“Like that?” he asks, and thank God, his thumb makes a slow circle without me having to tell him.
“Yeah,” I gasp. I realize my head is back and my eyes are closed, my other hand clenched on the edge of the counter. I realize I’ve got his wrist in my hand again and I’m moving my hips against it as he circles, chasing pleasure, letting it build. After a bit, I nudge the strap of my dress the rest of the way down, watching Silas’s face, the way he looks up at me when the cloth comes off my nipple. When I slide my fingers into his hair I barely have to nudge him before his mouth is where I want it again and we both groan.
I can’t stop staring at Silas. This time he’s using just his tongue and I’m still half-rocking against his hand, thumb drawing slow circles. Every so often he flicks a glance up at me and there’s a teasing smile around his eyes. I might be making noises. I might be making a lot of noises. I don’t care.
“Stop,” I finally say, and he stills his hand, his tongue. Looks up at me, his hair falling a little in his eyes, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Lust-drunk, and I move his hand to my thigh, pull my dress back up.
“Stand up,” I say, and he does. One knee clicks, and I look down, suddenly guilty that I made him kneel on the tile floor. “Sorry,” I say. “Are you—”
“I’m fucking fine, Kat,” he says, and then he’s pushing me into the counter, the line hard against my lower back, and his hands are in my hair and his mouth is hot and greedy against mine. He wedges a thigh between my legs and I can feel the iron of his cock against my hip. “Completely fine.”
“Good,” I breathe. Our tongues slide together and I grab his hips, pull him against me. It gets a groan, an exhale. He pulls back a little, hands in my hair, thumbs on my cheekbones.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, low and teasing. “What you want now.”
“Take your shirt off,” I say, and he steps back, pulls it over his head and because I can, I reach out, slide my hand down his chest. Through the chest hair, over that ugly scar, through the line of fur that dips below his belt. He watches me, one eyebrow raised, and I raise my eyes to his. Deliberately dip two fingers under the waistband of his shorts and I’m pretty sure I can see his cock twitch even from here.
I give him one long, hard stroke with the palm of my hand through his shorts, and I keep my eyes on his face. Watch his eyes go hazy, his lips part, his breathing stutter.
Then I pull my hand back, hop onto the counter, crook a finger at him. He steps forward between my legs and I give him a hard, slow kiss, fingers wrapped in his hair. After a moment he pulls back and presses his mouth to my neck.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, his voice buzzing through me.
Slowly, I push his head lower: my collarbone, my tits, my stomach. He keeps peppering kisses and licks, both his hands around my thighs, pushing them wide and pulling my ass down until it’s on the edge of the counter and my head is against his cabinets.
Then he pauses. I’ve got my eyes closed, head back, one hand in his hair and the other on the edge of the counter, and I’m about to say something like come the fuck on you know what I want, but then he flicks the tip of his tongue against my clit and my entire body jolts.
“That it?” he has the nerve to ask.
“Again.”
He does it exactly one more time.
“Silas,” I growl, and I’m trying not to pull his hair out but God, I want to, I want to mash his stupid face into me until he makes me come but he laughs, and then he’s licking me again and I forget I was ever annoyed.
Silas eats me out like he’s practically taking notes on every jolt and shiver and gasp I make, and everything I like he does ten more times. It doesn’t take long before I’m gasping and swearing, gripping his hair too hard and then whispering apologies.
“Fuck,” I hear myself whisper. “Silas. I’m—”
He stops. Not completely but he moves his tongue from my clit and slides it between my lips, presses it into my entrance, laps at me slowly as I arch my back and try to get my breathing under control. When I look down, he’s watching me.
“What the hell?” I gasp out.
“Hm?”
I grit my teeth, tilt my head against the cabinets again, gather my nerve.
“Make me come, dammit,” I grind out, and then, “Fuck!” because he’s back at it, harder and faster and in seconds I’m back where I was and then I’m over the top, a sound exploding out of me that’s half moan and half gasp as my fingers curl against the countertop.
I keep holding his head there. I feel half out of my mind, but I don’t let him go and he doesn’t stop and… yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna come twice on his kitchen counter, it turns out, because the second one happens pretty fast and this time I whimper and arch my back as it rockets through me and finally, I let his hair go.
Silas stands. He hauls me up from where I’ve melted, his hands still on my thighs, pulls me in and kisses me, mouth musky and sweet and fuck, it’s hot.
“What now, Kat?” he murmurs. I push him back slightly, hop off the counter. Lean back against it and kiss him and pull him in, brush my hand over the bulge in his shorts.
“Did you like that?” I ask. I know the answer, but I want to hear it.
Silas huffs out a laugh, one thumb stroking the inside of my thigh.