"You have me," Silas growls. He covers my hand with his. "You have me, Ivy. Until the sun burns out. Until the earth cracks open. You are stuck with me."
"I know."
And for the first time, the thought doesn't make me want to run. It makes me want to burrow deeper.
The adrenaline from the shooting, the shock of the attack, the revelation of the files, the death of my father—it’s too much death. Too much ending.
I need a beginning. I need to feel something that isn't cold and final.
I look at his mouth.
"Make me forget," I whisper.
Silas’s eyes darken. The blue fire flares up, hungry and intense. "Forget what?"
"Forget the blood on my hands. Forget the sound of the gunshot. Forget that I’m an orphan in a concrete box."
I drop the towel.
It pools at my feet. I stand naked before him, vulnerable and demanding.
"Make me feel alive, Silas."
He doesn't hesitate.
He grabs me. He lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He kisses me with a desperation that mirrors my own. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s a collision of two broken people trying to fuse their jagged edges together.
He carries me to the bed and throws me down.
He doesn't bother with foreplay. He doesn't bother with the slow, torturous teasing he used last night. We don't have time for games. We are survivors, and we need to prove it.
He shoves his sweatpants down. He is hard, ready.
He climbs over me, his weight crushing me into the mattress, shielding me from the world, from the ghosts, from the truth.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough.
I look at him.
"You are alive," he says, entering me in one smooth, powerful thrust. "You are here. You are mine."
I gasp, arching my back, welcoming the intrusion. It hurts, but it’s a good pain. It’s a real pain. It chases away the numbness.
"Yes," I sob. "Yes, Silas."
He moves with a frantic rhythm. Skin slapping against skin. Breath mingling. Sweat slicking our bodies.
It’s not about dominance tonight. It’s about connection. He is tethering me to the earth. He is fucking the death out of the room.
I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. I match his pace. I meet his thrusts. I am not a victim. I am a participant.
"I’ve got you," he grunts against my ear. "I’m never letting you go."
"Don't," I beg. "Don't let go."
The climax builds fast, fueled by the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. It’s a tidal wave. It sweeps me up and crashes me against the rocks.
I scream his name.
