It knew what she needed and it’d be damned if he didn’t see her satisfied, even partially, by the end of this.
“Faster,” he bit out. He refused to thrust, but he gave into the impulse to cant his hips at a slightly different angle, making it easier for her to grind the head of his cock against the most sensitive part of her soft pink cunt. “Petra, move yourfuckin’hips. Yes.Yes.There you go. No, I didn’t tell you to stop.Move!”
He doubted either of them could pinpoint exactly when her power play became his, nor when she started eagerly obeying his commands, but it didn’t matter.
In that moment, there was nothing more important that the desperate little sounds she made, so hushed and secretive, like she was afraid she’d be caught, and the way they fit together so perfectly even as they tried their damnedest to torture one another.
Petra began to tense. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. He could feel it through her back, through his shadows. They were connected skin to skin, but they were also linked by a potent, drugging force neither of them could really control.
“Give it to me,” he ordered, fingers tightening in her hair until the back of her head touched his shoulder. Silas crushed his lips against her jaw, a snarl contorting the touch into something too brutal to be called a kiss. “Petra, I want that orgasmnow.Give it to me!”
A noise not unlike a muffled sob bubbled from her as she bore down on him, her thighs pressed tight and drawn up a bit, as if she were trying to get him as close as possible without her hands.
And then she snapped. Her spine bowed, releasing her from her curled position, and her hips rolled erratically as she gushed over his tortured cock.
He almost missed it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, but no, breathed out on a long, low moan, was his name.
Telling her my name was the best fuckin’ decision I’ve ever made.
Baring his fangs against her skin, triumphant and miserable all at once, Silas at last closed his claws over the soft swell of her hip and jerked her backward. Petra was pliant and perfect as he used her, rutting between her thighs and rumbling like an animal until he came, lashing her perfect flesh with pearly release and his unique musk.
For a time they lay there like that, tangled and sticky and panting. He’d won, he thought, savagely pleased as he draggedhis hand through the mess he’d made. Silas spread it as far as it would go across her thighs and stomach. When she complained, voice scratchy, he shushed her with a quick nip of her ear.
“I get to have this,” he told her. “Next time, if you don’t want a mess, you can beg me to come inside you instead. If you’re good, I might even say yes.”
He suspected she was too tired to fight and that was why she simply let out a heavy sigh and relaxed in his arms. Still, she asked in a voice thick with sleep, “Why are you so obsessed with me begging?”
Silas fixed her nightgown over her thighs before he banded his arm around her waist, drawing her even more tightly against his front. He took his time answering her. When he finally decided on what to say, she was already dozing off.
Whispering into the crown of her head, he answered, “Because if you don’t, I’m pretty sure I will.”
Chapter Seventeen
Petra was fairlycertain she was self-destructing. That was the only reason she could come up with for why she would do what she’d done with Silas.
She didn’t exactly feel shame about it, but she wasn’t proud, either. Particularly when she woke up with him watching her like a cat who’d gotten the cream.
Sure, she knew there was a not-insignificant chance she was going to die in twenty-four hours — or at least wish she’d died — and that meant she had some leeway in regards to sexual expression and bad choices, but that one seemed extreme even for her.
Because now that she’d opened that door, there was no closing it.
Silas made himself comfortable in the center of her bed, one arm thrown behind his head as he watched her scramble around for her robe. He let out a low chuckle when she grimaced at the odd, tacky pull of her skin around her thighs and belly.
“Why the face?”
Petra shot him a glare as she cinched her bathrobe around her waist. “Shut up.”
It was deeply unsettling how Silas so effortlessly embodied both boyish charm and menace. His chocolate curls were tousled around his horns, his eyelids were lowered to a drowsy half-mast, and everything in his posture screamed of perfect ease. Even the damn stupid,wonderfulbeauty mark above his lip added to his air of early morning effortlessness.
But one couldn’t miss the glow of his eyes, molten bronze on black, nor the twitch of his smile — an expression that on anyone else might have been soft, but on him was as beautiful and deadly as a sharpened knife.
“You have the day off today,” he drawled. “Come back to bed. Now.” He smoothed his free hand over the side of the bed that should have been hers. In reality, he’d hogged the whole mattress all night and used her as his personal body pillow, manhandling her this way and that depending on his preferences every few hours.
She had a crick in her neck, she hadn’t gotten the amount of blankets she preferred, hebreathedin her ear all night?—
And it was the best sleep she’d had in three years.
I’m losing my mind.
