Chapter 32 #2
“Feel how you’re shaking?” He licks along my lips, voice trembling with restrained pride.
“You shook him worse. That’s what I crave.
You’re lethal, Octavia.” His thrusts intensify, pounding deep.
“You’re my lethal girl…I worship every tremble.
” Each slam grinds his pubic bone against my clit.
My moans turn raw. He doesn’t let up. “Say it,” he demands. “Say you loved watching him cower.”
“I did,” I gasp, fingers clawing at the back of his neck. “It felt...god-” I choke off the rest when he thrusts harder, grinding on my clit.
“That’s my brave girl.” His hand slides from my hair to my throat, thumb pressing gently over the pounding artery.
He looks smug at the control, lust and adoration merging.
“You’re mine. You hear me? I’ll carve that reminder into your pussy every time he tries to imagine you.
” He punctuates the vow with a bruising thrust. “No one gets you like this. No one deserves this depth but me.”
His hand leaves my throat, gliding down to find my clit.
Rubbing ruthless circles, he matches his thrusts, coaxing me toward detonation.
Head slamming back against the wall, my nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent moons across muscle.
He moans when my walls contract, pulling out almost fully just to slam back in, face twisted with worship and perversion.
“Show me,” he groans. “Give it to me. I want to see you come undone.”
Letting go, my climax rips through me, violent and unstoppable.
Screaming his name, his hips jerk as he rides me, never slowing.
Watching my face with obsessive intensity, he thrusts slower to squeeze every second of aftershock out.
“Look at you,” he purrs. “You are perfect. No one is worthy of you but me.”
Before the tremors subside, he flips me, bending me over the table so fast I gasp.
My chest hits the cool surface. Yanking my skirt higher, he grabs my hair, impaling me from behind in one relentless stroke.
I gasp, clinging to the table edge. The angle is savage, hitting a spot so deep it steals breath and thought.
He pounds into me like he wants the entire campus to hear the slap of skin, the grunts, the garbled moans.
“I’ll never get tired of this view,” he snarls, voice shredded with awe.
“You spread out, taking all of me, dripping everywhere. Let them fantasize; they’ll never have this. Every gasp is mine.”
My knees wobble as he wraps a hand around the nape of my neck, pinning me, keeping me arched.
His free hand smacks my ass, sharp heat blooming across my skin.
“This ass is mine. These sounds are mine.” He thrusts deeper, relentless, toes curling inside his boots.
His words spill out, filthy praise tumbling between groans.
“Go on,” he coaxes, voice as ragged as his thrusts.
“Show me the fighter again. Show me your power even when you’re full of me. ”
He rubs my clit again, faster now, nearly cruel, dragging the pad of his thumb in circles so quick my body jerks. Clamping down around him, so close I can barely form words, he leans down, breath scalding my ear. “Cum again. I want to feel you clamp down while I fill you up.”
I obey, collapsing into another orgasm. It hits harder, sharper, my voice dissolving into curses and whimpers as he pounds through it.
My muscles spasm around him in waves. He fucks me through every surge, each thrust deep and controlled until his own restraint breaks.
He slams in one last time, holds me there, groaning my name like prayer as he empties inside, cock twitching, warmth flooding me in thick surges.
He keeps grinding, making sure I feel every pulse. “Take it,” he pants. “Take every drop.”
When he finally pulls out, his cum spills down my thighs, hot and sticky.
Watching, hunger blazing, he drags his thumb through it.
Pushing two fingers back inside me, he shoves his cum deeper, claiming me with sticky reverence.
“They’ll never know,” he whispers, voice low, “but I do. I know you drip like this after I fill you. I know you’ll remember it every time you walk past him.
” He presses his hand over the small of my back, sliding his palm up my spine, planting a scorching kiss between my shoulder blades.
“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I’m not done praising. ”
Breath hitching, I turn, sliding off the table, legs shaking.
He pulls me back into his arms, his still-throbbing cock pressed against my stomach, slick with what he left inside me.
He kisses me again, slower now, tongue curling around mine as he walks me backward until my spine hits the wall.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to drag my hands up, pinning them over my head with one massive palm.
His other hand slips between us, slipping two fingers back inside, circling my clit lazily as he presses himself along my thigh.
“You’re still soaked,” he murmurs, eyes heavy. “Your body never stops begging for me. I could do this all day, make you pass out on this table, carry you home, and start again.”
Moaning, his fingers slide deeper, deliberately slow. Thrusting them in and out, the heel of his palm grinds against my clit, his gaze never wavering. “Tell me how bad you want it.”
“So bad,” I gasp, back arching, nails scratching the wall above my head. “Please, Silas.”
He grins viciously, withdrawing his fingers with a wet pop. “Then climb up,” he commands.
He hoists me onto the edge of the table again, but this time he stays standing, hooking both my legs over his shoulders, dragging me to the brink.
Pushing inside of me at a maddening pace, he moves slow enough to make me feel every ridge, every pulse as he sinks all the way down, my entire core spasming around him.
Growling, his grip on my hips tightens. “Fuck, you’re perfection.
Every time I bury myself in you, the world makes sense. ”
He starts to move, not in the brutal rhythm from before, but in a slow, deep grind that hits every nerve.
