Her breath hitched.
“You think you’re subtle,” he continued, voice edged with impatience, “but you’re not.”
“Silas,” I warned quietly.
He ignored me.
“You don’t have to pretend you're not wet and needy for your handlers,” he said, tone dropping lower. “We already know.”
Her cheeks burned crimson.
I softened my voice. “You’re safe here, with us. If you ask us to help take care of your arousal, we won't hurt you. If you become… overwhelmed, we'll handle it. Adjust, stop, whatever you ask.”
Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her shirt.
“Our job as your handlers is to regulate you, Lena,” I said. “We can feel how wound you body is. Let us do our jobs and take care of it for you.”
When she didn't respond, Silas groaned and stepped away from the window.
“It's distracting! You're jeopardizing this stakeout! So if you need something, ask. We'll take care of it and then we can all focus on the mission again,” he admitted bluntly.
His hard eyes locked onto hers, then softened as shame crept in when he noticed his raised voice had upset her.
“I'm not angry or frustrated with you. You’re settling,” he clarified. “Trusting that you are safe. Your body’s reacting to that.”
A beat.
“And that’s not a bad thing. I want you to feel… safe.”
She stared at him, stunned by the rare softness beneath his edge.
I reached forward, brushing my knuckles lightly against her wrist to ground her.
“We don’t want you to have to navigate this alone,” I said. “Be honest with us.”
Silas crossed his arms, watching her carefully.
“Because if you need something,” he added, voice rougher now, “you’re not getting it from anyone else.”
Possessive.
Final.
And absolutely sincere.
Her scent spiked hard.
“Do you touch yourself for release?” I asked.
Lena’s eyes went wide.
Mortification washed over her face, pink racing from her throat to her hairline. Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth, worrying until it turned plump and raw beneath the pressure.
Silas exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Knox,” he warned me this time.
I ignored him.
