I obey, stripping my jeans down.I try to bend down to peel them over my feet but there’s no room with me and Silas between the stools.
“Sit,” he commands.I hoist myself back up into the seat as Silas pushes his stool out of the way.Then he’s on his knees, hands working the jeans the rest of the way off, taking my socks too.I’m sitting sideways on the stool, one arm on the kitchen counter, one arm on the backrest.My tight jeans left marks on my hips under the high cut of the teddy—red indentations that stand out against my skin.
Silas’s fingers trace one of the marks, feather-light, reverent.“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and then his mouth follows where his fingers were, pressing kisses to the places my jeans marked me.
My breath catches.He’s not ignoring the imperfections—he’s worshipping them.
When my feet are free, Silas carefully takes his glasses off, putting them on the counter, and then he fits his shoulders between my knees and buries his face between my thighs.
“Oh god,” I say, rocking my hips up and leaning back.I’ve got a death grip on the back of the chair and Silas is taking big, deep inhales, his nose pressed against the fabric right over my clit.
“Fuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk,” he groans against my pussy.The vibrations make me jump, but then Silas is pressing his tongue against me and even through the lace and silk I feel the heat and the wetness.
I tilt my head back, and then panic as the barstool wobbles precariously underneath me.Silas grabs my waist, settling the legs of the stool solidly on the ground.I laugh and sit up.“Maybe we should move to the bedroom?”
Silas’s eyes twinkle.“I can’t wait to have you spread out on my bed again.”He pulls back and helps me off the stool, gesturing for me to go first.“Ladies first.”
I toss a saucy look over my shoulder as I walk toward the bedroom.“Being a gentleman?”
His returning grin is pure mischief.“Just want the view from behind.”
“So romantic.”
“Hey, I brought you pizza first.”His hand squeezes my ass before I even make it to the doorway.“That’s practically a marriage proposal in Here.And I’m just admiring my work.”
I laugh—actually laugh—as we tumble into his room together, his mouth hot on my shoulder, his other hand curling around to cup between my legs.“Your work?”
“Our collaborative masterpiece,” he murmurs against my neck, and I can feel him smiling.
I turn to kiss him and soon I’ve got the buttons of his shirt undone, peeling the material off his shoulders and down his back.
“Wait,” he says.I tug against the shirt.“Bailey?—”
Damn it.The cuffs are still done up.Instead of dealing with them like a normal adult, I push Silas away and he topples against the bed, laughing—this full, delighted sound that makes my chest warm.
“Mmm, are we a little kinky?”he asks, a twinkle in his eyes and his arms caught beneath him.He sprawls lazily on the bed, legs spread and eyes on fire, looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had.
The tattoos.The dress shirt hanging off his shoulders.The way he’s looking at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him—even with his arms trapped and completely at my mercy.
That unshakable enthusiasm in a man who looks like sin.
“Maybe,” I say, climbing onto the bed.“You complaining?”
“Not even a little bit.”His grin is pure sunshine, even in this position.“I’m just excited to be included.”
I nudge him to flip over, and he does.I kneel over his thighs, and I notice a tattoo on his right shoulder blade, two lines of script.
“What is this?”I ask, tracing the words with my fingertip.
“Plath,” he answers, his voice slightly muffled against the bed.
“‘I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.I lift my lids and all is born again.’”I read it aloud, feeling the weight of it.“That’s...that’s about seeing, isn’t it?About how you choose to look at the world.”
Silas turns his head to look at me, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression.“About how what you see depends on how you choose to look at it.Yeah.”
Of course.Of course Silas Montgomery has poetry about seeing tattooed on his body.The photographer who made me see myself differently today.
I let my finger continue down the length of his spine to the top of his jeans, watching goose bumps rise in its wake.
