Chapter 6 – Sage
Silas stands by the fireplace, firelight playing across the planes of his face, his expression caught between desire and restraint. I remain on the couch, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders, heart pounding against my ribs.
I've never wanted anyone the way I want him right now.
"Come here," I say softly, letting the blanket slip from my shoulders.
He doesn't move. "Sage—"
"Please." I hold his gaze steadily. "We've said everything that needs saying. Now I want you to come here."
He moves toward me slowly, each step deliberate. When he reaches the couch, he doesn't sit. Instead, he stands before me, looking down with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
"Are you sure?" he asks, voice low and rough.
I rise to meet him, closing the last distance between us. "Yes."
My hands find his chest first, feeling the solid warmth through his shirt. His breath catches slightly at the contact. Then I lean up and press my mouth to his.
The kiss begins tentative, a question asked with lips and breath. His restraint is palpable, held tight in the tension of his jaw, the way he allows the contact without deepening it. Testing me, perhaps. Or himself.
I press closer, sliding one hand up to his neck, feeling his pulse hammer beneath my fingertips. His control breaks in a single, fluid motion. His arms wrap around me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other pressed to my lower back, drawing me against him.
His hands are large, warm, one moving up to tangle in my hair, the other tracing the curve of my spine through my sweater. Every point of contact burns.
When we finally part, both breathing hard, his eyes have darkened to midnight. His thumb traces my lower lip, damp from his kiss.
"We should slow down," he says, but his hand stays at my waist, holding me close.
"We've been slow," I counter, letting my fingers drift to the buttons of his shirt. "For hours."
His hand covers mine, not stopping, just slowing the movement. "You haven't done this before."
"All the more reason not to waste time."
A hint of smile touches his lips, quickly replaced by something more serious. "It matters to me that it's good for you. That means not rushing."
I nod, allowing him to set the pace. He leads me back to the couch, sitting and drawing me down beside him. Not touching yet, just close enough to feel the heat radiating between us.
"May I?" he asks, fingers brushing the hem of my sweater.
I nod, lifting my arms as he draws the fabric up and over my head. The cabin air is cool against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.
He allows me to unbutton his shirt, my fingers fumbling slightly with unfamiliar movement. When I push it from his shoulders, I'm greeted by the sight of tanned skin stretched over muscle.
I place my palm flat against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart. The hair there is peppered with gray, softer than I expected. I let my hand drift lower, tracing the firm plane of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch.
"Come here," he says, voice rough, and pulls me onto his lap.
The new position brings us face to face, my knees on either side of his thighs. His hands settle at my waist, steadying me.
I lean forward to kiss him again, and this time there's no hesitation. His mouth meets mine with hunger, his hands sliding up my back to tangle in my hair. The kiss deepens, tongues meeting, teeth grazing my lower lip in a way that sends electricity down my spine.
He unhooks my bra with practiced ease, drawing the straps down my arms and tossing it aside. The cool air makes my nipples tighten, but then his hands are there, warm and slightly rough, cupping the weight of my breasts.
I gasp at the sensation, arching into his touch. His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, leaving a path of heat in its wake. When his lips close around one nipple, I cry out softly, fingers digging into his shoulders.
He takes his time, alternating between gentle suction and teasing flicks of his tongue, his beard creating a delicious friction against my skin. His other hand continues its exploration, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, learning the geography of my body with methodical attention.
I rock against him, seeking pressure where I need it most. Through the layers of fabric still between us, I can feel him hard beneath me.
"Silas," I murmur, voice catching as his teeth graze my nipple. "I want—"
"What do you want?" he asks, mouth moving against my skin. "Tell me."
"More," I manage. "Touch me."
His hand slides between us, finding the button of my jeans. He undoes it slowly, then the zipper, all while his mouth continues its attention to my breast. When his fingers finally slip beneath the denim to brush against me through my underwear, I gasp, hips jerking forward.
"Sensitive," he observes, voice rough with want. "Good."
