“It’s impossible,” I said.
“Maybe,” he breathed. “But it’s real.”
The air between us changed. Shifted. Grew thick with the kind of gravity I’d sworn to ignore.
“You scare the hell out of me,” he said, voice low.
My breath hitched. His eyes—storm-gray, predatory—pinned me in place. “You undo me,” I whispered, the confession spilling like blood.
He crossed the room in three strides, his calloused hand cupping my jaw, fingers splaying across my cheek, warm and trembling with barely leashed restraint. His scent—raw male power—flooded my senses. I surged forward, crashing my lips against his, no hesitation, no mercy. I kissed him like he was my salvation and my damnation, my tongue claiming his with desperate hunger.
Silas groaned, a primal sound that vibrated through my bones, his hands seizing my hips and yanking me against him. His erection pressed hard against my stomach, a promise of ruin. His mouth devoured mine—teeth clashing, tongues battling, reckless and ravenous.
“I could buy you anything,” he rasped between kisses, “a private island, a jet to fuck you at forty thousand feet. Name it, and it’s yours.”
“Shut up and take me,” I growled, fisting his shirt.
He lifted me effortlessly, my thighs wrapping around his waist as I ground against the rigid length of him. My back hit the plush mattress, and he followed, his lips never leaving mine.
His eyes darkened. “You’re mine tonight,” he vowed, peeling my clothes off with reverent precision, leaving me bare and trembling beneath him. His gaze raked over me, worship and hunger fused into something unholy. “Fuck, Portia. You’re a goddamn masterpiece.”
“Then ruin me,” I challenged.
He unbuckled his belt with a flick. His boxer briefs followed, freeing his thick, pulsing cock, and I reached for him, wrapping my hand around his velvet steel. He hissed, hips jerking. “You’re playing with fire,” he warned.
“Then burn me,” I whispered, stroking him slow and deliberate, relishing the way his control frayed.
Silas caught my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand. His other hand slid between my thighs, finding me slick and ready. “So fucking wet,” he growled, two fingers plunging deep, curling expertly to hit that spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. I moaned, hips bucking, body already spiraling.
“For me?” he demanded, his thumb circling my clit with maddening precision.
“For you,” I gasped. “Always for you, Silas.”
His growl was feral, and then his fingers were gone, replaced by the blunt head of his cock. He teased my entrance, dragging himself through my folds, coating himself in my arousal. “Beg,” he ordered, voice raw.
“Please,” I whimpered, shameless. “Fuck me.”
He thrust in, one long, brutal stroke that stretched me to the edge of pain and pleasure, filling me so completely I screamed his name. He paused, letting me feel every inch of him, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, almost reverent.
Then he moved.
Slow at first, each thrust a deliberate invasion, his hips grinding against my clit with every deep plunge. My nails raked his back, drawing blood, marking him as mine. “Harder,” I begged, voice breaking.
“Like this?” he rasped, snapping his hips with military precision, driving into me with a force that shook the bed. The room filled with the sounds of our bodies—skin slapping, my gasps, his curses.
“Yes—God, yes—” I chanted, my legs wrapping tighter around him, pulling him deeper.
He shifted, hooking my knees over his shoulders, the new angle hitting places that made my vision blur. His hand slid between us, fingers circling my clit in time with his thrusts, relentless, expert. “Come for me,” he growled. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me like a grenade, my walls clenching around him as I screamed his name. He didn’t stop, drawing out my pleasure with slow, deep thrusts, his eyes locked on mine, drinking in every tremor.
But he wasn’t done.
He flipped me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up until I was on my knees, my face pressed into the sheets. “You’re not finished,” he said, voice dark with promise. He entered me again, this time from behind, his hands gripping my hips with bruising force. Each thrust was a claim, a brand, his cock hitting that perfect spot over and over.
“Silas,” I moaned, my hands fisting the fabric, my body already climbing again.
“I missed you,” he groaned, his chest pressed to my back, his lips grazing my ear. “Every fucking night, I dreamed of this.”
