39. Uncover
Uncover
Silas
I press my lips to hers, savoring the warmth of her mouth, the silkiness of her skin beneath my fingertips.
I don’t rush. I let the kiss build. Slow, teasing pecks that grow into deeper, consuming contact.
My tongue glides against hers in a languid stroke, drawing out a breathy whimper that has me hard.
The sound of her sigh is a reward, a fucking brand on my senses, and I drink it in like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
I pull back just enough to see the dazed look in her eyes before lacing my fingers with hers, guiding her toward the bed. The moment stretches between us, thick with anticipation, crackling like a slow-burning fuse.
Releasing her hand, I reach behind my neck and tug my shirt over my head, letting it drop to the floor. My skin hums as her gaze rakes over me, but I don’t give her long to look before my hands find the buttons of her shirt.
One by one, I undo them, purposefully slow, peeling back the fabric to reveal every inch of smooth, inviting skin.
I let my fingertips brush against her as I work, tracing the newly exposed flesh, memorizing the heat of her, the way her breath stutters when I graze the sensitive skin of the side of her breast.
By the time I push the shirt off her shoulders, my restraint is hanging by a thread, but I contain it, I don’t hurry. Not tonight. Tonight, I want to take my time unraveling her. Piece by piece, sound by sound, breath by breath. I want it all from her tonight.
With her shirt pooling at our feet, I let myself look, really look.
My reverent gaze traces every bit of her, taking in the way her skin glows in the dim lamplight.
She watches me, a quiet confidence in the way she reaches behind her back.
A small shift of her shoulders, the whisper of fabric sliding down her arms, and then her bra is gone, leaving her bare before me.
I swallow hard, my fingers twitching at my sides. My restraint is razor-thin. She must notice it because her lips tip up in the faintest of smiles.
"Touch me, Silas." Her request unravels something in me, a knot of hesitation I didn’t realize I was holding.
I reach out, palms skimming over her tender skin, cupping the weight of her breasts in my hands.
Her breath hitches, lashes fluttering as her head tilts back.
Her heart beats against my palm, quick and insistent.
I’ve touched her before, tasted her before, but this, this is different.
There’s no desperation, no grief-laced need to take and forget.
This is about something deeper. A deep knowing.
A simmering desire. An all consuming need.
Her eyes open, locking onto mine. “Can I touch you?” she asks, her voice like silk over raw nerves.
I nod, barely breathing as her delicate hand presses against my chest. Her touch is featherlight, but it burns like a match struck in the dark.
She moves slowly, tracing the lines of my body, memorizing me as if she has all the time in the world.
When she reaches my belt, she pauses, looking up at me through her lashes.
The metal clinks, the leather slides free, and then she’s unfastening my jeans, the rasp of the zipper impossibly loud in the quiet space between us.
“I like it when you touch me, dove,” I mutter, my voice rough.
A coy smile curves her lips. “I like touching you, Silas.”
I reach between us, undoing the button of her jeans, my fingers grazing the bare skin of her hips. We move together, pushing away the last of the fabric between us until there’s nothing left to hide behind.
And then we stand in quiet communion, breathing in the weight of the moment. No rush, no urgency. Years of solitude, of longing unspoken, about to be broken. Both of us knowing we’re about to leave behind the ones we once loved for the one we might be able to love now.