27. Twenty-Seven
Despite the deliberate lack of warmth Silas is throwing off right now, I find I’m enjoying being shown around this new place. Though all of the walls are the same, and there’s no natural light to speak of, there’s a sense of healing building in my chest.
This is not the first time I’ve been taken to a secretive building with no direct access to the outside world. These are not the first hallways devoid of color I’ve found to be my home through traumatic circumstances. This time, however, despite the danger etched into every crack and crevice in the wall, there’s a sense of safety. These men aren’t planning on tearing me apart at a cellular level, determined to understand what makes me tick, what makes my heart refuse to stop. Sure, they want me for their own purposes, for Dane’s purposes, to be more precise, but I have a level of agency I’ve never experienced. Not once in my life.
We walk the span of the bunker, and I’m shocked by the size of it. The twists and turns of the hallways aren’t as daunting as they were on arrival, but the place is still massive, large enough to house a small community.
I gather we’re about halfway done with the tour by the time I’m desperate to break up the tense quiet surrounding us. Itching to breathe any words into the interaction that aren’t Silas stating the names of various rooms and pointing out the two additional exits, each situated far from the others in case of some disaster.
“When did you guys come here for the first time?”
His response consists entirely of a singular look, thrown over his shoulder like it was a piece of garbage he didn’t feel like dealing with properly. It stokes something vicious inside of me.
“Where do we keep the sticks?”
My question stops him, and he fully turns towards me now, unsure of what I could have meant.
“Sticks?”
“You know, like the one you keep up your ass.”
That gets his attention. There’s a flash of indignation on his face, which is quickly buried under a much more porous layer of indifference, but it’s too late. I already saw his reaction to my jab.
I got a reaction and I’m not letting go of it.
He turns and stalks down the hallway, back in the direction of the dining hall and our rooms.
“God, Silas! What the hell is your problem with me?” I stomp behind him, the sound slamming against the hard expanse of his back.
“I don’t have a problem with you,” he growls, his pace never faltering. It only deepens my frustration.
“Bullshit.” It’s quiet, but I know he can hear it, just like he can hear me coming after him. I have to nearly run to keep up with his long legs. When I get beside him, I see the firm lines of his face set into an equally firm scowl.
“Silas, stop!” I grab onto him, doing my best to ignore the way his massive bicep feels underneath my hand, the size comparison is laughable.
“What changed?”
He huffs and brings his fist to his forehead, kneading at it like he’s working to stave off a migraine.
“It’s just us in this bunker for hours.” I square my shoulders, making every muscle in my body hold firm despite my instincts telling me to retreat. Telling me to head to my room and leave this whole conversation behind. “I will bug the shit out of you until you answer me.”
“I’m not doing this, Madeline.” His body language mirrors my own, squared shoulders and sturdy stance, both of us becoming walls built solely out of stubbornness.
“Well, I am.” My size isn’t nearly enough to intimidate him, but I try to overcome the disadvantage with outright nerve.
I advance, taking a single step towards him, angling so his only escape from this interaction is straight through me, and I plant my feet. I’ve got time. I have nothing but time, and I’m going to see this through even if it kills the both of us.
“Madeline.” His tone is a warning, one that rings loud and clear through me. My nerves aren’t on fire from apprehension, though, the sensation in my stomach isn’t from fear. His tone is riling up a reaction I didn’t expect, and suddenly I feel breathless. I mentally scold myself, shoving away questions about how he would feel on top of me, inside of me.
“What. Changed.” I’m remaining firm, against my body’s wish to melt against him.
His lips press into a firm line and he crosses his arms, deciding not to say whatever is on the tip of his tongue.
“What changed? You hardly even look at me anymore!” I don’t care about the whine seeping into my voice or how it diminishes the strong stance I’m trying to hold.
“You’re fine.” He practically spits the words at me, and I catch his line of sight, there and gone in a slashing glance. He’s looking at the marks peppered over my skin, the fading evidence of my time with Tucker not yet fully wiped away by my body.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Just like it sounds. You seem to be doing just fine without me.” His jaw flexes and suddenly I’ve shifted from wanting to climb him to wanting to hit him. He moves to step around me, and I block him in again.
“No. Fuck you, Silas. You don’t get to be mad that I’ve been with them. You don’t get to be upset about that!”