He shifts me off his lap, laying me back against the couch cushions. His fingers hook in the waistband of my jeans, and I lift my hips to help as he slides them down my legs. The air is cool against my newly exposed skin, but his hands are warm as they trail back up my calves, my thighs.
When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he pauses, looking up at me. The question is clear in his eyes.
"Yes," I whisper, lifting my hips again in invitation.
He draws the fabric down slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. When I'm finally bare before him, I resist the urge to cover myself. His eyes travel over me with such appreciation, such hunger, that any shyness evaporates in the heat of his gaze.
His hand slides between my thighs, fingers gentle as they part me, finding the slick heat at my center.
The first touch makes me gasp against his mouth. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss as his fingers explore with precision.
When his thumb finds the sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with just the right pressure, I break the kiss on a moan. My hips move of their own accord, seeking more.
"That's it," he murmurs, lips trailing down my neck. "Show me what you like."
His finger slips inside me, slow and testing. I tense briefly at the unfamiliar intrusion, but his mouth is at my breast again, distracting me with pleasure as he works me open gently.
"Okay?" he asks, pausing to check.
"Don't stop," I breathe, hands clutching at his shoulders.
He adds a second finger, stretching me while his thumb continues its circular motion above. My breathing grows ragged, hips moving in counterpoint to his hand.
I reach for him, pulling him down for a kiss that's messier, more desperate than before.
"I want you," I say against his mouth. "All of you."
He pulls back slightly, studying my face. "We don't have to go further. This can be enough."
"It's not," I say firmly. "Not for me."
He stands, offering his hand. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet, feeling oddly graceful in my nakedness.
"Not here," he says. "Bed."
He leads me to his bedroom, where embers glow in another fireplace, casting the room in dim orange light. The bed is large, neatly made with dark blankets. He turns to face me, hands going to the waistband of his pants.
My fingers work the button, then the zipper, pushing the fabric down his hips. He steps out of them, standing before me in just his underwear, his bulge straining against the fabric.
I hook my fingers in the waistband, drawing them down slowly. When he springs free, I can't help but stare for a moment—the size of him, the heat radiating from his skin.
"Second thoughts?" he asks, voice tight.
I shake my head, reaching out to wrap my hand around him.
His sharp intake of breath emboldens me, and I stroke experimentally, learning the feel of him—velvet over steel, hot and pulsing in my palm.
The weight of him surprises me, as does the way he twitches in response to my touch.
I tighten my grip slightly, sliding my hand from base to tip, watching his face as his eyes close briefly.
"Like this?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Yes," he breathes, then catches my wrist. "But not like this. Not the first time."
He guides me to the bed, drawing back the covers before laying me down against the sheets. They're cool and soft against my heated skin, a pleasant contrast to the fire burning through my veins. He moves between my legs, his weight settling over me in a way that feels both thrilling and grounding.
He braces himself on his forearms, careful not to crush me. I can feel him against my inner thigh, hard and insistent.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, claiming and possessive in a way that makes me arch up against him.
My hands explore his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath warm skin, the slight dampness of sweat beginning to form.
He shifts, his mouth trailing down my neck, across my collarbone, finding my breast again.
His eyes find mine, serious despite the flush of desire on his face.
"This will hurt," he says quietly. "Not much, and not for long, but it will. Tell me if you need me to stop."
I nod, reaching up to touch his face, feeling the rasp of his beard against my palm. "I trust you."
He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm, then reaches between us, positioning himself at my entrance.
The first press of him against me is foreign, overwhelming—hot, blunt pressure seeking entry.
He goes slowly, maddeningly so, the head of him just barely breaching me, then withdrawing slightly, then pressing forward again.
The teasing friction builds heat even as it prepares me.
I feel myself opening to him, my body yielding incrementally with each shallow thrust.
When he meets resistance, he pauses, his eyes never leaving mine. I can see the strain of restraint in the tension of his jaw, the slight tremor in his arms as he holds himself above me.
"Breathe," he murmurs, one hand stroking my hair back from my face.