The tips of his fingers twitch in surprise, just a hitch, just a moment’s hesitation, like he’s stunned I said it aloud. Then his laugh is a pant, and his mouth is at the corner of mine, his breath all over me.
“Damn, woman.”
It’s a gasp and a growl in the same moment, and then he’s sliding his fingers deep inside, two at once, his palm pressed so hard against my clit I see fractals.
I choke on his name, grabbing his shoulder with both hands to keep my balance. His other arm wraps around my back, anchoring me to him, holding me so tight I feel the indent of his teeth in my shoulder through the velvet haze between my ears.
It’s frantic in a way I never let myself be. I meet every push and curl of his hand like my body’s answering a dare, heat flaring up through my belly and down my legs, muscles tightening, sweat popping at my hairline.
His mouth is at my ear, murmuring, “Just like that, Delaney, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”
It snaps through me like an electric current, the dirty permission I always daydreamed of but never ever said. He switches from slow to fast, mixing up the rhythm, making my breath stutter in my chest.
I want to say something clever, to be in control, but all I can manage is a series ofyes, yes, yes,and a string of every curse word I’ve ever learned.
My climax shreds through me, violent and mean, and I come so hard I see sparks behind my eyelids, collapsing onto his chest with a strangled, involuntary sob. Silas catches me, still working his hand until I whimper and nearly push him away.
I’m shaking. I’m boneless. My thighs clamp around his hand, trapping him there, and I’m so spent I can’t breathe. He gentles his touch, holding me, palm cool and trembling on my bare hip. I bury my face in his neck and cling to him, breathing in the salt and sweat and him of it all, my body echoing with aftershocks.
“Fuck,” I whisper, muffled by his skin. “Oh shit, Silas, I…”
He pulls back immediately, hands raised, expression softening. “Hey. Hey… what’s wrong?”
“I can’t.” My voice shakes. “I just, this is…”
His brows knit with concern. “Did I push too fast? Too far?”
“No, it’s not you.” I stand too quickly, almost dizzy with the sudden rush of guilt. “I just, I need… I have to go.”
“Delaney—”
“I’m sorry.” My throat tightens. “I’m so sorry.”
He stands too. “You don’t need to apologize to me for anything, sweetheart. Just breathe.”
But my chest is tight.
My mind is roaring.
And guilt is gnawing up my spine.
Because it doesn’t feel wrong.
And that’s the problem.
It feels good.
Too good.
The kind of good that leads to disaster.
I turn, almost stumbling down the hallway. My feet barely feel the ground beneath them. My pulse roars in my ears. Shame and longing tangle until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
When I reach my bedroom door, I shut it quietly and press my forehead to the wood.
My breath shakes.
My hands tremble.
