My voice was quiet. “It’s not enough to want something. You have to know what it’ll cost.”
He stepped closer, close enough that the heat from his body slid up the front of mine like steam off a fever.
“I do,” he said. “And I’d still pay it.”
The air snapped between us. And this time, I was the one who broke it.
I kissed him.
Or maybe he kissed me. I couldn’t tell.
One second there was space, and the next it was gone. His mouth caught mine like he’d been starving for it, hands finding my waist, not yanking—anchoring. Like he knew I’d bolt if he held me too hard.
I clutched the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. I tasted want and warning and heat and something more dangerous than either of us could name.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, I said, “This is a bad idea.”
He smiled. Slow. Dark. Devastating. “The best ones always are.”
12
SILAS
Portia’s kiss lingered on my lips, a spark that set my blood ablaze. We stood in the guest suite, the door’s click still echoing, the air thick with heat and unspoken promises. Her ivory silk dress clung to her curves, a tease of fabric that barely hid what I’d been craving since that shop—her body, her fire, her surrender.
My pulse pounded, my cock straining against my jeans, and I knew we were done pretending. No more games, no more walls. Just us, raw and reckless, ready to tear each other apart.
“Take off your dress,” I said, my voice low, rough, a command that sliced through the silence.
She froze, her dark eyes locking onto mine, wide with a mix of defiance and hunger. Her chest rose and fell, the silk stretching over her breasts, her nipples tight against the fabric.
She didn’t move, just stood there, testing me, daring me to push harder.
The pause stretched, heavy, and my control frayed, my hands itching to rip that dress off and feel her skin under mine.
“Do it,” I growled, stepping closer. “Now, Portia.”
Her lips parted, a flicker of challenge in her gaze, but then her hands moved.
Slow, torturous, she reached for the straps, her fingers grazing her shoulders as she slid them down. The silk whispered against her skin, slipping past her breasts, her waist, her hips, pooling at her feet like spilled moonlight.
My breath caught, my eyes drinking her in.
No bra, no panties—just her. Her body was a fucking revelation: caramel skin glowing in the soft light, full breasts with dark, pebbled nipples, a curve of waist that begged for my hands, and the shadowed heat between her thighs that made my mouth water.
She was more beautiful naked than I’d dreamed, and I’d dreamed plenty.
“Get on the bed,” I said, my voice thick, the words a struggle against the need clawing at me.
She stepped out of the dress, her heels clicking, her movements deliberate, like she knew how much she was wrecking me. She crossed to the king-sized bed, the white sheets crisp and inviting, and sat on the edge, leaning back on her elbows. Her eyes never left mine, a silent dare, her body an open invitation.
My cock throbbed, my hands flexing at my sides, but I held back, savoring the sight of her—bare, bold, waiting for me.
“Spread your legs,” I commanded, my voice a low rumble, my gaze locked on her.
Her eyes flashed, but she obeyed, parting her thighs slowly, revealing the slick, glistening heat of her.
My breath hitched, my control slipping as I saw how wet she was, how ready. Her scent hit me—musk and desire—and I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to dive between her legs and lose myself.
