23. Silas
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
I was coming apart at the seams. My hands were shaking, fists clenching and unclenching like I could physically restrain myself from doing something I shouldn’t. My chest heaved, every muscle wound so damn tight I felt like I might snap down the centre.
I needed to leave.
I needed to stay.
Fuck , I was scared. I was so damn scared.
But she wanted me.
She wanted me.
I could still keep her safe. I could still keep my distance. I could give her what she wanted, without giving her all of me.
Right?
Right?
I knew the right choice.
Knew the smart one.
So why the fuck couldn’t I stop myself? Why the fuck was I stood in front of her, lungs stuttering, making a decision I knew was so, so wrong?
I’d let my guard down, let her see just enough to think I was safe.
Like I wasn’t the same man who’d been lurking in the dark for weeks, trailing her steps like a shadow.
Like I hadn’t spent every sleepless night convincing myself that this was fine.
That I wasn’t crossing a line when I’d already sprinted miles past it.
And then I touched her—felt her body move against mine like she’d been waiting for it—and I couldn’t stop.
It was reckless. Stupid. Dangerous.
But God help me, I’d never felt anything like that before.
Her mouth on mine, her hands curling into my hoodie and my hair, dragging me closer like I was something she needed. I knew better than to let it happen—knew better than to believe I could ever have this, deserve this.
I’d walked out because I had to. And now, I was standing on her porch like an idiot. One foot on the curb, one foot in the street, like I couldn’t commit to either direction.
I knew what this was. I knew how this ended. She’d get hurt.
And yet, I couldn’t shake the sick, corrupted feeling that I was already too far gone. That leaving wouldn’t mean a damn thing.
I could leave.
I should leave.
But all I could see was her standing there, hair a mess, mouth still swollen from my kisses. Looking at me like I was something worth waiting for.
It tore straight through me.
“I want you to say no,” I said. “Just… tell me no, Lilith.”
Her eyes flicked over my half-covered face for a second before she took a deep, steady breath. Then shook her head. Once. Slow. Final.
I moved toward her, guiding her back into the house, and kicked the door shut behind us. Hard.
Her breath was shallow. Mine was worse.
A fucking standoff.
“Shut your damn eyes, Lilith.”
She did. Immediately.
My restraint snapped and I tore my scarf off, letting it drop to the floor. “Keep them shut,” I rasped, my voice barely human as I spun us, caging her in against the door. “Good girl.”
A shaky breath left her throat. “Are you going to kiss me now?”
I didn’t answer. I took. Lips crashing into hers, swallowing the gasp that tore from her throat.
I gripped her face, fingers curling into her jaw, tilting her up to me, deepening the kiss until there was nothing left but heat and teeth and need. My other hand found her waist, sliding down, pulling her flush against me.
Harder. Harder. I couldn’t get her close enough.
I bent, fingers digging into that perfect ass, and lifted her off the ground in one easy pull.
“No!” she yelped between kisses, tightening her thighs around my waist, hands pushing against my chest.
“You’re okay,” I murmured, pressing my forehead to hers as I backed her into the wall. “I’ve got you. ”
Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just enough. My head tipped back, giving her exactly what she wanted. And then her mouth was on me, lips hot and wet against my jaw, trailing lower, teeth scraping, sending a full-body shiver rippling through me.
“Take me to my bed. Top of the stairs on the right. Take me there. Now,” she demanded.
Blood rushed straight to my cock. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
I shifted her higher in my arms, adjusting my hold, and moved.
Top of the stairs. Right.
Her arms locked around my shoulders, legs cinching tighter around my waist like she was afraid I’d let go.
Like that was even a possibility.
I hesitated at the bedroom door, something clawing at my ribs.
“You’re not walking, Mr. Stalker.”
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Put me down on the bed,” she murmured.
I laid her down, and she landed soft against the mattress, stretching out, arms above her head.
“I can’t keep my eyes shut.” Her fingers lifted, pointing toward the set of drawers across the room. “Second one down. Grab a scarf.”
