Not with intention. Not with hunger. Not with…respect.
My breath hitched.
“Silas…” I whispered.
His hands tightened on my thighs.
“Say it again.”
“Silas.”
He looked… undone. Like hearing his name from me had stripped something off him.
“Good boy. I love the sound of my name coming out of your mouth like that,” Silas murmured, his voice rough and satisfied.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he said, voice scraping raw. “But you have to let me. You stay still, you keep your eyes on me, and you tell me if anything feels too much.”
“Okay,” I breathed.
“And if you want me to stop?—”
“I won’t.”
He shook his head. “If you want me to stop?—”
“I’ll say it,” I promised. “I will.”
He held my gaze another beat, searching. Then he nodded.
“Good.”
He slid my sleep pants down my hips—slow enough that I felt the drag of fabric on overheated skin. I swallowed hard, nerves jumping. He peeled them to mid-thigh, then lower.
When he reached the waistband of my underwear, my hand flew to his wrist on instinct.
He froze instantly.
“Kellan.”
Just my name, nothing else, but the tone said everything.
Your call.
You choose this.
Not me.
I swallowed and nodded.
“It’s okay. I want— I want you to.”
His eyes softened just a fraction.
Then he took the waistband, tugged, and I felt cool air hit heated skin.
I sucked in a breath.
Silas’ voice dropped, dark and awed.
