Chapter 26 #2
I watch the last of his restraint dissolve. For weeks, we’ve circled one another—arguments, impossible alliances, almost-confessions. Now all of it collapses into this one moment.
When he kisses me this time, there’s no hesitation. Our mouths crash together, hot and hard and entirely out of our control. He pulls me flush against him, and my legs circle his waist, ankles crossing behind him. The friction draws a sound out of me I don’t recognize as my own voice.
His mouth trails slowly down my neck, leaving a string of wicked kisses in its wake. When his teeth sink lightly into my skin, heat explodes in my core.
“You’re going to hate me tomorrow,” he says between uneven breaths.
“I hate you now.”
I curl my fingers against the nape of his neck, and he seems to understand exactly what I’m asking.
His mouth moves lower to the curve of my shoulder and then still lower, until every inch of skin he touches feels lit from within.
I know this is a terrible idea, but knowing and wanting are not the same thing, and if I might die at any moment anyway, I want to enjoy myself first.
He strips down and then undresses me slowly, almost reverently, his eyes tracking every inch he reveals of my body like he’s committing it to memory.
When I’m lying bare beneath him, his mouth finding my most sensitive parts, I remind him anyway, because some self-destructive part of me needs to say it out loud.
“Just remember, this is a strategic partnership,” I say, breathless. “Nothing else.”
He goes still.
“Mercer, maybe we shouldn’t—” His eyes search mine, uncertainty flickering there, and my chest tightens. Is he really that worried about winning The Rites and our stupid fucking partnership when I’m lying beneath him, naked?
“No. Don’t you dare stop now, you asshole.”
I kiss him again, and he responds, carnal and scorching, almost feverish, his tongue stroking mine, claiming every inch of me.
His thumb skims the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and then slides lower between my legs.
Pleasure rockets through me as he kisses me harder, faster, while his fingers hit the exact spot I need them to.
“More,” I demand, nails digging into his back.
He lines himself up, and I feel the hard tip of him pressing into me, teasing at my entrance, right where I want him.
Nothing is between us but heat. The bare skin-to-skin contact alone is enough to make my thighs tremble around his hips, enough to steal the breath right out of my lungs.
I can feel every ridge and pulse of him against me, feel how badly he wants this in the way his body shakes with the effort of holding still.
The groan that tears out of him makes me feel everything.
He hesitates, stopping again, like he’s giving me one last chance to change my mind, like he needs me to be sure as much as he needs to be inside me.
“I don’t have anything with me. I wasn’t expecting—”
“It’s okay,” I breathe. “I’m on the pill.”
“But what about—”
“Silas, do you want to fuck me or do you want to keep talking?”
His eyes go molten black. He doesn’t answer with words.
His hips snap forward, and he fills me completely in one slow, deliberate thrust that punches the air straight out of my lungs.
For one suspended second, neither of us moves.
He just watches my face, jaw tight, like he’s memorizing what I look like right now, stretched around him, mouth parted on a gasp I can’t hold back.
“Fuck, Jack.” His voice breaks, all the arrogance stripped out of it. “You feel so good. Exactly like I dreamed it would feel to be inside you—”
“Move,” I cut him off, hips rocking up to meet him, unwilling to wait for him to finish the sentence.
He does.
The first few strokes are almost gentle, testing, like he’s giving me time to adjust to the size of him.
It doesn’t last. The moment I dig my heels into the small of his back and pull him deeper, something in him breaks loose entirely.
His pace turns punishing, deep and relentless, one hand braced beside my head while the other grips my hip hard enough to bruise, taking control and angling me exactly where he wants me.
“Look at me,” he orders, and I do, because I can’t do anything else. His dark eyes are wrecked, stripped of every careful wall he usually hides behind. “I want you to see who’s making you fall apart.”
The pressure building low in my body coils tighter with every hard thrust, every drag of him against the one spot that makes my vision blur at the edges.
I claw down his back, certain I’m leaving marks, not caring, chasing the feeling building beneath my skin like a live wire about to snap.
I hover on the edge of my release, trembling, so close, so fucking close.
His rhythm doesn’t slow. If anything, it gets crueler, more precise, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“Silas, please, I need—”
“I know.” His voice is unsteady now, control fraying at the edges. “Let go, Jack. I’ve got you.”
That’s what does it—not the friction, not the heat, but the promise underneath the words.
I shatter around him with a cry I don’t try to muffle, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me gripping his shoulders like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.
He follows seconds later, shuddering inside me, my name breaking on his lips like it’s something sacred.
His forehead drops to my shoulder as his whole body goes taut, then finally, finally still.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. His weight settles over me, heavy and warm, his breath ragged against my neck.
“Well,” I say, once I trust my voice again. “That was one way to shut me up.”
He huffs a laugh against my skin, still trying to catch his breath. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“I’m sure you will.”
He lifts his head, and whatever he sees on my face makes something in his expression soften into an emotion far too dangerous for either of us to name out loud. He doesn’t even try.
Instead, he kisses me again, slowly now, like we have all the time in the world. Like The Rites don’t exist. Like we aren’t two people who the Veil will inevitably try to pit against each other. Like we aren’t playing a deadly game where we both know there can only be one winner.