My hips move against his hand.
"Show me, baby," he demands. "How hot and wet you can get for me."
I begin to moan his name, my body responding.
"You may scare me," I breathe, "but that's what makes me want you more, baby."
His eyes darken.
"You don't know fear yet, baby," he says.
And it's not a threat.
It's a promise.
A promise of everything that's coming.
---
# SILAS
I can feel her tightening around my fingers.
Wet.
So fucking wet.
Her pussy clenches with every stroke, her hips grinding against my hand like she's chasing something she's been denied for too long.
Her back arches off the bed, head thrown back, exposing the long line of her throat.
Bruises still healing on her ribs.
Marks on her wrists.
But she doesn't care.
She's riding my hand like pain doesn't exist.
Like pleasure is the only thing that matters.
I lean in, my mouth finding the curve of her neck.
"Tell me, baby," I growl against her skin, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear. "What drives you crazy?"
I nibble.
Hard enough to make her gasp.
My fingers curl inside her, hitting that spot again, and her moan is guttural—raw.
I move my mouth down her neck, biting, sucking, tasting the salt of her skin.
Her scentis everywhere.
Arousal.
Sweat.
