His eyes flicker with recognition. “The band’s home?”
“That’s the one. They’re on the road—said I could crash there.”
“Perfect.” He squeezes my hand.
We walk fast beneath the pines, our linked hands swinging between us like an unspoken promise. The closer we get to the house, the more aware I am of every step, every breath, every brush of his shoulder against mine.
At the porch, I fumble briefly with the key. The lock clicks.
Silas presses a palm against the door above my head. “Let me in, sunshine.”
I push the door open.
The second it shuts behind us, Silas lifts me like I’m weightless.
My back hits the wall.
His mouth crashes into mine, hungry, sure, devastatingly confident, but his hands… his hands are slow.
Too slow.
They roam over me, mapping me inch by inch, memorizing the places I gasp, lingering everywhere except where I burn most.
He tugs my shirt up, and I help him strip it over my head, the hem tangling briefly in my hair before it lands somewhere on thefloor. A second later, his own shirt joins it, my fingers shoving it up and off just to feel his skin on mine.
I slide my hands over his bare stomach, dragging my fingertips across the ridges of muscle just because I can.
His breath stutters before a low, rough sound tears out of him.
“Careful,” he murmurs against my lips. “You touch me like that again, and I’m going to forget every intention I have of taking my time with you.”
“Who said I need you to take your time?”
His eyes go molten.
“Oh, sunshine,” he murmurs. “You have no idea how badly you want me to.”
In one fluid movement, he carries me down the hall.
The house is silent around us, floorboards creaking, guitars glinting in the moonlight as we pass.
He lays me on the bed with an intense control that makes my breath catch.
He braces over me, studying me, deciding exactly how he wants to undo me.
His fingers find the button of my jeans, popping it open with infuriating slowness, then sliding the zipper down. He eases them, and my panties with them, down my legs, lifting my hips with one big palm until I’m bare under his gaze. I hear the quiet rasp of his own belt and zipper, but he leaves his jeans hanging low on his hips, like he’s savoring every step.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. “And I’m going to make you feel every second of that.”
Heat ripples through me.
Silas lowers his mouth to my throat and kisses down, slow… slower… painfully slow.
Every inch he travels is a tease, a promise, a denial.
His hands move over me, firm touches that make my back arch but never quite land where I need them.
My brain starts to unravel.
