28. Silas
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
H er hair fanned across the counter in a dark, messy halo, my scarf sti ll snug across her eyes—leaving her vulnerable, relying on nothing but sensation. Her kiss-swollen lips parted just enough to let out soft, uneven breaths as her body trembled, waiting for more.
I groaned, swallowing hard as the phantom of her still coated my lips, clinging to me like a brand.
She told me I was good.
She told me I was good.
She told me I was good.
A violent shudder ripped through me, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. It had been a plea—a quiet, desperate request slipping from my lips. And she’d given it to me. Just like that. No hesitation, no mocking lilt to her voice.
She gave me what I needed, like she wanted me to have it.
My throat went tight, my pulse hammering against my ribs as I looked down at her. Lying there, waiting, a vision of ruin, beauty and divinity.
And I was going to show her exactly how good I could really be for her.
I slid my hands up the inked curves of her thighs, taking my time, savouring every inch of her. She was warm, impossibly soft, and when my fingers trailed higher, nudging her legs apart, she gasped—her whole body shivering in response.
The sight of her like this, open, drenched, bare for me all over again, nearly broke me.
Every inch of her was temptation.
Her curves, soft and inviting, bathed in shadows. The way she trembled beneath my touch, how her breath hitched every time my hands roamed higher—it was intoxicating .
I wanted to press my lips to every inch of skin, to trace the soft slope of her stomach with my tongue, to drag my mouth over her nipples, sucking them deep just to feel her arch into me.
I reached for the hem of her shirt, fingertips just grazing the fabric, about to lift—
“No,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”
I let the fabric slip from my grasp and leaned in, capturing her lips with mine in a slow, lingering kiss. A promise. A reassurance. A silent vow that I would never take more than she was willing to give. I didn’t need to see all of her to worship her.
But I needed to keep tasting her. I dragged my tongue over the seam of her lips, swallowing her breathy little sigh before shifting lower, tracing kisses down her throat, over her collarbone.
She whimpered, hands clawing at the counter, thighs quivering beneath me.
I slid a hand between them, fingers teasing through the mess I’d already made of her, spreading it over her skin, over her clit.
“You’re so goddamn perfect. You know that?” I murmured against her neck, rolling her clit under my thumb.
Then I pushed a finger inside her, her walls clenching around me instantly.
“Oh, fuck—” I gasped, my breath breaking apart against her cheek.
I curled deep, pushing up right against her G-spot.
“More,” she moaned, her hips rocking down into my hand, grinding against my hand like she needed it to breathe.
I pushed in another finger, stretching her, and she choked out a strangled sound, her back arching and hands scrambling for something to hold onto.
My free hand gripped her thigh, holding her steady—holding myself steady, because I was shaking, too close to losing myself.
“Tell me,” I groaned, forehead pressing against hers as I thrust my fingers deeper. “Tell me how good I’m making you feel.”
A whimper. Perfect. So damn perfect.
“Come on,” I murmured, my fingers thrusting into her harder. “Let me hear it. Tell me I’m making you feel so good—tell me I’m giving you exactly what you need.”
She gasped, her thighs trembling.
“You are,” her breath hitched as she rocked down harder. “You’re—you’re—yes— just like that—”
A sharp sob spilled from her lips, her walls clamping down so hard I swore I saw stars. And the mess she was making—fuck—I felt it everywhere. Wetness spilling over my fingers, dripping onto the counter, slicking my skin in her.
“Cazzo, grazie,” I choked out, my voice raw. “Thank you for letting me have you like this.”
“Please. More. Please,” she begged.
I gasped, barely holding myself together as I pushed in a third finger. She was so tight, so wet, so full.
“Oh, cazzo —do you like that?” I groaned as her pussy gripped my fingers like she never wanted to let go.
A breathless sob was all she managed, her body shaking, her gasps breaking apart into soft, little cries.
I couldn’t take it.
I crashed my mouth against hers, swallowing those sweet, ruined moans. Drinking them down, letting us taste every bit of each other’s desperation.
Her fingers twisted into my hair, yanking, and I sobbed, my whole body jerking as white-hot pleasure shot down my spine.
“You’re so… fucking… good… at that,” she moaned between kisses, voice dripping with praise.
My cock was unbearably hard, aching and leaking, desperate for relief. I wanted to sink into her, feel every inch of her wrapped around me. I wanted her to keep saying those words, keep praising me, telling me I was good. Telling me I was hers .
“More,” she pleaded breathlessly.
