across the couch, pushed her hair back, and kissed her. Before I did something I couldn’t take back.
I flicked my eyes toward the door. “I should probably go.”
She took a slow sip, meeting my gaze over the rim of her mug. “Yeah?”
I didn’t move.
She smirked. “See you later, Mr. Stalker.”
Still, nothing.
“What?” she asked, shifting the blanket higher over her lap. “Having second thoughts about your dramatic exit?”
Yes. No. Maybe.
I should’ve been up already, walking out like I knew I should. But nothing was cooperating. Not my legs, not my brain, not my sanity.
She let the moment stretch, then tilted her head, eyes narrowing on me slightly. “Are you waiting for me to kick you out or something?”
I flexed my fingers against my thighs like that would help ground me. “Do you want me to go?”
She didn’t even hesitate. Just shook her head.
Something thick and foreign lodged itself in my throat.
The soft glow of the TV flickered on in the room, but I didn’t have a chance to process what was playing, because she was burning a hole right through my skull with her gaze.
She was waiting patiently, like she had all the time in the world.
Like she wasn’t playing a game with someone whose internal wiring was sparking and frying out like an overworked circuit board.
I felt like an idiot. Sitting there, rigid as hell, every muscle coiled so tight it was a wonder I hadn’t split in two yet.
She sighed and turned to face me fully. “Are we gonna keep sitting here in silence, or are you gonna tell me what’s got you brooding harder than usual?”
I had two options—play it off, brush it aside and invite her to lay on my lap again.
Or tell the truth.
Not that it mattered. My mouth had already made up its mind. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She blinked once. Twice. Then smirked. She fucking smirked. Then leaned in a fraction, lips parting, silver eyes dancing with something wicked. “ Tell me.”
I didn’t say a damn thing. Couldn’t. Not when she was peeling me open for fun. Not when she stretched slightly, shifting under the blanket. Not when she brushed her foot against my thigh.
My jaw clenched.
Oh, she knew what she did to me.
My head snapped straight to the TV, latching onto whatever mindless bullshit was playing, hoping it would save me from whatever was happening right now.
But it wasn’t going to.
She set her coffee down with a deliberate clink, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and in one smooth motion, threw it off, swung a leg over me, and straddled me.
My hands shot out instinctively, gripping her hips on reflex, heat searing through me like a goddamn wildfire.
Dio mio. Gesù Cristo.
She leaned in slow, her palms pressing against my chest, fingertips grazing along the fabric of my hoodie. “No more lap cuddles, no more hair stroking, no more games,” she murmured. “I want you.”
“You don’t.”
She exhaled, leaning in slightly, eyes searching mine. “Don’t tell me what I don’t want.”
My chest cracked.
I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t.
Her fingers lifted, slow, tentative, brushing the edge of my scarf. “Take it off.”
Panic spiked through me. My hand shot out, catching her wrist gently, holding her there. “No,” I rasped. “Please.”
Something in my voice must have reached her because she just nodded.
I didn’t know what I was doing. My fingers grazed her cheek first, light as a whisper. But then I pressed my palm against her skin, warm and soft beneath my touch.
She shuddered and heat licked up my spine, curling low, sinking deep.
I’d held her in my arms, stroked my fingers through her hair, but this was the single most intense moment of my life. “Lilith, you are so damn beautiful.”
Her breath hitched.
Oh, cazzo .
Her hand hovered, fingertips a whisper away from the fabric that covered my jaw. “I won’t move your scarf,” she promised on a breath.
Something flickered inside me. Tightened. I should’ve told her no. Told her to get off my lap and just lay there instead so I could comfort her like I had been doing.
But I didn’t move.
So she touched me. Fingertips skimming my brow, smoothing away the tension there like she could take it from me.
Her touch was so light it almost didn’t feel real, but my breath hitched anyway, and my eyes closed.
Just for a second. Just long enough for my body to betray me completely, to lean into the contact.
Her fingers traced lower, dragging over my temple, the edge of my cheekbone, ghosting over the rough stubble hidden right beneath the barrier.
