“What do you want now, Kat?” he asks. “Anything.”
And oh, God, I want everything. I want him to bend me over the coffee table and rail me. I want to tease him like this until he begs me to let him come. I want to tell him to start doing jumping jacks, just because I think he would.
But one idea is better than the rest. Besides, I don’t really want the jumping jacks. I’m only curious, so I tumble off of him and lay on the couch, head on the armrest, my foot against his side. The skirt of my dress is half hiked up, the top still more or less in place.
“C’mere,” I say, crooking my finger again, and I barely have to ask before Silas is over me, between my legs, one hand next to my head on the arm of the couch.
“Here I am,” he teases. “This all you—”
“Get on your knees.”
He does it and I arch up, toward him, hook one knee over his shoulder. He grabs my thigh so hard his fingers dig in and he’s grinning, almost laughing, his other hand on my hip as his eyes drift over me, splayed on his couch.
“Fuck me,” I say before he can ask me anything, my voice quiet and rough and barely recognizable. “Make it good.”
He exhales hard, strokes my hip before leaning in. Nudges the tip of his cock over my clit before he lines himself up. Then he pauses. He looks at me, and then he slides in without breaking eye contact.
I make a noise. It sounds a little like nnnggghh and it comes out through clenched teeth but it’s a good noise because this feels fucking good. Because Silas, somehow, knew exactly what I needed when I turned up stressed and horny on his doorstep.
“Good?” he rasps as he sinks deep, and he’s got a look on his face like he’s trying for that charming, cocky smile he’s got but it’s not working and all he can manage is raw, disheveled lust.
“More,” is all I say. I reach under myself, find his knees below my hips, grasp at them for some reason.
Silas starts moving, slow and firm, his breathing ragged.
“Tell me—”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
A quick, hard gasp. He moves a little, adjusts the angle and then his next stroke drives straight into a spot that drags a noise out of me I’ve never heard before.
“Fuck,” I hiss, eyes closed, head back. “Do that a—”
Of course he does. Of course he does exactly that, again and again. He does it fast and he does it slow; hard, gentle. Silas fucking experiments on me until I’m a breathy, incoherent mess who couldn’t give him a single instruction if my life depended on it, and he watches me through half-open, sex-drugged eyes like he’s memorizing everything he can about this.
“Kat,” he says, and it comes out a strangled whisper. “Tell me when you’re close.”
I just kind of whimper, because I’m close now. I’ve been close, floating on the heady cloud of getting well-fucked, pleasure sparkling over my skin and surging through my veins in exactly the way that will never be quite enough.
“I’m close,” I tell him, and before I can reach for my clit myself, he does.
“Yes. That,” I manage to get out, and now my hands are clenched on the arm of the couch, next to my head. “Fuck, Silas.”
And then I’m nothing but noises and swearing, maybe, and I grab onto his couch and come so hard I can’t breathe, I can’t think, only hang on until it’s over.
“Jesus, Kat,” Silas whispers but I’ve already got him by the wrist and I’m pulling him down. He lands on top of me and I wrap my legs around him, shove my hands into his hair. Give him a hard, messy kiss and then he buries his face in my neck and in a few more thrusts he’s growling fuck, Kat, yes and slowly, he goes still.
We stay there, and even though my head is halfway off the arm of the couch and my back is at a weird angle and my glasses are slowly falling off, I don’t move. I can feel Silas’s breath against my neck, the sweat in his hair when I move my fingers through it. His heartbeat in his neck when he turns his head and tucks it under my chin.
Silas who’s here, like this, lazy and gentle after fucking me out of my mind. Silas who’s nothing like I thought he was, who’s marshmallows on the outside and iron on the inside.
Silas who is, inexplicably, mine.