My breath stilled. A blindfold. She wanted me to blindfold her. To keep her from seeing me.
The drawer creaked as I pulled it open, the soft weight of fabric meeting my fingers.
She was still on the bed when I turned back, eyes squeezed shut, waiting.
Trusting me.
I sank onto the bed beside her. My hands were shaking when I lifted the scarf, smoothing it over her eyes. My throat was so tight I was sure I was about to asphyxiate on the spot. I tied it in place, fingers brushing the nape of her neck as I pulled back.
“That’s better,” she said on a soft breath.
My blood thickened, pulsing low, heat curling deep in my gut.
“Now… where were we?” she murmured.
Cazzo.
“We were right about here…” I closed the space between us, my mouth catching hers in a kiss that started soft—too soft—because I didn’t want to ruin it, didn’t want to wreck whatever this was before I’d even had the chance to breathe in it.
But she wasn’t having that.
Her fingers twisted in my hoodie, yanking me down, dragging me against her body, heat searing through every inch of me like gasoline on an open flame .
My body caged hers, one forearm sinking into the mattress beside her head, the other gripping her hip so tight I could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric.
She tilted her chin, giving me access, and I took, dragging my mouth down, tracing the delicate line of her jaw with my teeth, down to the slope of her neck. I could feel her pulse there, hammering. Fast. Unsteady. Matching mine.
“Touch me,” she whispered.
I dragged my lips from her neck, hovering just above her, breathing her in. “No.”
“Wait, what?”
I pressed my forehead to hers, exhaling slowly, buying myself a second to think.
It had been so long since I’d touched someone.
What if I didn’t do it right?
What if I didn’t give her what she needed?
What if I fumbled this, left her aching and frustrated instead of wrecked and trembling?
I wet my lips and sucked in a sharp breath. “I want to see what you like.”
She hesitated, fingers twitching against my chest. “What do you mean?”
My hand left her hip, brushing up, grazing the line of her ribs, ghosting over the fabric between us. “Teach me,” I rasped. “ So I know how to do it right.”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything.
Then she smirked. “Oh.” She pushed against my chest, guiding me back until I was kneeling in front of her.
Porca troia.
She was sprawled out beneath me, blindfolded, dark hair spilling over the pillows, pretty kiss-swollen lips parted in a way that made my stomach twist.
She lifted her hips slightly, easing her underwear down, leaving herself bare before me.
Fuck, her thighs. I wanted to taste every inch, drag my tongue over the ink, feel the heat of her skin against my lips. Wanted to bite. Suck. Leave marks. Wanted them to shake underneath me.
But I couldn’t. Not yet. I had to focus. I had to watch.
I shifted, gritting my teeth as the pressure in my cock became unbearable. It strained against my zipper, already leaking, already aching. I needed relief. Needed to grind against something, anything , just to take the edge off.
But I wasn’t going to touch myself. This was about her. Not me.
Her breath hitched as she trailed her fingers over the fabric covering her sternum.
I tracked every movement, every tiny reaction.
I was going insane.
Then her fingers slipped lower, tracing over the soft patch of hair before parting herself, revealing glistening, flushed skin .
Gesù Cristo.
I swayed forward, hands bracing on my thighs, muscles locked so tight they ached.
My mouth dried. My cock throbbed, kicked against my zipper, punishing me for not palming it through my slacks.
But I didn’t move. Didn’t so much as blink.
Because— fuck, look at her.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pressed her fingers to her clit, skating over it slowly in soft circles.
A moan slipped from her lips, quiet, breathy, and my cock pulsed so hard I almost doubled over.
She shifted, thighs clenching, squeezing together then parting again, giving me an even clearer view of how wet she was.
“I need you. Please,” she said, breathlessly.
If I thought I was barely holding it together before, that destroyed me.
I leaned over her, lips finding hers. She was still touching herself. Right there, beneath me, fingers still working between her thighs, still chasing it while I kissed her like I wanted to crawl inside her.
The slow drag of her wrist brushed my stomach with every movement, every wet, shuddering slide of her fingers.
I couldn’t take it.
