22. Shadows in Daylight #6
“God, you feel incredible,” he groans, his forehead pressed against mine, his breath coming in harsh pants. “So tight. So perfect.” He withdraws almost completely, and I whimper at the loss, only to cry out again as he slams back in, the force of it driving me up the mattress.
His hands never still, one moment gripping my ass to tilt my hips, the next carding through my hair to pull my head back, baring my throat for his teeth and tongue.
He marks me with nips and kisses, leaving a trail of heat in his wake, and the possessiveness in his gaze makes something inside me unravel.
His teeth graze my earlobe, then bite down as he growls, “Mine,” the word more animal than human.
His hips snap against me with bruising force, establishing a rhythm that borders on frenzy.
“Mine to protect. Mine to devour.” Each snarled claim punctuated by a thrust so deep I taste it in my throat.
The wet, carnal sounds of our joining echo obscenely in the room, my arousal dripping down his length and onto the sheets beneath us.
“Yours,” I agree breathlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist to draw him closer, my heels digging into his lower back. “And you’re mine, Silas.” My nails rake down his back, leaving red trails in their wake, marking him as thoroughly as he’s marking me.
The pleasure claws through me with each savage thrust, a wild thing coiling and snapping in my core. His cock drags against places inside me that make my vision blur, that make me bite down to keep from howling. When his hips slam against mine, the impact jolts through my bones, animal and primal.
“Touch yourself,” he growls, teeth bared, sweat dripping from his jaw onto my breast. “I need to feel you come apart around me.”
I obey without hesitation, my hand sliding between our bodies to find my swollen clit.
The first touch makes me gasp, the bundle of nerves so sensitive that even the lightest pressure sends jolts of pleasure through me.
I circle it with my fingers, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and the dual stimulation rapidly pushes me toward the edge.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his eyes locked on where my hand works between us, where his cock disappears into my body again and again. “So beautiful. So perfect. Come for me.”
I come so hard my spine bends like a bow, squeezing him inside me with each pulse while pleasure floods every inch of me.
I hear myself—some animal sound I didn’t know I could make—bouncing off the walls of this room that’s finally ours.
My whole body shakes with it, wild and helpless.
I’m soaked, dripping around him, making a mess of us both, and God, I don’t care, I want him to feel exactly what he does to me.
Silas loses it right after me, breaking his usual silence with a sound that’s half growl, half my name against my neck.
His hips stutter and then slam home one last time, his whole body going taut as a bowstring above me.
I feel every pulse as he comes, hot and deep, filling me up in waves that trigger little aftershocks of my own.
My body squeezes around him, greedy for every last drop, and I can’t help the sounds I make, half-wild things that belong to him alone.
After, as our breathing slows and our heartbeats gradually return to normal rhythms, we lie tangled in sheets that still smell faintly of newness.
I can feel him softening inside me, can feel the warm trickle of our combined fluids as he slowly withdraws.
The loss makes me whimper, suddenly feeling empty, and he soothes me with gentle kisses pressed to my temple, my cheek, my lips.
His fingers trace idle patterns along my spine while mine explore the strong line of his jaw, the vulnerable hollow of his throat, the pulse that beats steady and sure beneath my touch. My body feels languid, satisfied, marked by him in ways both visible and invisible.
“Do you like it?” he asks, still breathless. The question is so earnest that I can’t help but laugh. After everything we’ve just shared, he still wants verbal confirmation that his gift pleases me.
“It’s perfect,” I assure him, propping myself up to look at him properly. “Not just beautiful, but meaningful. You’ve created something that honours both our histories while making space for our future.”
Something relaxes in his expression, a tension I hadn’t even realized he was carrying.
“I wanted to show you that I understand what you’ve been saying.
About balance. About not being defined solely by duty.
” His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with practised ease.
“This room is neither purely historical preservation nor modern convenience. It’s both. As we can be both.”
I lean down and kiss him, my heart full at what he’s done for us. This room says everything, the way he kept the old bones but made it ours, how the windows both shield and let light through. It hits me that Silas gets it now, gets us, in a way I couldn’t explain if I tried for days.