He just seethes in response, redness creeping up his throat, his chest heaving. He said he didn’t want to have this conversation, and now I’ve figured out what his little fit has been about, I’m not going to stop pulling on this thread until I unravel him completely.
“You had your shot! You were quite literally first in line, and you rejected me. Or did you forget that part already?” I’m swinging my arms wildly at this point, unable to contain a physical response to his ridiculous behavior.
“I didn’t reject you,” he spits the words at me. A flash of righteous anger hits his face as he speaks, his fists balling up.
“‘This was a mistake.’ That’s verbatim, Silas. How the hell is that not a rejection?”
“It was a mistake, Madeline! I shouldn’t have been that close to fucking you in that river, less than 24 hours after you stopped being comatose!” He’s shouting back, finally letting out whatever he had been feeling.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t reject me out of some sudden realization I’m a tool to you guys. That I’m some freak of nature you find disgusting.” I want to curl in on myself at the admission of my vulnerability, but I don’t allow it. I hold firm, locking my muscles into place. I refuse to cower when faced with Silas, with any of these men.
“Disgusting?” He laughs, actually laughs. It’s an angry, vicious sound. “Madeline, from the first time I saw you conscious, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“Whatever.” I don’t believe him. How could I after everything that’s happened? I start to turn away, ready to storm off and have the last word, but he grabs my wrist, pulling it roughly towards him. He places my palm against the clear evidence of his attraction and something inside of me snaps.
I’m stunned, everything in me focused on the palm of my hand pressed against the shocking size of his arousal.
I yank my hand back like I’ve been burnt, freeing it from his rip and cradling it against my chest.
“Does that feel like I’m disgusted by you?” His voice is rough, his chest continuing to rise and fall with deep even breaths, and I don’t have a response for him. My head is spinning from the sudden change in his tone. The warning is different this time, the deep intensity of his voice laced with promise.
He’s backed me up without me noticing, my bare shoulders kissing the cold walls of this long-forgotten structure.
“Tell me to stop, Madeline,” he says, slowly leaning closer, bracing his arm against the wall. Giving me as much time as he can bear to end this. “Tell me to stop.”
I don’t break his gaze. I don’t say anything. I’m fully trapped by the intensity of his stare, the roughness of his nature, the barely restrained frenzy in his muscles. I’m a specimen pinned to a mounting board, fully at the mercy of my observer.
“Last chance,” he whispers, his body rigid, only inches from mine. “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t stop.”
He crushes into me, moving with the same desperation and frenzy that surrounded us in the river. His bruising kiss moves to my throat as his hand dips below the waistline of my pants. I whimper in response, his teasing explorative touches sit in stark contrast against the vicious attention he’s paying me with his mouth.
His fingers slip my underwear aside, and he groans when he finds clear evidence of my own arousal.
His free hand fists into my hair and he pulls his mouth away from mine. I whine, trying to reestablish contact, but he straightens and pulls his hand away from my slick core and brings it to his mouth. Tasting me. The deep, pleasure laced groan from before is back, and I let out a whimper, the look in his eyes stoking the fire in me. He bends, throwing me over his shoulder and stalking down the hallway in the direction of his room.
I can’t move much and the lack of control heightens the desperation crawling across my skin. His steps are sure and solid, the confidence in his stride is that of a predator who’s already long since captured its prey.
When he reaches his room, he doesn’t turn and quietly close the door, he barely even pauses enough for his foot to connect with the wood, kicking it closed and shutting us both into his space. His territory, where he’s fully in control.
“This is how it should have been, Madeline. You and me. Here.” His last word is punctuated by flipping me onto his bed.
He undresses me quickly, leaving me nothing but a quivering, naked mess on his bed, waiting for him to come back to me. Aching for his touch.
Silas stills, taking a moment and soaking in the sight of me with an appreciation that sinks straight to my core. Slowly he starts to move, the frenzied energy having left him on the walk to the bedroom. He’s in charge now, he has me where he wants me, and I’m along for the ride.
All of that focus, that brutal intensity I had wished would stop affecting me, is now centered squarely on me and a shiver creeps over my skin in response.
He pulls off his shirt and pants in controlled, precise movements, leaving his underwear on, and I don’t dare move. Silas has me pinned with a silent command I fully intend to obey.
He finally tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pulls them down. My mouth dries at the sight of him. Sure, Tucker was big, but this… I don’t think I can handle this.