Dragging his cock almost out, torturously slow, he slides back in with a groan, his stomach muscles flexing tight.
“You tremble so pretty for me,” he mutters, watching my face like it’s the only thing worth seeing.
“Look at how you take me... I could stay in you forever.”
Rocking his hips in long, drawn-out thrusts, each one drags over my clit.
Choking on a moan, my thighs quiver around his neck.
His hands glide up to my breasts, squeezing them through my blouse, thumbs circling my nipples until the peaks press hard against the fabric.
Bending, he licks the edge of one nipple through the clothing, teeth scraping enough to make me whine.
“Do you hear yourself?” he says, breath hot.
“You sound like heaven’s begging me to break you. ”
He doesn’t stop the slow, deep strokes. Instead he keeps teasing, tugging a nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue fast until I cry out before pulling back and dragging his teeth lightly across the swollen bud.
He does the same to the other breast, leaving it swollen and hot through the fabric.
His pace stays slow, savoring every inch.
“I want Kadin to remember how you looked today,” he growls.
“And then I want him to know he never had a chance in hell. Because only I get to see you like this. Only I get to feel you wrapped around my cock.”
Pumping faster suddenly, the shift from slow to ruthless makes me gasp. Leaning forward, he mouths at my neck, sucking a fresh mark, his hair brushing my cheek. “I’m going to fuck you until you cry from how good it feels,” he says, voice dark. “Every tremor is mine. Every moan is mine.”
I’m already close again. The painful ache in my core builds, pooling low and hot. My hands fall to his shoulders, digging in. His thrusts pound me against the table, wood groaning, my head banging the wall lightly. “Silas-” I gasp, voice shredded. “I can’t... I can’t hold it.”
“Don’t,” he snarls, picking up pace, hips driving feverishly. “Let it all go. Show me everything.”
Coming undone again, my body convulses, toes curling behind his shoulders. He roars my name, cursing, thrusting deeper before slowing, grinding in circles, keeping me riding the pleasure while he holds my hips steady. “That’s it. Give me every twitch.”
He doesn’t pull out. Sliding his hands down to cup my ass, he lifts me off the table while still buried inside, turning us so I’m slammed against the wall now, legs locked around his waist. He fucks me upright, each thrust lifting me up the wall before sliding me down, the friction brutal and addictive.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “That’s what I need.
” He kisses me while he still pounds up, tongues tangling, teeth clashing.
I can’t tell where his breath stops and mine begins.
He slows, each thrust a molten drag now instead of a violent slam, drawing out every last pulse.
Our foreheads touch, breath mingling, sweat slick between our chests.
His hands cradle my face, thumbs stroking along my jaw while my legs stay locked around his hips, the world narrows to the steady grind and the quiet, reverent curses he murmurs into my mouth.
He kisses me, softer than the hunger that started this, tongue tasting the tremble he loves so much.
I cling like the gravity in him is the only thing holding me upright.
Blood is not thicker than water.
People say it like blood means safety, like the people who made you are the ones most meant to protect you.
Maybe that is true for other lives. Other families.
Other children. But blood, in my world, has only ever meant inheritance in the cruelest sense.
Pain passed down like scripture. Damage handed over like duty.
A mother’s debts. A father’s violence. Names we never chose deciding what our bodies were worth.
If blood were all that mattered, I would still belong to her.
If blood were all that mattered, Silas would still belong to the dead man who carved his misery into him and called it love.
But he doesn’t.
And neither do I.
Right now, none of that feels more real than this.
The art room is still around us, the scent of paint, dust, and sex hanging in the quiet, the edge of the worktable pressing cool against my back while his body stays over mine, heavy in the best way, grounding in the way only he knows how to be.
My skin is still humming. My pulse is still trying to slow.
Every place he touched me feels awake, not in shame, not in fear, but in that deep, trembling way that makes me feel more inside my body than outside of it for once.
When the last quiver fades, he stays inside of me.
His forehead dips to mine. His nose brushes against it, wrecked and intimate enough to break something open in my chest all over again. His voice, when it comes, is ruined by feeling.
“I can’t quit you,” he whispers. “You’re in my blood.”
The words settle into me like a vow and prayer all at once.
Because blood has taken enough from us. Blood has carried enough violence. Enough ruin. Enough ghosts. And still, somehow, here he is, giving the word back to me in a shape that does not feel like inheritance or ownership or debt.
It feels like devotion.
My fingers trace his face, my eyes searching his, still full of all the things he does not know how to hide from me anymore.
“If I’m your addiction, Silas,” I breathe, “then you’re mine.”
Something in his expression softens and shatters at the same time.
That is the truth of us, maybe. Not clean. Not healthy in the way ordinary people would mean it. But real. Real in the way blood never was. Real in the way choice is. In the way hunger becomes holy when the person touching you knows every broken part and still stays.
Blood is not thicker than water.
Not when blood only ever taught us how to bleed.
This is thicker.
This, with his mouth still near mine, his body wrapped around mine, and his love laid bare enough that I can feel it in every breath between us, is stronger than anything we were born into.
And right now, with the whole world waiting outside this locked classroom to become ugly again, this is all that matters.