He takes his time, alternating between gentle suction and teasing flicks of his tongue, his beard creating a delicious friction against my skin. His other hand continues its exploration, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, learning the geography of my body with methodical attention.
I rock against him, seeking pressure where I need it most. Through the layers of fabric still between us, I can feel him hard beneath me.
"Silas," I murmur, voice catching as his teeth graze my nipple. "I want—"
"What do you want?" he asks, mouth moving against my skin. "Tell me."
"More," I manage. "Touch me."
His hand slides between us, finding the button of my jeans. He undoes it slowly, then the zipper, all while his mouth continues its attention to my breast. When his fingers finally slip beneath the denim to brush against me through my underwear, I gasp, hips jerking forward.
"Sensitive," he observes, voice rough with want. "Good."
He shifts me off his lap, laying me back against the couch cushions. His fingers hook in the waistband of my jeans, and I lift my hips to help as he slides them down my legs. The air is cool against my newly exposed skin, but his hands are warm as they trail back up my calves, my thighs.
When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he pauses, looking up at me. The question is clear in his eyes.
"Yes," I whisper, lifting my hips again in invitation.
He draws the fabric down slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. When I'm finally bare before him, I resist the urge to cover myself. His eyes travel over me with such appreciation, such hunger, that any shyness evaporates in the heat of his gaze.
His hand slides between my thighs, fingers gentle as they part me, finding the slick heat at my center.
The first touch makes me gasp against his mouth. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss as his fingers explore with precision.
When his thumb finds the sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with just the right pressure, I break the kiss on a moan. My hips move of their own accord, seeking more.
"That's it," he murmurs, lips trailing down my neck. "Show me what you like."
His finger slips inside me, slow and testing. I tense briefly at the unfamiliar intrusion, but his mouth is at my breast again, distracting me with pleasure as he works me open gently.
"Okay?" he asks, pausing to check.
"Don't stop," I breathe, hands clutching at his shoulders.
He adds a second finger, stretching me while his thumb continues its circular motion above. My breathing grows ragged, hips moving in counterpoint to his hand.
I reach for him, pulling him down for a kiss that's messier, more desperate than before.
"I want you," I say against his mouth. "All of you."
He pulls back slightly, studying my face. "We don't have to go further. This can be enough."
"It's not," I say firmly. "Not for me."
He stands, offering his hand. I take it, letting him pull me to my feet, feeling oddly graceful in my nakedness.
"Not here," he says. "Bed."
He leads me to his bedroom, where embers glow in another fireplace, casting the room in dim orange light. The bed is large, neatly made with dark blankets. He turns to face me, hands going to the waistband of his pants.
My fingers work the button, then the zipper, pushing the fabric down his hips. He steps out of them, standing before me in just his underwear, his bulge straining against the fabric.
I hook my fingers in the waistband, drawing them down slowly. When he springs free, I can't help but stare for a moment—the size of him, the heat radiating from his skin.
"Second thoughts?" he asks, voice tight.
I shake my head, reaching out to wrap my hand around him. His sharp intake of breath emboldens me, and I stroke experimentally, learning the feel of him—velvet over steel, hot and pulsing in my palm. The weight of him surprises me, as does the way he twitches in response to my touch. I tighten my grip slightly, sliding my hand from base to tip, watching his face as his eyes close briefly.
