Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Silas kissed me like a man deprived of oxygen, and I the only air he dared to breathe.
The world narrowed to the press of his mouth, the rough drag of his hands up the backs of my thighs, and the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wanted me trapped between us. I rolled my hips against him again, coaxing out his low rumbles and groans that vibrated straight through my body.
When he stopped, forehead pressed against mine and body vibrating with restraint, I nearly begged him not to. I should have been grateful for the restraint, but I wasn’t. The loss of him was a physical ache nestled inside of my bones.
I nodded in response, though I didn’t agree that we should stop, nor that it couldn’t be here. This man had left me aching more than once now and I was determined that he’d see it through.
“Then take me somewhere you can,” I ground out.
A dangerous sort of hunger flashed behind his eyes, and for a heartbeat I thought he might refuse again.
He stood in one fluid motion with me wrapped around his waist. The crew had vanished, whether by order or out of self-preservation I didn’t care.
All that mattered was the heat of his body against mine and the way his fingers dug into the backs of my thighs hard enough to bruise.
Gods, I’d never been touched like this, never been wanted or needed with the sort of raw, shaking intensity that rolled off him in waves.
Silas carried me across the threshold of his cabin and kicked the door shut behind him.
The moment my feet touched the floor, he pinned me against the wall and claimed my mouth again.
He fisted a hand into my hair and tipped my head back to expose my throat to him.
Growling deep in his throat, he lowered his mouth and bit down just hard enough to make me gasp.
The sharp edge of pain melted into heat so quickly that my knees almost buckled.
“You put these in my hair,” he rasped, winding the beaded braids around his fist and using them to drag my mouth to his.
“Every time I feel them, I’m going to think about how you looked begging for the cock of a beast intent on ruining you.
Say it.” He tugged harder until a broken moan slipped out of me. “Tell me you want to be ruined.”
“I—”
His hand ripped at my bodice, yanking until the fabric gave and my breasts spilled free. The sudden heat of his palm against my bare skin was dizzying.
“Say it,” he rumbled again, his thumb scraping over one tight nipple.
“Ruin me,” I whimpered, voice trembling. “Please, Silas. I’m yours.”
The sound of my begging should have shamed me, but it only made the ache between my legs throb harder.
He answered with a low, feral groan and kissed me like a man starved of oxygen, as though I were the only breath he dared take.
He shoved the ruined bodice the rest of the way down my arms until the dress hung uselessly at my waist. Then both hands were on my breasts, squeezing and pinching, rolling my nipples between rough fingers until I was arching and gasping against his mouth.
“That’s it,” Silas said, his tone deep and desperate. “I want to hear every sound out of that pretty mouth of yours, Beastie.”
He spun me before I could answer and walked me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I toppled onto the blankets, breath hitching as he climbed over me, still fully dressed.
He yanked the rest of the dress down my legs and tossed it aside, my undergarments following a second later. Cool air kissed the wet heat between my thighs and I flushed with the knowledge of how exposed I was, how obvious it was that I wanted this.
Silas sat back on his heels and simply looked at me. His chest rose and fell hard and when he spoke, his voice was wrecked. “You’re dripping for me already. Look at you…spread out on my bed, tits marked from my hands, cunt shiny and ready.”
The world narrowed to the curve of his mouth, the rough drag of his hands up the backs of my thighs, and the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wanted me trapped between us.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Show me how you make yourself come.”
My cheeks burned at the vulgarity, at the mere thought of doing something in front of him I’d only ever done in the comfort of a lonely night. But I was wet and aching for him, desperate to ease the fire he started within me.
My hand moved of its own accord. I trailed my fingers down my belly as the darkness in his eyes deepened, then slid two through my slickness.
Breath catching, I found my clit and circled once, twice, until the ache turned into building pressure.
His eyes tracked every movement, and I reveled in watching him enjoy me.
I let my legs fall slack, spreading myself wider so he could see every part of me as I played.
The outline of him was thick and heavy in his trousers, jerking with every moan that escaped my lips.
“Faster,” he said, enraptured. “I want you close. I want you begging.”
I obeyed, rubbing harder, hips lifting off the mattress, the coil in my belly tightening and ready to spring. Just as the first tremor started, he caught my wrist and pinned it to the bed beside my head.
“Not yet.” His voice was pure command. “You come on my cock or not at all.”
The broken, frustrated sound that escaped my lips only seemed to please him further.
He stood long enough to strip, corded muscles straining against his urgency.
HIs biceps flexed as he threw his shirt aside, his forearms thick from working on deck.
The sight of him fully bare stole what little breath I had left.
Scarred and powerful, his cock already leaking at the tip.
When he climbed back over me, I reached for him, but he caught me again, this time pinning both wrists above my head with one large hand.
With his other hand, he guided his cock through my folds, coating himself, teasing me.
“Silas—”
“I know.” He notched himself at my entrance and held himself there, the thick head stretching me just enough to burn. “I can feel how badly you want it. Don’t worry, I’m going to give it to you. And you’re going to take every inch.”
He pushed forward in one long, relentless stroke. The stretch was brutal and perfect. I cried out, back arching, wrists straining against his grip. He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, hips flush against mine, so deep I swore I felt him in my throat.
“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead dropping to mine. “Look at your cunt pulling me in. So tight. So wet. Made for this, for me.”
He gave me only a few seconds to adjust before he started to move.
Deep, powerful thrusts that dragged every ridge of him against the sensitive place inside me.
The wet sound of it filled the cabin every time he drove forward.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and met him stroke for stroke, needing more.
He released my wrists only to shove my thighs higher, folding me nearly in half so he could sink even deeper. The new angle made stars burst behind my eyes. I clawed at his shoulders, at his arms, anything I could reach.
“That’s it,” he snarled. “Mark me. Pull my hair. Let the whole fucking ship hear who you belong to tonight.”
I did as I was told, pulling him closer. He cursed and slammed into me harder. One hand wrapped around my throat, not squeezing, only possessive, but the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise. Every thrust forced a broken sound out of me. Every withdrawal left me empty and desperate.
“You’re close,” he said, reading my body like one of his charts. “I can feel it. That tight little cunt is fluttering around me. Beg for it.”
“Please—” The word tore out of me. “Please, Silas, I need—”
“Need what? Say it.”
“I need to come. Please let me come on your cock—”
“That’s my girl,” he growled.
He shifted the angle again and ground against my clit with every deep stroke. The dual sensation ripped through me like lightning. I came with a broken cry, pulsing hard around him, my vision whiting out. He fucked me through it, dragging my orgasm out until I was shaking and gasping for air.
Only then did he let himself follow. He buried himself to the root with a guttural groan and spilled inside me in long, hot pulses, hips jerking as he filled me. The feeling of being claimed so completely sent aftershocks rippling through my exhausted body.
For several long breaths, neither of us moved. He stayed deep inside me as his chest heaved against mine and his mouth pressed to the bite mark on my throat. Finally, he lifted his head. The look in his eyes was almost stunned.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice rough.
“Yes.” I reached up and touched the side of his face. “Still with you.”
He eased out slowly. Settling beside me, he dragged two fingers through the mess he had left and pushed some of it back inside me with care.
“Mine,” he murmured, almost to himself. “At least for tonight.”
My cheeks flushed at the filthy gesture, but the butterflies in my stomach were warm with pride that he’d claimed me as his.
I turned into his body and let him pull me half on top of him, one heavy arm banded around my waist like he was afraid I might disappear.
“Sleep,” he said against my hair. “I’ll wake you when I need you again.”
“When?”
His answering smile was a promise and a threat. “We’re not finished, Beastie. Not even close.”