Rose petals covered the bed. The air smelled faintly of flowers.
Silas closed the bedroom door behind us with a soft click. The silence felt intimate, heavy with anticipation. He turned to me, his dark eyes already molten, and I didn't wait for words. I rose on my toes and kissed him.
Our mouths met hungrily, lips parting at once. His tongue slid against mine in a slow, wet glide that made heat coil low in my belly. I tasted champagne and the faint salt of his skin. His hands settled at my waist, thumbs stroking the silk of my gown, bunching the fabric as the kiss deepened.
Tongues tangled, slick and insistent; I sucked lightly on his, drawing a rough sound from the back of his throat. My fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl against my lips.
Breathless, I pulled back only far enough to speak against his mouth. "I need you out of this shirt."
Silas's laugh was low, dark. "Bossy tonight, Mrs. Thorne."
I didn't answer with words. My fingers found the buttons of his crisp white dress shirt and worked them open one by one, revealing inch after inch of warm, tanned skin. When I reached the last button and pushed the halves apart, my gaze dropped to the scar on the left side of his chest—right over his heart.
A month and a half ago, he'd thrown himself between me and a bullet. The wound had healed cleanly, but the scar remained, a brutal reminder of how close I'd come to losing him.
My throat tightened. Without thinking, I leaned in and pressed my lips to the mark. Softly at first, reverent. Then I opened my mouth and let my tongue trace the rough, raised edge of it—slow, deliberate strokes that followed every twist and ridge of the scar tissue. Silas sucked in a sharp breath, his hand fisting in my hair.
"Anthea…" His voice was gravel.
I kissed the center of the scar again, right above where his heart beat strong and steady beneath my lips, then dragged my tongue in a long, wet line up to his collarbone before looking up at him. "You're still here," I whispered. "You're still mine."
His eyes flared. "Always."
I sank to my knees.
My hands went to his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. The zipper came next, and I tugged his trousers and black briefs down just far enough to free him. His cock sprang up, thick and heavy, already flushed dark at the head and glistening. I wrapped my fingers around the base and gave one slow, firm stroke. Silas groaned, hips jerking forward.
I leaned in and licked a broad stripe from root to tip, tasting salt and heat. Then I took him into my mouth.
The first slide was slow—lips stretched wide, tongue curling underneath the shaft as I sank down. He filled my mouth completely, velvet over steel. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, bobbing shallowly while my free hand slipped lower. My fingers found the heavy, drawn-up weight of his balls and cupped them, rolling gently, tugging just enough to make his thighs tense.
Silas's hand settled on the back of my head—not pushing, but guiding. "Fuck… just like that."
I hummed around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath. Lifting my gaze, I watched his face: head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, the strong column of his throat working as he swallowed hard. His eyes were half-lidded, dark with lust, lips parted on ragged breaths. So beautiful. So mine.
I took him deeper.
My throat relaxed as I pushed forward until my nose brushed the coarse hair at his groin. He hit the back of my throat, and I swallowed around him, rippling muscles milking the head. Silas's fingers tightened in my hair.
"Deeper, baby—fuck, yes—"
I obeyed. I worked him in long, wet pulls—deep throating him until tears pricked my eyes, then dragging back to swirl my tongue around the sensitive ridge before plunging down again. I alternated rhythm: fast, sloppy sucks followed by slow, deliberate swallows that took him to the root. My hand never stopped playing with his balls, rolling them, tugging lightly, feeling them tighten further.
His breathing turned ragged. "Anthea—I'm close—"
I didn't pull off. I sucked harder, cheeks hollowed, tongue flickingrelentlessly against the underside until his hips snapped forward and he came with a guttural groan. Hot pulses flooded my mouth; I swallowed every drop, milking him through it until he shuddered and his hand gentled in my hair.
When he finally eased me off, his cock slipped free with a wet sound. He hauled me up instantly and crushed his mouth to mine. The kiss was filthy—his tongue chasing the taste of himself on mine, biting at my lower lip, devouring me like he was starving.
He broke away only long enough to yank my gown over my head and toss it aside. My bra followed, then my panties. Cool air hit my skin, but Silas's hands were everywhere—palming my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they ached, then sliding down to grip my hips.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing and laid me on the petal-strewn bed. The scent of roses rose around us. Silas knelt between my thighs, spreading them wide. He hooked my legs over his broad shoulders, turning his head to press slow, open-mouthed kisses along my right calf, then my ankle, then the arch of my foot. His teeth grazed the delicate skin there; I shivered.
Then he lowered his head.
His mouth settled over me—hot, wet, deliberate. He licked a slow stripe up my slit, tongue flat and broad, gathering my wetness. I moaned, hips lifting. He did it again, slower this time, savoring. But every time I arched toward him, seeking more, he pulled back just enough to circle my entrance with the tip of his tongue—teasing, never breaching.
"Silas—please—"
