Chapter 12
SILAS
P ortia’s kiss lingered on my lips, a spark that set my blood ablaze.
We stood in the guest suite, the door’s click still echoing, the air thick with heat and unspoken promises.
Her ivory silk dress clung to her curves, a tease of fabric that barely hid what I’d been craving since that shop—her body, her fire, her surrender.
My pulse pounded, my cock straining against my jeans, and I knew we were done pretending. No more games, no more walls. Just us, raw and reckless, ready to tear each other apart.
“Take off your dress,” I said, my voice low, rough, a command that sliced through the silence.
She froze, her dark eyes locking onto mine, wide with a mix of defiance and hunger. Her chest rose and fell, the silk stretching over her breasts, her nipples tight against the fabric.
She didn’t move, just stood there, testing me, daring me to push harder.
The pause stretched, heavy, and my control frayed, my hands itching to rip that dress off and feel her skin under mine.
“Do it,” I growled, stepping closer. “Now, Portia.”
Her lips parted, a flicker of challenge in her gaze, but then her hands moved.
Slow, torturous, she reached for the straps, her fingers grazing her shoulders as she slid them down. The silk whispered against her skin, slipping past her breasts, her waist, her hips, pooling at her feet like spilled moonlight.
My breath caught, my eyes drinking her in.
No bra, no panties—just her. Her body was a fucking revelation: caramel skin glowing in the soft light, full breasts with dark, pebbled nipples, a curve of waist that begged for my hands, and the shadowed heat between her thighs that made my mouth water.
She was more beautiful naked than I’d dreamed, and I’d dreamed plenty.
“Get on the bed,” I said, my voice thick, the words a struggle against the need clawing at me.
She stepped out of the dress, her heels clicking, her movements deliberate, like she knew how much she was wrecking me.
She crossed to the king-sized bed, the white sheets crisp and inviting, and sat on the edge, leaning back on her elbows.
Her eyes never left mine, a silent dare, her body an open invitation.
My cock throbbed, my hands flexing at my sides, but I held back, savoring the sight of her—bare, bold, waiting for me.
“Spread your legs,” I commanded, my voice a low rumble, my gaze locked on her.
Her eyes flashed, but she obeyed, parting her thighs slowly, revealing the slick, glistening heat of her.
My breath hitched, my control slipping as I saw how wet she was, how ready. Her scent hit me—musk and desire—and I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to dive between her legs and lose myself.
She held my gaze, unashamed, her lips curving in a faint, wicked smile that made my blood surge.
“Your turn,” she said, her voice husky, a command that matched mine. “Take off your clothes, Silas.”
I smirked, loving her fire, the way she pushed back.
I grabbed the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside. Her eyes raked over my chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle earned in blood and sweat.
I peeled off my boots, unbuckled my belt, the metal clinking in the quiet room, and shed my jeans and boxers in one move. My cock sprang free, hard and heavy, and her gaze lingered, a flicker of hunger darkening her eyes.
I stood there, unapologetic, letting her see every inch of me—ready, wanting, hers.
“Taste me,” she said, her voice a sultry challenge, her legs still spread, her body a siren’s call.
I crossed the room in two strides, dropping to my knees at the bed’s edge. My hands found her thighs, spreading them wider, my fingers digging into her soft skin.
I leaned in, breathing her in—warm, sweet, intoxicating.
I kissed the inside of her thigh, my lips soft at first, then harder, my teeth grazing her flesh. She gasped, her hips shifting, and I moved higher, my tongue tracing a slow path to her center. I licked her, long and deliberate, savoring her taste—sweet and salty, pure Portia.
Her moan was sharp, her hands fisting the sheets, and I teased her clit with soft flicks, then harder, circling, sucking gently until her thighs trembled against my face.
I didn’t rush, didn’t let up, exploring every fold, every sensitive spot, her gasps guiding me as I drove her higher.
“Silas,” she breathed, her voice a plea, her body arching under my mouth.
I growled against her, the vibration making her shudder, and kept going, my tongue relentless, my hands pinning her hips to keep her still.
She was close, her breaths ragged, her moans louder, and I pushed her to the edge, wanting to feel her break.
“Stop,” she gasped, her voice urgent, her hand tugging my hair. “Your turn.”
I pulled back, my lips wet with her, my chest heaving.
She slid off the bed, kneeling in front of me, her hands gripping my hips, her nails biting into my skin. I groaned as her mouth closed around my cock, hot and tight, her tongue swirling over the tip.
She didn’t tease—she took me deep, her lips stretching around me, her eyes locked on mine. The sight of her—on her knees, fierce and unafraid—sent a jolt through me, pleasure spiking hard and fast.
She sucked hard, her tongue working me, her hands steadying me as I fought to keep control. My fingers threaded through her curls, guiding her, but she didn’t need it. She was relentless, taking me to the edge, daring me to lose myself in her.
“Enough,” I growled, pulling her up before I came undone, my voice hoarse. “Back on the bed.”