“You can take it,” he says, reading my thoughts as he fists his cock, slowly pumping the length of it.
He stops and climbs onto the bed, covering me completely with his body, and I can feel the hardest part of him pressing against the softest part of me. He’s kissing me again, with the same intensity but slower.
His lips leave mine, moving down my neck and over my breasts, showering both with attention. I’m about to come out of my skin, every bit of contact, every slight touch driving me higher and higher, closer to exploding with every second that passes.
I’m coming apart at the seams by the time he reaches my stomach. My breathing coming in sharp pants, my body begging to writhe around, despite knowing I’m supposed to be still beneath him. Silas is still planting kisses with each inch he moves, his dark eyes trained on mine.
He finally gets to the apex of my thighs, kissing the inside of each of them. Teasing me. I can’t suppress the full body tremble as he bends closer and blows on the wetness gathered.
“Oh, you’re close, aren’t you?”
“Yes, fuck. Please, Silas,” I croak, barely in control of myself at this point.
“You ask so nice, baby.”
He laps at my clit and drags the flat of his tongue across me, a guttural moan escapes my lips when he slides a finger inside.
“Come for me,” he murmurs, breaking the contact with his mouth just long enough to get the words out. The instant he brings his mouth back down, the world explodes. Everything I am is concentrated to his fingers and his fucking tongue.
He doesn’t let up, and I feel like I’m coming forever. Continually falling apart and being pieced together in a cycle I don’t know how to break. A cycle I’m begging to end while never wanting it to stop.
He finally relents, and I’m dizzy, floating somewhere outside of myself, only reminded I have a body when I shudder with the aftershocks that just keep coming with no signs of stopping.
I’m not done, though. I want him inside of me. I need to know how he feels. I’m barely coherent, but I don’t care. Grabbing the back of his head, my fingers curl into the loose tendrils of his dark hair, and pull him up to me, capturing his mouth with my own. I can taste myself on him and there’s a primal, possessive part of me that absolutely loves it.
He drags his hand up the inside of my legs, making me shiver before he meets my center. He slowly puts a finger in, adding another and pausing as I stretch around him. He pumps in and out slightly, intimately aware of my reaction to him. As soon as I relax around him, that twinge fading into pleasure, he adds a third.
“Silas, please,” I whine. I’m getting antsy, no longer content with just his fingers.
He takes pity on me, moving with that same predatory grace and centering himself above me. He grabs the base of himself, and I shudder when he drags the tip through my slickness. When he finds my entrance he begins to press with just a whisper of the force I know he wants to exert.
I moan at the pressure, wriggling against him, eager for more. His eyes crinkle slightly, and he drops onto his elbows, every bit of him touching every bit of me. He pushes in achingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until he’s fully sheathed inside, stealing my breath when his hips connect with mine. I’m panting now, the stretch a delicious pain I never want to end.
He stops, panting and shaking with restraint, letting me adjust to the size of him. I can feel him twitching inside of me as if even his cock is eager to fuck, and I mean really fuck, me. I shift my hips, savoring the dense weight of him seated deep within my core.
He shudders above me, feeling my muscles working to accommodate his size, and I kiss and nip at the skin of his shoulder, spurring him into action. He moves slowly at first, as if careful not to hurt me. Every inch he recedes he gives back with an intensity that causes my toes to curl.
I wrap my arms around him, memorizing the way his muscles bunch and twitch with each steady press inward. I don’t want this controlled version of him he’s so keen on holding to.
“Stop being so careful.” I rake my nails across his back, hoping that this will get him to let go. He groans at the sensation and takes the hint, setting a brutal pace that steals my breath with every snap of his hips.
“Fuck, Silas.” The words burst out of me, the only ones I can form right now. The only thought on my mind.
The weight above me shifts, but I can’t track the movement, too lost in everything that’s happening, until suddenly I’m empty. He’s pulled out and his hands are on my hips, flipping me over so I’m on all fours.
When he presses into me from behind any remaining rational thought abandons me. A new, uncharted level of fullness invades my senses.
This new angle brings him deeper into me, hitting spots I never dreamed of. With a simple shift in the angle, I’m seeing stars, being driven closer and closer to the brink with every thrust. I’m chasing that feeling, rearing back into him and matching his pace. I’m taking everything he’s giving me and fucking him back in return.
