Chapter 22
Octavia
Swinging the bathroom door shut with a soft click, Silas jolts the fan to life, the roar of it filling the air, that mechanical hiss swallowing every other sound in the house.
I’m still knotted on the tile with my back against the cabinet, phone strangled in my fist, heart hammering from the message that ripped the floor out from under me.
My throat is raw, eyes gritty. For a second, we just stare at each other, me on the floor, him filling the doorway like a storm.
He crouches down. Not a trace of sarcasm, no distance.
His mouth presses into a tight line. “What happened?” he asks.
The question buzzes in the air. Shaking my head, I can’t stand to say that word: corpse.
I can’t go back there. I can still smell that room, the stale sweat, the rotting breath of men who bought hours with me while my mother pretended they were doing us a favor.
Silas watches another beat, then stands.
Panic slams through me...don’t leave...but he moves only to reach above me, flipping the fan to its highest setting. The hum groans overhead, louder than the squeak of my pulse. He turns back, eyes focused, jaw sharp.
“I told your friends something happened with your parents,” he says. “That I’d handle it.”
Something violent breaks loose in my chest. The panic grinds down into need, bloody-edged and unstoppable. I can’t talk this out. I need something real to drag me out of my head.
“I need you to touch me,” I say, voice wrecked, every word choked with the urgency I can’t swallow. “I need you.”
His whole body goes still. He takes in the way I’m kneeling, the phone falling from my hand, the way I reach for him without hesitation. A low curse slips between his teeth. “Octavia…I can't be gentle with you right now-”
“If I wanted gentle, I wouldn’t have asked,” I murmur, fingers tracing up his thigh, “and I sure as hell wouldn’t be on my knees for you.”
Smoothing my palms up his thighs, I let the rough denim drag across my knuckles, hovering over the thick bulge caged beneath his fly.
He’s already hard, straining meanly against the fabric, the zipper biting into the swell like it’s one breath from busting open.
Closing my mouth over him, he’s still covered, my tongue tracing the shape of his cock from base to tip while heat bleeds through the cloth.
The low noise he makes, not quite a moan, not quite a swear, vibrates against my lips.
He fists his fingers in the countertop to keep from shoving forward
“Feel how desperate you are?” I murmur, lips drifting along the length even now, letting him soak up the teasing heat.
My hand gropes up and presses through the denim, sliding along the ridge, applying just enough pressure to make him groan.
He hunches, muscles flexing under my touch.
Sucking lightly through the fabric, he curses louder, hips twitching as the friction builds.
Dragging my teeth gently along the outline, I curl my fingers into the waistband, peeling the denim down by inches.
I want his restraint ghosting across his expression, the anticipation tearing at his composure.
Each inch exposes more skin, hot and flushed with blood, until finally his cock springs free, beautiful and ready for me.
Closing my fingers around the base, I marvel at the length of him.
He’s already leaking at the tip. Smearing that slick over him with my thumb while staring up, I let him watch my mouth part in open hunger.
“Look at how hard you get when you know I’m going to taste you,” I breathe, voice wrecked.
His throat bobs. His chest rises faster.
Before he can answer I flatten my tongue and lick the length, slow, dragging saliva along the vein that makes him hiss. Taking him into my mouth, the pressure builds as I swallow him inch by inch, his hand slamming into my hair, gentle and possessive.
When I finally swallow him fully, it’s slow enough that he feels every stretch.
Opening wide, I take my time, letting the weight of him settle on my tongue before easing him deeper.
My hand grips the base, guiding, squeezing gently as I sink farther until my nose is pressed against the sharp ridge of his abdomen, my throat fluttering around him.
He swears, a raw whisper of my name punched out of him, his knees flexing like he nearly loses balance.
Pulling back slowly, spit trails down his cock as I lick to the tip and back.
Bobbing forward again, I pump him with my hand while I work the rest of the shaft with my lips and tongue.
The rhythm is intoxicating, each drag smoother, wetter than the last. Rolling my tongue along the underside, I pin him against the roof of my mouth, humming lightly to send vibrations all the way to the base.
He gasps, breath harsh and uneven, hips fighting not to thrust.
By the time I’m deep-throating him in earnest, letting the head bump the back of my throat while I swallow around him, he’s shaking.
I feel it in his thighs, in the desperate flex of tendons beneath my palms, in the way his voice cracks when he mutters something incoherent.
Hollowing my cheeks, I suck harder, twisting my wrist, tipping him straight toward the edge.
He’s close already. I can feel the pounding pulse at the base of his cock, the tremble turning his knees weak. Tightening my grip, I stroke him from base to tip, my mouth working the top half with steady suction as his breathing disintegrates into ragged, broken gasps.
“It’s too much,” he mutters, voice shredded. “Octavia, you-”
Before the plea finishes, he drags me up and spins me, hands biting into my hips.
