God…I didn’t want to wait.
Not anymore.
“Silas,” I whispered. “Don’t make me beg.”
A shudder rippled through him, and something wild flickered in his eyes.
Then he was pulling down my panties, undressing me, tossing them onto the floor. He looked up at me, the stained glass lighting up my skin…and it looked like the space between us wasglowing, magic.
His hands skimmed up my thighs, rough palms reverent, fingers brushing the backs of my knees.
He kissed the inside of one…then the other.
I was already shaking, already burning.
“Look at me,” he said hoarsely.
I did.
I couldn’t look away.
And then he lowered his mouth to me like holy communion.
The first touch of his tongue made me cry out—soft, shocked, immediate. His groan vibrated through me, his hands tightening on my thighs as he licked again, slower this time, savoring me like he’d been starving.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, my fingers finding the edge of the altar, bracing myself.
He hummed against me, those grey eyes still trained on me, a dark curl coming free of his topknot. “Say my name instead.”
“Silas—” It came out as a moan, breathless and broken.
“That’s better.”
He didn’t stop—just kept going, every movement of his tongue pulling me tighter, higher, until I was shaking, shivering on the edge of something vast and ancient and powerful. I could feel it building in the pit of my stomach, could feel the tears stinging my eyes—not from pain, not from fear, but from the way this man touched me like he might not know God, but he knewmeand that was enough.
I’d never been wanted this much, worshiped like this.
His tongue circled my clit, slow and steady and intentional, and I shattered—right there on that altar, legs trembling, mouth open in a silent scream, fingers fisting in his hair as I came apart in the place I’d learned to be fearless.
And I wasseen.
Utterly seen.
When I finally stilled, when the aftershocks left me boneless and blinking up at the beams of the ceiling, he rose to kiss his way up my body. Silas took me in his arms and held me against him, unable to stop kissing me even as he spoke.
“I wanna make love to you,” he whispered,stillkissing me. “Will you let me?”
I didn’t answer right away, still too full of him—of all the feelings he’d drawn from me like he was coaxing music from a long-abandoned instrument. He looked terrified he’d gone too far, like maybe he’d ruin it.
But I wasn’t scared. Not of him. Not of this.
So I reached up to touch his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbone, and as he leaned in, I whispered, “I’m yours.”
His breath caught. I kissed him again, slow and certain, tasting myself on his lips.
And just in case he didn’t believe or understand itthe first time, I said, “Yes.”
Yes to him. Yes tothis.Yes to the ruin and the grace of whatever we were becoming.
