Your throat wasmadeto be fucked.
Just like that, baby.
His grip tightened, the rhythm turning brutal, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t adjust. All I could do was let him use me. My throat burned, spit running hot down my chin, humiliation and heat tangling in my gut.
“That’s it,” he groaned, hips rolling deeper. “Take me. God, you’re perfect — on your knees, choking on my cock.”
I whimpered around him, nails biting into his thighs, not sure if I wanted to claw him open or melt.
He held me down, relentless. “Such a smart mouth… finally doing something useful.” His laugh broke into a moan, rough and needy. “You love this. Don’t pretend you don’t. You love letting me fuck your throat.”
The shame of it, the way my body reacted anyway, made me shake. My eyes blurred, chest heaving, and he stroked his thumb across my jaw, soft against the harshness of his thrusts.
“Good. That’s my girl. Taking me so well.” His voice cracked, deeper, darker. “You’re gonna swallow every drop, sweetheart. Don’t youdarewaste a single bit of me.”
I moaned, helpless, and the vibration made him curse viciously. His hips stuttered, muscles taut, and then he spilled hot and thick ropes against the back of my tongue.
I almost choked again, but he held me steady, guiding me through it, muttering broken filth above me. “That’s it. Swallow me down. Fuck, Colette, you’re unreal.”
When he finally let me go, my lips were swollen, chin wet, chest heaving — and his eyes, wild and dark as they dragged over me, told me he liked me ruined exactly like this.
Silas sunk to his knees before me, cradling my face in hands still trembling from aftershocks. His thumbs brushed my cheeks like I was breakable — like he’d just discovered something worth praying to.
“Christ,” he breathed, forehead resting against mine, eyes still dark and unfocused. “You’re going to be the fucking end of me.”
The words weren’t teasing. They were raw. Reverent.
And when he opened his eyes again, that spark — the one I’d been dancing around since the moment we met — flared like he finally understood just how doomed we both were.
Silas stayed there on his knees, chest still rising unevenly, eyes flicking over me like he couldn't decide whether to kiss me or wreck me all over again.
His fingers slid down from my face to my throat, feather-lightbut possessive, and his voice — low, ruined — pulled something molten straight through me.
“You taste like sin," he murmured, lips brushing my jaw. "And I’m a greedy, greedy man."
His hand slid lower, tracing the edge ofhisshirt where it had ridden up, thumb grazing bare skin. The heat in his eyes was back, the kind that promised hours — days — of being undone.
“You get on your knees like that for anyone else,” he said quietly, obscenely calm, “and I swear I’ll drag you back here and fuck you on every surface of this house until you forget every name but mine.”
He pressed a slow kiss to my collarbone. “Starting with this fucking floor.”
CHAPTER 24
Silas
The worldslowly stitched itself back together around us. Her breathing settled first. Mine followed, but my pulse was still a damn drum line.
Colette blinked at me, lashes heavy, lips kiss-swollen in a way that made my brain shut down entirely for a dangerous second. Then she looked down at the utterly destroyed kitchen floor, at the flour and cracked egg and god-knows-what stuck to our knees and clothes, and let out a tiny, breathless laugh.
“We’re…,” she started, glancing between us, “we’re a disaster.”
I ran a hand through my hair, still kneeling, still unable to stop staring at her. “You started it,” I said.
She shoved at my shoulder, cheeks pinkening. “I was trying to make us breakfast!”
“It wasmostlyyour fault.”
“I was scrambling eggs, Silas.”