Right when I’m getting close, moments before I shatter, a sharp crack sounds in the room. I can’t hold in my gasp at the feeling of his hand connecting with my ass. Stinging and painful one second, radiating heat the next.
My gasp melts into a moan, only to return as a squeak when the next blow lands on the other side, that same heat building.
I’m coming again, this time the orgasm hitting so quickly it feels like it’s tearing through me, leaving nothing behind. This bliss is sharp and hot in a way I haven’t experienced before. In a way I’m already craving it again.
My release spurs him on, his movements becoming harsh and uneven. He comes apart with a roar, and a bloom of warmth spreads inside of me, each of his thrusts increasingly slick, and I relish the feeling of him filling me so intimately.
When he pulls out, I feel him start to leak out of me in hot drips, a trail forming down my inner thighs. I collapse, rolling onto my back, taking in the sight of it. I trace my finger through one of the drips, studying the slickness of it under my fingers.
He lays down beside me, pulling me against him while we breathe, both returning from our peaks. It’s almost unbelievable, the way we slot into one another like this. I sink fully into the protective embrace and savor each second wrapped up in this haze.
He jolts, suddenly pulled out of the calm moment.
“Shit, wait! Hold on.” He stumbles off the bed and his lack of grace is as startling as the concern etched onto his features. He slips out of the room and comes back with a wet hand towel, gently wiping the evidence of our sex from between my legs.
Despite the tenderness of the action, his brow is furrowed and his jaw is tight.
“What’s wrong?” His wild eyes meet mine when I touch his jaw.
“They won’t be back for a while, and I have no way to get you anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesus, Madeline, I just came inside of you!” He’s been yanked out of that blissed out headspace and shoved back into that churning mind of his.
I move my hand, so my palm is now cradling his cheek. “Silas, it’s okay. I wanted you to.”
“You’re not worried about getting pregnant?” He pulls away, breaking the contact.
I sigh heavily. It makes sense he would be concerned about this, but it’s something I’ve never really considered fully. I never connected until now that intimacy leads to children.
“No. You don’t have to worry about that.” I do my best to keep the bitterness out of my tone, but it slips through the cracks.
The stress on his face doesn’t fade away entirely, instead it blends with confusion.
“Madeline, kids aren’t a good idea, not with everything going on. I can call them and ask them to pick up a Plan B or something while they’re out.” There’s a new tone to his voice, like he’s trying to explain something very simple to someone who’s not that bright.
“You’re not hearing me. It’s a non-issue.” I’m trying not to let any frustration taint my voice, to not be offended that he thinks I don’t understand why having a child, being pregnant, isn’t a good idea.
“What does that mean?”
“I can’t get pregnant.”
There’s a heavy pause before he speaks again, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes me want to look away.
“How do you know this?”
I don’t respond. I just hold his stare, desperate for him to understand, but reluctant to divulge more about my time in the facility than I already have.
“Madeline, how do you know?” he says each word with a control that hints at a storm brewing within him. He’s putting some of the pieces together, slotting them into the fucked-up puzzle that is my life, but he needs my confirmation.
“Tell. Me.” The words are forced out between his clenched teeth.
“You think they were satisfied with just one lab rat?”
He’s deathly still, but there’s a violent energy thrumming throughout the room, an imminent eruption barely contained beneath his skin.
“Did they…” He doesn’t need to say the rest of the sentence. He likely can’t voice those final words without coming undone.
“No. It was all very clinical.” I can feel my hands start to shake, my body wanting to flee from the memories surrounding me. I draw my arms closer, covering myself a little before continuing. “Fifteen attempts. All failures.”
I was never assaulted, not in that way, but the trauma of being stripped down and inseminated like a brood mare isn’t any less brutal.
I remember every part of it, every thought I had surrounding each one of the attempts. The absolute terror coursing through me that I would be responsible for another life to be subjected to John’s testing.
A strong hand wraps around mine, holding it steady and grounding me back into the room.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is still choked with rage, fire burning in his eyes. “I will make this right.”
Those five words hold the promise of every brutal act filling his mind, and despite the violence threaded through his tone, I’ve never felt safer. When he wraps himself around me it’s like I’ve been swaddled in layers and layers of protection. Nothing can get me, not even the memories of the life I used to live.