She obeyed, climbing onto the sheets, her body flushed, her breath fast. She lay back, her legs parting again, her eyes daring me to take her.
I followed, my hands braced on either side of her, our gazes locked, the air crackling with need.
“Touch me,” she commanded, her voice low, her hands reaching for mine.
I slid a hand down her body, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of her breast, her nipple hard under my palm. I pinched gently, drawing a gasp, then moved lower, my fingers gliding over her stomach, her hip, until I reached her clit.
I circled it, soft at first, then harder, watching her face—her lips parting, her eyes fluttering. She was slick, sensitive, and I teased her, drawing out every moan, every shudder, until her hips bucked against my hand.
“Kiss me,” I said, my voice rough, needing her closer.
She leaned up, her lips finding mine, soft and hungry. Our tongues met, a slow dance that tasted of her, of us, of the heat we’d built. I kissed her deep, my hand still working her clit, her moans vibrating against my mouth.
She clutched my shoulders, her nails digging in, and I felt her tremble, close again, but I didn’t let her come—not yet.
“Put your cock inside me,” she said, breaking the kiss, her voice a command, her eyes blazing.
I positioned myself, my tip brushing her entrance, slick and warm. I pushed in slow, inch by agonizing inch, feeling her stretch around me, tight and perfect.
She moaned, her hands gripping my arms, her nails biting into my skin.
I thrust deeper, finding a rhythm that matched her gasps, her hips rising to meet me. It was slow at first, deliberate, each movement a claim, each moan a surrender. I buried myself in her, her heat pulling me in, her body a war I didn’t want to win.
“Harder,” she said, her voice sharp, her legs wrapping around my waist.
I didn’t hold back. I thrust harder, deeper, the bed creaking under us, her cries filling the room.
Her hands clawed my back, her hips bucking against me, and I felt her tighten, her body trembling on the edge.
I angled my thrusts, hitting that spot that made her scream, her nails drawing blood as she came, her body shuddering around me, pulling me with her.
I held on, fighting my own release, wanting to stretch this out, to keep her breaking under me.
“Taste yourself,” I growled, pulling out, my voice raw with need.
She didn’t hesitate. She sat up, her lips finding my cock, licking slow, deliberate, tasting her own wetness.
The sight of her—wild, unashamed, her tongue gliding over me—sent a jolt through my core. She took me deep, her eyes locked on mine, sucking with a hunger that made my knees buckle.
I fisted her hair, guiding her, my groans filling the room as she worked me, her mouth a perfect storm of heat and control.
“Back on the bed,” I said, pulling her up, my voice breaking, my control a thread.
She obeyed, lying back, her legs spread wide, her body glistening with sweat.
“Fuck me from behind,” she commanded, rolling onto her knees, her ass high, her back arched.
I groaned, my hands finding her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh. I positioned myself, thrusting into her, deep and hard, the angle hitting deep.
She cried out, her hands gripping the headboard, her body rocking back against me.
I set a brutal pace, each thrust a claim, each moan a victory. Her skin slapped against mine, the sound raw and primal, and I felt her tighten again, her body trembling, ready to break.
“Touch yourself,” I said, my voice a growl, wanting to push her over the edge.
Her hand slid between her thighs, her fingers working herself as I fucked her, her moans louder, more desperate.
I watched her, mesmerized, the sight of her pleasuring herself while I took her, sending me spiraling.
She came hard, her body convulsing, her cry sharp enough to cut glass, and I followed, spilling inside her, my vision whitening, my heart pounding.
We collapsed, panting, her body under mine, her breath hot against the sheets. I didn’t pull out, didn’t want to, her heat still pulsing around me.
“Touch me,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost vulnerable.
I slid a hand up her back, slow and gentle, tracing the curve of her spine, her skin slick with sweat.
My fingers found her breast, cupping it, my thumb brushing her nipple, drawing a soft gasp.
I moved lower, circling her clit again, slow and teasing, building her up again, her hips shifting under my touch.
She was sensitive, trembling, and I watched her face—eyes closed, lips parted—as she came quietly, her body shuddering under my hand.
“Look at me,” I said, my voice low, needing her eyes.
She opened them, dark and endless, locking onto mine.
“Kiss me,” she said, her voice a whisper, a command I couldn’t refuse.
I leaned down, my lips finding hers, slow and deep, tasting her, us, the mess we’d made. Our tongues met, soft but sure, and I kissed her until the air ran out, until my chest ached, until I forgot the world outside this room.
Her hands found my face, her fingers tracing my jaw, her touch softer than I deserved.
“Stay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her body still pressed against mine.
I didn’t answer, just pulled her closer, my arms wrapping around her, her curves fitting against me like they belonged there. The guest suite was a cocoon—lavender and linen, sweat and sex—and for once, nothing else existed. No Department 77, no mother’s ghost, no war waiting to claim me.
Just Portia, her fire, her skin, her breath. I didn’t know what this was, didn’t want to name it. But I felt alive, not a ghost, and it was her doing.
A minute later, I was inside her again, wishing I could stay there forever.