My stomach hits the counter, palms slamming the cool surface, suddenly face-to-face with my reflection: eyes blown, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and slick with him.
Silas towers behind me, chest heaving, his hair wrecked from my fingers.
Hunger rifles through his expression like lightning as he jerks my leggings down to mid-thigh in a single ruthless yank.
My panties stay on, but they’re soaked dark.
“Look at yourself,” he growls, shoving his cock between my thighs.
Dragging his head across my clit through the drenched cotton, he grinds slow, a careless drag that feels like fire.
Heat detonates behind my eyes, my knees buckling from nerves.
Clamping an arm around my waist, he forces me to watch in the mirror as he ruts through my slick seam, the wet fabric squelching between us.
Pressing his chest to my back, he lets me feel every inch of muscle straining.
His free hand molds over my breast, squeezing, thumb rolling my nipple until I whimper.
Grinding harder, the head of his cock rubs the exact spot that makes me arch.
I can’t look away. My face is flushed, ruined…
so fucking needy in the glass. His expression is darker, eyes locked on mine, daring me to blink while he rubs himself to madness.
“Watch how you come apart for me,” he murmurs in my ear, voice raw and thick.
“Watch what I do to you.” Shifting his hips, he drags the head lower, skimming the soaked strip that barely covers me.
Nudging at my entrance, he doesn’t breach, just glides up again, smearing himself in my wetness like it’s fuel.
The contact turns the rest of me molten, my fingers clawing the counter.
“Say it,” he snarls softly at my ear. “Say you need me to ruin you.”
I can’t talk. The friction is a punishing rhythm, the head of his cock dragging up and down, hitting the same spot until I’m shaking. Smirking, he enjoys the tremor that shakes me.
“Octavia?”
The knock slams into the door.
My blood freezes as Silas stiffens, cursing under his breath.
“Are you okay?” Kadin asks from the other side, voice muffled.
“I need a moment!” I call, forcing my tone calm while every nerve in me is screaming. Silas keeps moving against me with slow strokes that apply pressure just where the fabric is soaked.
He doesn’t stop.
He won’t stop, not now.
His breathing brushes my neck, hot and harsh.
“Can I come in?” Kadin presses.
Silas’s mouth grazes my ear. “Tell him no,” he says, voice low, punctuating it by grinding hard, rolling his hips slow and deep, forcing the head of his cock into the wet groove he’s carved in the cotton, my knees buckling as I clutch the counter harder.
“No,” I snap, voice tight. “I just need a minute.”
Kadin hesitates. “Okay. I’ll wait downstairs.”
Hearing his footsteps recede, we freeze until the house settles again.
Silas answers the silence by gripping my throat from behind, thumb pressing lightly against my pulse, dragging his cock along me again, slow and relentless.
“Nicely done,” he murmurs. Every grind is controlled torture.
He’s soaking himself in me, smearing heat along the fabric, refusing to push inside.
The restraint is almost as intoxicating as the friction.
My body vibrates with laughter, tears, desire.
He’s punishing us both.
“You’re soaked,” he whispers. “Feel that?” He rocks against me again, head hitting my clit in a sharp roll that knocks a gasp out of me.
Unable to take it, my legs give out.
Capturing me before I can fall, he flips me down to my knees.
The world tilts, but I’m already opening my mouth, ready to take him again, his cock slick with me.
Wrapping my lips around his head, I taste both of us at once.
Groaning low and broken, his hand tightens in my hair, guiding, not rough, as he says my name like it’s a warning and a prayer.
Swallowing him deep, I slide my tongue along the underside once more, watching him tremble with the effort to stay quiet.
Breathing through my nose, I relax my throat, taking him until he’s at the back again.
The fan hums overhead, his hand behind my head flexing.
He’s seconds away from losing it, I can feel it-
“Octavia,” he gasps, voice rough. “Fuck, I-”
His breath hitches, hitching harder when I take him deep and swallow.
He groans into the crown of my head, trying not to thrust, but only failing as his cock swells and pulses in my mouth.
I speed up, swallowing him down, wet sounds drowned by the fan, his deeper breaths filling my ears.
He’s seconds away from cuming. I know it.
The tension is a coiled rope about to snap.
His fingers tighten in my hair, his whole body shuddering. “Octavia,” he gasps, voice stripped down to nerve endings. “I-I love you.”
Feeling the words slam through me, my mouth stops. His cock pulses against my tongue, heat thick and imminent, but the world whips sideways. Men whispered those words while they hurt me.
Men said love like an apology.
Like a price tag.
Like a lie.
Tearing myself away, his eyes blow wide, face crumpling with instant regret.
“Octavia-”
“Why did you have to say that?” I choke out, breath scraping my chest raw, the air suddenly tasting sour.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I step past him, slipping through the door before he can grab me.
Listening to my feet slap down the hall, bare and shaking, his confession still burns like acid across my skin, my heart aching from the way he looked at me when he knew the moment had fractured into a million different pieces.