Chapter Fourteen #2
His words sink into me, peeling back the armor I’ve worn for so long. I don’t bristle at being read so easily, instead I just…feel seen. The walls I’d built to keep him out suddenly seemed paper-thin, useless against his honesty.
“Silas,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move to touch me. He just waits.
I draw in a shaky breath and shift on my bedroll, hugging my knees to steady myself.
Slowly, I lean forward, drawn to the warmth of the flames and of him.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I lift a trembling hand, letting my fingers brush along the strong line of his jaw.
His eyes darken and I catch the way his shoulders tense, a shiver running through him.
“Beatrice,” he exhales.
“Kiss me, you idiot.”
That is all the permission he needs.
His arms come around me, crushing me to his chest. His mouth finds mine, and it isn’t like any of the kisses I’d known before. It is claiming and reverent all at once, a storm of suppressed need and possession. I melt into him, my hands tangling in his long, dark hair, pulling him closer.
He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against my skin as his lips trail down my neck. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “Of the taste of you.”
He lowers us both onto the soft fur of the bedroll. His solid weight settles over me, his hand sliding up my side, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin
fabric of my blouse. The ache there, which has been a constant, dull throb, sharpens into a desperate, needy pulse.
“Silas,” I breathe, arching into his touch. “Please.”
He understands. His eyes, dark as midnight, hold mine as his fingers deftly loosen the laces of my shirt. The cool night air hits my feverish skin, and then his warm palm covers me. A moan tears from my throat.
He lowers his head, his breath ghosting over my taut nipple. “So beautiful,” he whispers. “All of you.”
And then his mouth is on me.
The sensation is electric, a bolt of pure, white-hot pleasure that shatters every thought in my head.
His tongue circles the peak, lapping at the bead of moisture that has already gathered there before drawing me deep into the heat of his mouth.
He suckles, gently at first, then with a growing intensity that has me crying out, my fingers clutching at his shoulders.
It is nothing like the farm boys. This isn’t just a physical release. This is…worship. Every pull of his mouth seems to draw not just milk, but the very poison of my loneliness and fear from my soul. I am floating, tethered to the earth only by the anchor of his body on mine.
When he finally pulls away, both of us breathless, he looks down at me, his expression one of awe. “You are everything to me, Beatrice,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “Everything.”
He kisses me again, deeply, and I can taste the faint, sweet trace of my own milk on his tongue. Now, for the first time since they’d torn me from my bed, I felt not like a captive, not like a Hucow, but like a woman. Desired. Cherished.
I tear my mouth from his, gasping for air as I push against his chest, and he releases me instantly, his own breathing ragged.
“Silas, wait.”
His eyes search mine as he pauses for me to continue.
I shake my head, the words tumbling out, a defense forged in blunt, painful honesty.
“You should know…I’m not…I’m not some blushing virgin waiting for a bull to claim her.
” I force myself to hold his gaze, my voice dropping, laced with a bitter, self-deprecating spice.
“So don’t think you’re getting some untouched, innocent little cow. ”
I expect shock or disappointment. The cold withdrawal of a possessive male realizing his prize is flawed.
It doesn’t come.
A slow, devastating smile curves his perfect mouth. His eyes darken with something hotter, deeper than mere lust. It’s pure, unadulterated hunger.
“Good,” he rasps, his voice like gravel.
His thumb strokes my lower lip, a tender gesture that makes me shudder.
“I don’t want innocent.” He leans in again, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
“I want a woman who knows her own mind. A woman who knows what she wants. And I am going to spend the rest of my damn life making you forget every boy’s name in that beautiful, furious head, except for mine. ”
His words are a sinfully delicious promise that coils low in my belly. The fight drains out of me, replaced by a throbbing, aching need that’s entirely new. He doesn’t see my past as a flaw. He sees it as a reason to ruin me for anyone else.
And Gods help me, I want him to.
“You’re perfect exactly how you are.” His thumbs brush over my nipples again, and a broken moan tears from my lips. He lowers his head, his tongue laving over one peak, then the other, drawing a soft, helpless cry from me.
But he doesn’t stop there. His mouth blazes a path down my stomach, hands hooking into the waistband of my trousers and dragging them down my legs in one slow, deliberate motion, leaving me completely bare and exposed to him, to the night. This is it. There’s no hiding now.
