Chapter 39 Kira
KIRA
Atlas, Grizz, and I are cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. Outside, snow is coming down heavy, coating everything in white. The storm was forecast, and the men are ready for it, but none of us are expecting it when the sky cracks open.
As I’m drying the last plate, thunder suddenly booms overhead, loud enough to rattle the windows.
All three of us flinch, as the sound reverberates through the house.
“Thundersnow,” Atlas says grimly, exchanging a look with Grizz, who curses under his breath.
The lights flicker twice, then go out.
Appliances power off as cool white lighting comes on from strips hidden beneath the cabinets.
A muted flash of lightning is immediately followed by another loud thunderclap.
After a few eerie seconds, there’s a distant mechanical rumble, then the house gradually comes back to life, some lights dimming and flickering before eventually burning bright.
“Generator’s cycling,” Atlas confirms.
As Grizz heads toward the mudroom, Atlas tells him, “I’ll make sure the servers are back online, then meet you out at the generators.”
I hug my arms and look around. “What can I do?”
“You sit tight and stay warm. We’ve got it handled.” Atlas gives me a quick kiss and heads downstairs.
As the sky flashes and thunder booms, I put away the last dish and straighten the dish towels. With nothing left to clean, I settle onto the couch and reach for my crochet project. I don’t feel like sitting still, but keeping my hands busy should relax me.
When I reach for the fleece blanket that’s usually on the back of the couch, I remember that I was using it earlier in the ops center. As I go downstairs to retrieve it, the storm sounds grow duller. The thick walls and the absence of large windows on the lower level help muffle the noise.
Equipment hums as usual, but as I get closer to the command desk, I hear something else.
It sounds like heavy breathing.
Heart pounding, I freeze. I watch and listen for movement, but there’s nothing but the sound of ragged exhalations.
The armory door is ajar. I ease closer and find Silas inside.
Rather than working like he always is, he’s on a bench against the far wall, hunched over. His elbows are braced on his knees, and his hands are locked on the sides of his head so tightly that his knuckles are white. His chin is tucked, like he’s bracing for impact.
Another crack of thunder splits the air, and his whole body jerks.
“Silas,” I say gently.
He doesn’t look up. “Don’t. You shouldn’t be here.” He sounds like he’s short of breath.
This isn’t the same man who avoids eye contact. He isn’t responding with his usual cold distance or professional withdrawal. There’s something raw and exposed about him right now.
Another round of thunder hits, close enough that the sound seems to roll through the walls. Silas’s shoulders lock, and his breath stutters.
I step inside and close the door behind me.
His head snaps up, but he doesn't meet my eyes. “I said don’t.”
I keep my voice quiet, even. “I hear you.”
“You’re not listening.” His eyes are too bright as they scan past me like he’s tracking something that isn’t there. “This isn’t—” He cuts himself off and draws in a heavy breath. “You should go.”
He might not want someone with him, but he needs someone.
Another thunder clap, lower this time, and longer. I can imagine it sounding like artillery fire.
Silas’s breathing is shallow. His fingers flex with tension.
“You’re here,” I say softly. “You’re safe.”
He lets out a humorless laugh.
I take another step. “I’m not going to leave you alone like this.”
Another burst of thunder. Silas swears under his breath.
I reach for him and cautiously set a hand on his forearm.
He inhales sharply, his body stiffening. “Kira—”
“I know,” I whisper.
His throat works as he swallows. “I can’t—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I say. “Just don’t shut me out.”
He grips my wrist and holds tight, but as thunder rolls again, longer this time, something in him breaks. He pulls me in roughly, like he’s afraid I’m about to disappear. He presses his face to mine, his mouth at my cheek, his breath harsh and hot on my skin.
I hold him tightly, hoping my touch can ground him and give him what he needs to get through the storm.
We hold each other through the quiet and then through another round of thunder. Silas’s body twitches, but he keeps holding on. A minute later, when the next boom lands, he’s still, except for a breath shuddering out of him.
He pulls away, looks into my eyes, then gazes down at his hand that’s still holding my arm. His fingers flex, but he doesn’t let go.
“I’m here for you,” I whisper. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
His blue eyes meet mine again, searching.
His hand lets go of my wrist, only to wrap around the back of my head, his fingers burrowing into my hair. His beard brushes my face, and his mouth finds mine, desperate and wanting.
The kiss is nothing like I’ve shared with the others.
It’s urgent and fractured. Emotion bleeds through every movement, and every point of contact.
His teeth sink into my lower lip as his fingers dig into my arm.
His hands tremble where they grip me, and I kiss him back, even as his mouth bruises mine.
When he breaks away, still breathing hard, I hold onto him like that’s the only thing either of us needs.
