"Keep your eyes on me,sangfluir. That's all I need."
And then he wraps his hand around himself and strokes roughly. My mouth parts as I watch him, the way he works his hard cock, his breathing increasing as pained bliss crosses his face. It's so fucking erotic that I hold my breath, wanting to see him fall over the edge.
When he does, it's with a shudder as he groans my name—and I gasp as his come paints my tits again and again while he continues pumping himself.
Gods. Why did I like that so much?
Finally sated, Silas surprises me by dropping back to his knees and pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is luxurious, and when he pulls back, we gaze at each other.
But my curiosity is building again, and without looking away from him, I swipe my index finger through his release and raise it to my lips for another taste.
Silas's gaze turns searing, and he groans brokenly.
"You'll be the death of me," he whispers in fae, closing in for another kiss.
That's what I'm afraid of.
But our kiss is interrupted when someone knocks on the door, startling us both. Silas huffs and stands, grabbing a dark bathrobe from its spot on a hanger by the door to his bathroom.
I go from feeling dazed in an afterglow to battling amusement. Because of course, he has a bathrobe like any melodramatic fae on the brink of madness might. It somehow makes perfect sense for him.
Silas ties the front of it and throws the door open, snapping, "What is it?"
"Oh! Mr. Crane, I d—do apologize," Mr. Gibbons sputters.
I'm sure the bushy-browed legacy must be turning ten shades of red, realizing he's interrupted Silas'sextracurricularactivities.
Even though I know he can't see me, I grab the blanket from the floor and wrap it back around myself. As I do, my attention moves back to the wetness still left between my thighs from Silas eating my soul out.
And touching me.
The events of the last half hour start to sink in, and my body breaks into a cold sweat as I shut my eyes.
Safe. That touch was safe. Don't freak out.
My nervous system doesn't get the memo, and now all I can think about are maggots. Those corpse-eating worms terrorized me when I was younger, and so they were incorporated into my conditioning—especially when it came to avoiding physical touch. I feel like their wriggling phantom bodies are all over me again, trying to burrow into my flesh.
My stomach clenches dangerously.
"What couldn't have waited until the morning?" Silas seethes.
“W—well, it seems that no one in your quintet reported your chosen emphasis during the Matched Ball…and you see, at the end of the celebration, I was?—"
He starts rambling about how he searched for Silas during the dance to get our emphasis because he wants to ensure we're put in classes with the best professors. But I'm not paying attention as I start swallowing repeatedly to try to keep bile from rising in my throat.
Damn it. I needsomethingto distract me.
A shower. I need a shower.
I stagger to my feet. Silas is still standing with the door barely ajar so the interim headmaster can't see inside, but he glances over his shoulder at me and immediately tenses.
"Combat," he snaps at Mr. Gibbons before slamming the door and rushing to my side.
"Damn me to hell. I forgot that you have…" He shakes his head, changing whatever he was about to say. "Tell me how to fix this."
Shaving my skin off would be a good start.
But since I doubt he'll take me up on that, I sidestep him to hurry into his bathroom, locking the door. As soon as I'm alone, I strip and stumble into the shower, turning it on and breathing out a sigh of relief when the sharp cold of the spray eases my body out of the fight or flight mode that was crippling me a moment ago.
