“I did,” he says, voice all sandpaper and gravel. “I fucking loved it.”
“How much?” I say, and suck in a breath, my hands on his shoulders. “Show me. Touch yourself.”
Silas roughly palms the bulge in his shorts, his hips rocking forward. He grabs the counter next to my waist and his eyes slide shut. His head goes back. He groans, long and loud, fingers half-curled around his erection, and all I can do is stare at his hand as he strokes himself, feel his breathing in his shoulders.
Finally, he looks at me, and his eyes are pleading and teasing and asking all at once, and I remember myself. I remember that right now, I get what I want and what I want is Silas, desperate for me, at my beck and call.
“Go into the living room and take your clothes off,” I say, and it comes out nearly a whisper. “Then stroke yourself and don’t come.”
My pulse is pounding and despite everything, I’m half-convinced he’s about to laugh at me but he doesn’t. He covers my mouth with one quick, hard kiss, and then walks away while I stand there, trying to collect myself.
This is… not what I thought was going to happen tonight. I’d envisioned throwing myself into his arms and Silas carrying me upstairs and ravishing me so hard I forgot everything for a few minutes. Not this, where I get to name my desires and he gives them to me with a smile.
I had no idea I’d like it this much.
When I walk out of the kitchen toward the stairs, he’s on the couch, thighs wide, head back, slowly working himself. I pause for a moment, one hand on the railing of the stairs, and just watch.
“How am I doing?” he asks, voice husky and dark, eyes watching me.
I don’t answer right away, just keep watching: the way his hand moves up and down. The way his hips flex into his fist. The way he strokes the head with his thumb.
“Good,” I finally say, mouth dry.
“Where are you going?”
“Wherever I want,” I say, and he grins. Then gasps. Then lets his head tip back even further against the back of the couch, eyes shuddering closed.
“You’re fucking killing me, Kat,” he says.
“I think you’ll live,” I say, and head up the stairs before I can say anything else. I head into his bedroom and grab a condom from the new box in his bedside table. Glance at myself in the mirror, run my fingers through my hair. Straighten my dress. Stand there for an extra few moments and breathe.
When I get back, Silas’s hand is moving even slower, his breathing ragged.
“Thought you got lost,” he teases, mouth smiling, eyes hooded.
I walk up to the couch and straddle him on the edge of the couch, my knees outside his thighs. Close but not close enough to touch him, and Silas makes a half-strangled noise, his hand pausing.
“Don’t stop,” I murmur, leaning in to kiss him. There’s another noise and a shudder goes through his whole body and then his other hand is buried in my hair, gripping, pulling me in. I brace my hands against his hard shoulders and give him a long, slow, deep kiss and don’t touch him anywhere else even though God, I want to. I want to hop on his dick this instant and ride him as hard as I can, make Silas shout my name before we’re both spent, but that would ruin all my hard work.
So instead I say, “Stop,” and he does. I pull back and he’s panting for breath but grinning at me like he’s having the time of his life, and somehow, I find myself smiling back.
“You like this, huh?” he says.
And I… sort of laugh?
“Yeah,” I say.
“Good. Me too.”
“You sure?” I ask, and glance at his very hard dick, a single bead of moisture rolling down the underside of the head.
“I like you telling me what you want,” he says. “I like giving it to you.”
I hold the condom out with two fingers. “Put this on,” I tell him.
“Can I touch myself again?” he asks, and I nod.
Silas rips it open with his teeth. His breathing catches as he unrolls it over the head and when he slides it all the way down and then stokes himself his hips buck up like he can’t control himself and he makes a soft oh noise, looking at me from half-lidded eyes.