“Don’t disappear on me,” I murmur.
He grips me tighter.
The storm rages outside, thunder booming again and again, but inside the armory, everything narrows to the two of us.
Somewhere between one jagged breath and the next, my sweater is gone.
Silas centers me on the bench, then drops to his knees in front of me.
His mouth is savage at my breast, his teeth scraping over my skin.
He sucks my nipples hard and squeezes handfuls of flesh in his palms, making me pant and cry out with need.
Just as suddenly, he stops moving. He breathes me in, then licks softly, soothing, sliding his hands around my body to unclasp my bra, his movements full of care.
He has me off kilter, but I’m exactly where I want to be.
I want him to use my body. I want him to take whatever he needs.
“Kira—”
I frame his head in my hands, sliding my fingers through his hair. “Don’t think, Silas. Just be.”
His breath is hot at my breast. I bring my hands back to the bench and curl my fingers around the edge to anchor myself. Whatever happens next will be his move.
If he leaves, I won’t try to stop him.
Looking me over, he makes a sound that’s low and broken. His hands come to my thighs and tighten, fingers digging into flesh.
He kisses me again, hungry. I weave my hands into his unzipped hoodie and tug it from his shoulders. I pull his dark, faded t-shirt over his head, our mouths only breaking long enough for it to clear.
I’ve glimpsed hints of tattoos edging up from beneath Silas’s collars, and I’ve always been curious. It turns out his shoulders and chest are covered in ink. A black and gray eagle dominates part of his chest, its wings half-open and its expression as watchful as its owner’s.
Another image at the center of his chest is so faded I barely make out the shape of a flaming heart pierced with arrows. A pale, uneven scar cuts along his ribs. It's old and half-hidden beneath muscle.
When our bodies meet, skin on skin, the last shards of his control fall away. His hands are everywhere. His mouth is everywhere.
He pushes a hand inside my pants, where he finds me wet and aching for him. With the heel of his palm pressing against me, he slides a finger inside, and both of us groan.
My hips lift to meet him when he pulls back and presses in again. He keeps at it as he pulls my pants and underwear down and out of the way.
For a moment, his eyes shift back to the Viper I know, taking in every inch of my body with skilled efficiency, filing away the data. Then the surveillance habit falls away, and his gaze is pure heat, burning hotter than a wildfire.
As he starts to work at his pants, he turns me, bending me over the bench, sliding his free hand down my back, over my hips, grabbing hold of me and keeping me steady.
From behind, he presses the blunt head of his cock inside me, his breath heaving. His movements are ragged, almost frantic. So uncontrolled for a man who’s been the very definition of the word ever since I met him, but after a few strokes, he starts to move in a rhythm.
With arms wrapped around me, one hand full of my dangling breasts, he bends over me, his full beard soft on the bare skin of my back as he pumps into me faster and faster.
He strums at my clit with his thumb, teasing with the perfect amount of pressure, making it hard to catch my breath as sensations spiral up from deep inside and gnaw at me, insistent.
Of course, this man who notices everything senses when I’m getting close, and he presses my clit while he sets his teeth into my shoulder, then swipes his tongue over the spot he made raw.
Everything spills out of me then. Desire, frustration, fear, need. It all swirls together along with pleasure. So much pleasure.
It consumes me. It pulls me under, but Silas holds me tight.
I’m locked in his solid arms as my body lets go, wave after wave pulsing through me.
He keeps moving inside me, slow and steady, and when I’m past my peak, he ruts into me again. Hard, feverish, desperate. His hand claws at my hip as he grunts, seizes, then pulls out of me all at once.
I gasp at the sudden emptiness, then a hot thread of cum lands on my back.
He groans as he paints my body with his release.
I twist to look at him and find his face tortured and intense.
He’s gone inward in a way I’ve never witnessed.
Finally, he lets out a long breath of relief before coming back to himself.
I brace myself for his reaction, hoping with all my might that he doesn’t regret it.
He doesn’t collapse on me. He doesn’t even take time to recover.
He fits his spent cock back inside his pants, then grabs for his sweatshirt and turns it inside out. With the soft side of the fabric, he wipes my body clean, thoroughly and efficiently, the way he does everything.
The storm still rumbles outside, further away now. He doesn’t seem to notice.
Without a word, he threads my underwear and pants back onto my legs and leaves me to pull them up. He hands me my bra and sweater. His focus is on the task at hand, getting us both dressed again.
Is he rushing to put this encounter in the past, or will he pretend it never even happened?
“I tried to stay out of it,” he says finally. “I thought distance would protect you.”
After I tug my sweater on, he pulls my hair loose of the collar and smooths the strands over my shoulder. His gaze is directed at what he’s doing, but his eyes seem unfocused.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I say quietly.