I shuddered, whole body trembling as my fingers kept thrusting inside her, already buried deep, stretching her wide. But she wanted more. Needed more.
I pushed in a fourth finger. Her pussy clenched down so hard my vision blurred, my cock kicking untouched, every muscle in my body locking up as need consumed me.
I was drowning. Dying.
It wasn’t just my cock aching—it was e verything. The burn curled low in my stomach, the unbearable tightness twisting deep inside me, heat roaring through every inch of my body until I thought I might explode.
I was fucking her open with four fingers, watching her take everything I gave her—watching her let me give it to her, while I gave myself nothing.
My cock throbbed, pulsing, completely untouched, aching with every sharp thrust of my fingers inside her.
I needed more. Needed her.
Desperation twisted through me, my hips moving on their own, thrusting into empty space, chasing friction that wasn’t there.
She writhed beneath me, her body reacting to every touch, every movement, every single thing I did to her.
And I couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop thrusting into her, couldn’t stop taking everything she gave me, everything she let me have.
I pressed my thumb to her clit, rolling against it, matching the slap of my fingers pounding into her.
The sound filled the air, echoing, obscene and merciless, swallowed only by our ragged moans and the thick, suffocating silence of the bookstore.
“Cazzo, sei così dannatamente bella,” I groaned, voice breaking apart in my throat.
And fuck—fuck— fuck—
I was going to come.
No, not like this—how—what?
The pressure was blinding. I felt it everywhere. Deep in my cock, curling hot in my stomach, locking up every muscle, crawling up my spine in sharp, electric pulses. It was taking me apart, second by second, dragging me closer.
And she wasn’t even touching me.
“Lilith, I—” My voice cracked, barely human.
“What?” she moaned, breathless beneath me, her body writhing, trembling. So damn beautiful.
No, no, no—
I tried to stop it. Tried to hold it back, to breathe through it, to make it disappear.
But her fingers gripped tighter in my hair, pulling me closer to her.
“Lilith, I—I—”
The words turned into a wrecked whimper as heat tore through me, my cock pulsing, jerking, spilling hard and hot into my pants, completely untouched.
The wet, obscene smacking of my fingers fucking into her didn’t slow, didn’t falter, not even as I broke apart.
My body locked up, cock pulsing again and again and again. My vision whited out, pleasure blurring everything, my lungs dragging in gasping, ragged breaths as I shook through it, helpless to stop it.
And then she came. Hard .
A sharp cry ripped from her lips, her body snapping tight, her back arching off the counter, thighs squeezing around my hand as she gushed.
Soaking my fingers.
Drenching the counter.
Making the filthiest, most devastatingly beautiful mess I’d ever seen.
Her lips were soft beneath mine, slower now, exhaustion settling deep in her bones. She was spent. I could feel it in the way she melted into me, in the way her fingers barely clung to my hoodie.
“Keep your eyes closed,” I murmured against her lips.
She exhaled a slow, sleepy breath but nodded. I reached behind her head, slipping the scarf away and immediately covered the lower half of my face with it.
“Okay,” I said.
She blinked up at me, lashes fluttering, those stunning silver eyes still hazy with the remnants of pleasure as they found mine.
God, she was beautiful.
I swallowed through the thickness in my throat, then forced myself to move. “Where’s the bathroom?”
She barely managed a whisper. “Through the back. First door.”
The second I stepped inside the small box room, I braced myself against the sink, staring down at my own shaking hands. My knuckles were still white from how I’d gripped her, my fingers still sticky with her. She was everywhere.
I yanked my hoodie off and peeled my shirt over my head, tossing it aside. My chest was still heaving, my stomach still tight.
Exhaling hard, I flipped on the faucet and shoved my hands under the stream, desperate to pull myself together. But my body wasn’t cooperating. My legs were weak. My head was spinning.
I’d come in my pants .
I was a grown man.
And I’d come in my pants.
In all my years, I’d never come like that. Not untouched. Not completely shattered by it. Not fucking wrecked .
She really was something else.
A slow, shuddering breath left me as I grabbed a handful of paper towels and cleaned myself up as best as I could.
Cristo.
It wasn’t even the orgasms I gave her, the way I could pleasure her.
It was her.
It was how she tested me.
How she could make me feel like nothing and everything with just a single look. It was in her laugh—low and husky, curling at the edges like something wicked. It was in the way she smiled, how it deepened the lines at the corners of her mouth.
It was in every single thing she did.