His fingers begin to move against me, and every sigh and quiet plea I make is swallowed immediately by his mouth. I can feel how wet I am, slick all the way to my inner thighs, and even though I know it’s a perfectly normal physiological response, my cheeks flush a shade deeper.
He applies gentle pressure, easing one finger in, until he meets resistance. A vein in his throat tightens, and I officially have a new obsession.
His mouth moves between my lips, the base of my throat, and my chest, and the satisfaction that crosses his face every time he pulls a moan from me is something I want to preserve forever.
His eyes are fixed on the place where his fingers are making me lose my mind, pressing lightly, learning me with a patience that makes my spine arch off the mattress.
At some point the pressure building low in my belly becomes almost unbearable, so I pull his head toward me and bite his lip. I’m close, and even though I don’t say it out loud, he’s clearly read it in the way my body has gone taut.
His gaze moves to my face, and I wish I could see myself right now, because the way he’s looking at me, pure adoration, pure disbelief, makes my chest ache.
“I can’t wait to feel you grip me the way you’re gripping my fingers.”
The mouth on this man will be my undoing.
His voice is low and rough, and the muscles of his back tighten as he fights to hold himself back from pushing inside me right now.
He reaches toward the nightstand and pulls out a condom, sheathing himself in one quick, practiced motion.
His length pulses against my center and my thighs have already started to tremble. Silas positions himself between my legs, and the moment my back arches slightly off the mattress and the orgasm moves through me like lightning, he enters me in one swift motion.
His mouth is there to catch the sound I make, and I know I’m leaving marks on his back with my nails.
His body goes still, holding exactly there, and I’m grateful for it, grateful he’s giving me time to adjust to him, to the overwhelming fullness of it.
“Amalia, baby, you’re not breathing,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Is that all of it?”
A short chuckle escapes him before he answers.
“Not even half, baby. But we can stop, Amalia. Say the word.”
Every muscle in my body is locked and I know I need to relax, at least to try, but I can’t seem to make myself.
After a few seconds, his hands cup my face.
“Amalia. I need you to open your eyes.”
I open one eye, then the other, and I feel my body release a fraction of its tension just from looking at him. Those dark eyes hold something luminous in them, and I know I’m responsible for that particular light.
“What percentage is the pain?” he asks, and despite everything, I smile at the way he chooses to ask it.
This man lives inside his percentages and calculations.
“About sixty percent.”
Something in my answer makes his shoulders drop, and slowly, so incredibly slowly, he pulls back, only to press forward again.
My mouth falls open every time he does it, and without realizing it, I begin to move my hips in the rhythm he’s setting.
My hands find his arms, the tattoo with the Chinese symbols on his forearm, the place where his veins sit raised and taut as he grips my hips.
A low sound leaves him and a smile spreads across my entire face, watching him like this: unhurried, present, like his mind is entirely and completely here.
He lets his head fall back, his hands tighten on my hips, and whatever last thread of control he was holding onto releases. And I love this image of him, this free, unguarded version, so wrapped up in me that reason doesn’t reach him anymore.
In this moment, Silas is only listening to what his chest tells him, and maybe because I’m emotional and overwhelmed, I feel tears gathering behind my eyes. Because I understand with a quiet terror that I love this man.