My hand shot down, closing around her wrist gently, stilling her. Her breath caught, a little gasp against my mouth, and I barely managed to rasp out, “I think I’ve got it now.”
I’d asked her to teach me, and now, it was my turn.
I’d imagined this. Dreamed about it. Woken up aching, skin burning with the ghost of something I’d never actually felt.
But now? Now, she was mine to please.
My breath caught, something thick and guttural locking up in my throat as my fingers slid lower, finally— finally— finding her.
Oh, cazzo.
So wet. So, so, soft.
My jaw clenched, entire body locking up as I exhaled through my nose, fighting back the groan that wanted to tear out of my throat.
I needed to hear her first.
I dragged my fingers up, mirroring the same, slow deliberate circles she’d made over her clit, pressing just enough, just right.
She made a small, broken noise, hips lifting up into my touch.
That was it.
That was the sound I wanted .
She was getting wetter, soaking my fingers, hips rolling into my hand, desperate for more, soft whimpers slipping past her lips.
I needed more. Needed more of her. More skin. More of everything she’d give me. My hand left her pussy and trailed up, skimming under the hem of her shirt, brushing soft, warm skin—
“No.”
She barely said it above a whisper, but it stopped me cold. My hand froze instantly, my whole body going still.
I didn’t question it.
Didn’t push. Didn’t dare push.
I drew my hand back and pressed my palm against her waist over the fabric instead, grounding her. Grounding myself.
She was still letting me touch her. She still wanted this. And that was enough.
I pressed a soft kiss to her temple, to her cheek, to the spot right below her ear. “Okay.”
“Please don’t stop, though.”
I was starving for her.
My fingers teased lower, circling with enough pressure to draw a moan from her lips.
“I need to feel you from the inside,” I said.
She exhaled hard, nodding her head. “Please.”
My mind went blank as I pushed a finger into her pussy.
She was so hot and wet, squeezing as I curled inside her, pressing up, searching—
She arched, her back lifting off the bed, lips parting on a breathless gasp. “More.”
Yes. Anything. Whatever you want.
I slipped another finger inside, stretching her open, and she rocked her hips, chasing it, using me.
“That’s it,” I rasped. “Take exactly what you need from me. Fuck my fingers just like that.”
She moaned, so sharp and breathless I felt it right in my cock. I was so hard it hurt. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t gonna do shit about it.
I pressed my palm to her clit, circling, dragging, pushing her higher, higher—
And fuck, I could feel it. The way her body tensed, the way her pussy clenched around my fingers, the way she was riding my hand, completely lost to it.
Her own fingers shot up, tangling in my hair— hard.
A choked groan tore from my throat, hips jerking involuntarily at the sharp sting of pain.
Gesù Cristo.
Her head tipped back against the pillows. “Oh my God, yes—like that. Your fingers—you feel so good. ”
The moment wrapped around me, stealing the oxygen from my lungs, setting every nerve alight.
I leaned down, teeth catching the soft curve of her neck, biting just hard enough to feel her shudder beneath me. I dragged my tongue over the mark, sucking it, teasing it, soothing it.
“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—”
I groaned, sliding my fingers as deep as I could, stretching her open, curling just right, pressing my palm against her clit.
She was right there. Right on the edge.
“That’s it,” I rasped, my voice thick with need. “Be a good girl and come for me.”
She broke.
Her thighs snapped shut around my wrist, a choked sob ripping from her throat, her fingers yanking my hair so hard I whimpered.
And fuck, fuck, fuck—
She came hard around my fingers, trembling as warmth spilled over my hand, soaking into the blankets beneath her.
Oh cazzo, Dio.
This was going to be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.
She lay boneless beneath me, body still trembling, breath still uneven, lips parted. Her skin flushed a deep, gorgeous pink, heat still lingering along her throat. Her dark hair was a mess against the pillow, strands sticking to her damp skin, wild, unruly, and perfect.
She looked ruined.
Spent.
So damn beautiful it hurt to look at her.
This moment. This sight. Her.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
And it was all for me.