She was so soft. Warm. Pressed against me in all the right places, like she was made to fit right there.
And I was losing my goddamn mind over it.
She tilted her head a fraction, leaning closer, her breath brushing over my lips, and fuck, I felt it everywhere. Sharp, liquid heat rolled through me and my grip on her tightened even more. A silent reaction. A warning to myself.
Don’t. Don’t do it.
But I didn’t move away. I let my forehead press against hers, let myself soak in her impossible warmth.
I was hyperaware of every single thing. The way her breath hitched when my knuckles grazed against her jaw. The way her chest moved in shallow, uneven pulls, mirroring mine. The way she wet her lips and her pupils blew as she asked, “Are you going to kiss me?”
My breath caught. My fingers stilled. I wanted to. I really wanted to. More than my next breath. More than anything. But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.
Every rational part screamed ‘ Don’t. Don’t push it. Don’t cross that line.’
But she was right there. Her thighs caging me in like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Cazzo. She did know what she was doing. She’d just said she wanted me to touch her.
She was looking at me. Right at me. Into me. Into every broken, torn apart, unravelling piece. Silver eyes locked on mine, pretty lips parted like she was waiting, like she was daring me.
The air between us thickened. It crackled along my skin, in my blood, in the frantic beat of my heart. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. All I could see was her. All I could feel was the gravity of this moment, pulling me under.
My restraint snapped like a frayed wire.
“Close your eyes,” I murmured. “Please.”
Hesitation flickered in her expression, but she slowly let them flutter shut.
I didn’t deserve this.
Didn’t deserve her .
But she wanted it, and I wanted to give it to her.
I pulled my hood down slowly, then my scarf.
The moment my lips brushed against hers, the world tilted.
The contact was barely there. A featherlight pressure, a graze of skin against skin .
I pulled back slightly, breath ghosting over her mouth. “Keep them closed.”
It was more than instruction. It was a trust fall.
I wanted her to know what it felt like to trust me. For me to trust her.
And Lilith—beautiful, stubborn, reckless Lilith—fucking nodded.
Her breath shuddered. Her lips trembled. But her eyes stayed shut.
I kissed her again, dragging my fingers into her hair, gripping at the nape of her neck, tilting her close, swallowing every breath.
Everything snapped.
The heat of her bled through every layer, melting right into me. I roamed lower, memorising every curve, every dip, every part of her I had the privilege of touching. And then— Dio mio.
I palmed her ass, rough and greedy, sinking into the obscenely soft flesh. I squeezed, hard, moulding her into my hands, pressing my thumbs deep just to feel the give, the way she fit against me.
Her hands slid up to my neck, up into my hair, fingers curling into the strands, soft and tentative, before she gave a tug.
A sharp sound ripped from my throat, and my cock throbbed, aching, pulsing, demanding more. My control was slipping. Every second that passed, every shift of her hips, every graze of her nails—it was too much.
I wanted to lift her up and spread her wide, sink into her. Wanted her riding me, fucking me, taking me apart piece by piece until I was nothing but sweat and surrender, moaning her name with my last breaths.
No, I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I pulled back.
She made a soft, confused sound, and I swore it almost broke me.
“What—”
“Keep your eyes shut.”
Her lips were kiss-bruised, parted, inviting, and I had to look away before I lost my goddamn mind.
My hands moved on autopilot, the same way they always did. The same stupid ritual. Sealing myself away. Locking it down as I tied the scarf over my face, pulling my hood up, tucking myself back into my mask.
Safe. Distant. Safe. Safe. Safe.
I forced a breath through my teeth. “Okay. You can open them.”
Her lashes fluttered open. She stared. She blinked. And something shifted. Something broke .
I hated that I’d put that look on her face. That flicker of hurt. That tiny, infinitesimal second where she looked like she was about to call me out on it.
She shifted, slowly peeling herself off me, her warmth disappearing, and I nearly reached for her again. Nearly let my hands catch her waist, nearly let myself drown in her one last time.
But I didn’t. Because I couldn’t. Because I had to go.