I should feel shy. But, the look in his eyes as he kneels between my legs steals all my breath. He’s looking at me like I’m the answer to every question he’s been asking his whole life.
“Look at you,” he rasps in a low growl. He uses his thumbs to gently spread me open, exposing me completely.
“So beautiful. So pink and wet…all for me.” He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over my most sensitive flesh, and I shudder violently.
“This pretty little cunt is mine to taste. Mine to worship.”
Then his tongue is on me.
It’s a flat, slow, deliberate lick from my entrance all the way up to my clit, and my back arches off the ground, a cry ripping from my throat. It’s too much. It’s not enough. I need—
“Silas!” I gasp, my hands flying to his head, my fingers instinctively tangling in his hair, finding the solid, warm base of his horns. I hold on, anchoring myself as the world begins to spin.
He groans against me, the vibration shooting straight to my core. “That’s it, my fire. Hold on to me.”
He eats me like a starving man, his tongue delving deep inside me before flicking relentlessly against my clit. He laps at my arousal, drinking me down, his low, appreciative groans telling me more than words ever could. He loves this. He loves the taste of me, the feel of me. He loves me.
“So sweet,” he groans, his tongue circling my clit in tight, maddening circles.
I am mindless, lost in a storm of sensation.
My hips buck off the ground, meeting every stroke of his tongue, grinding myself against his face.
I’m fucking his tongue. I use the grip on his horns to guide his mouth exactly where I need it, chasing my release with a desperation I’ve never known. More, more, more.
“Right there,” I sob, my body tightening like a coiled spring. “Oh, Gods, don’t stop, please, Silas, please!”
He redoubles his efforts, sucking my clit into his mouth, his tongue fluttering over the hypersensitive bud while his finger presses firmly against my entrance, applying a perfect, delicious pressure as he pushes it inside me.
It’s that final, overwhelming sensation.
My climax detonates, shattering me into a million brilliant pieces.
I scream his name, my body convulsing, my thighs clamping around his head as I ride wave after wave of pure, blinding ecstasy, grinding against his relentless mouth until I am spent, boneless, and trembling. I am nothing. I am everything.
He gentles, licking softly through my aftershocks, kissing my inner thighs with a tenderness that makes my eyes sting. Finally, he lifts his head. His lips and chin are glistening with my release. He looks utterly debauched. And he is looking at me like I hung every star in the sky.
He crawles up my body, his weight a comforting anchor. He smooths away the tangled hair from my damp forehead and kisses me softly. When his tongue brushes mine, I taste myself. Our lips break apart as he shifts back just enough to shove his own leathers down his hips.
My breath catches, strangles in my throat.
Gods.
I knew Minotaurs were…proportioned. I’d heard all about it from a giggling Maeve.
But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of him.
His cock is enormous. A long, heavy length of rigid flesh that juts from his body, thick and veined, and glistening already at the tip.
It’s intimidating. It should be terrifying.
But the sight of it sends a fresh flood of heat between my legs.
I feel myself clench around nothing, aching, empty, needing. I want it inside me. Now.
“Silas,” I moan, spreading my legs wider in invitation, and he doesn’t make me wait. He positions himself at my entrance, the broad, swollen head of him pressing against my core. He’s so big. For a heart-stopping second, I wonder if it’s even possible.
“Relax for me, my fire,” he murmurs, his voice strained with the effort of his control. Then he pushes.
A sharp, stretching burn makes me gasp, my nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. He pauses, letting my body adjust to the overwhelming intrusion, his forehead pressed to mine, his breathing ragged.
“More,” I whisper, arching my hips. “Don’t stop.”
A low growl rumbles in his chest. He thrusts forward, a slow, inexorable slide that steals the air from my lungs.
I feel myself stretching, yielding, accommodating his impossible girth until he’s fully sheathed, buried so deep I can feel him in my soul.
There’s a fleeting, sharp pain, but it’s swallowed whole by the mind-numbing fullness. He fits. He fits me perfectly.
“Gods, Beatrice,” he groans, his body trembling. “You’re so tight. So perfect.”
Then he begins to move.