“Sit up,” I demanded to Viola, and she did, slowly, her lids heavy and her face flushed. Once she sat up straight, I moved and swung my leg over Silas, so that I straddled his torso in front of Viola, and so even though it was Viola’s pussy still wrapped around his length, it was me that he saw when he looked up.
“Oh my God,” he groaned, once he realized what I was doing.
“Now,” I said over my shoulder to Viola, “I want you to hold still and let him fuck you. And then I want you to whisper every word that goes through your mind when he does.”
And so, with Viola’s chest pressed against my back and her arms wrapped tightly around my waist, I began to work my clit as Silas slowly fucked her with long, undulating motions.
Silas’s eyes met mine, blue on blue, and I watched every flicker of sensation as it passed across that square-jawed, patrician-bred face of his.
“Ah,” Viola breathed into my ear. “He’s so big. I feel…stretched. Filled.”
Filled. I licked my lips—that word and Silas’s mouth opening to whisper my name and his hard stomach bunching and flexing underneath me…all of it sending me closer to the edge.
“I—he’s hitting that spot right now.” Her voice sounded pained, brittle with pleasure. “The spot on the front. Oh God.”
I knew exactly what spot she meant; Silas was one of the only men I’d been with—aside from Castor and Julian—who’d known how to find that spot.
Every.
Single.
Time.
My core clamped in memory, and I slid my fingers down from my clit to my entrance, reaching up inside to curl my fingers to where I wanted Silas’s cock.
And then he started talking, hoarse and demanding. “I can feel how wet you are, Mary Margaret. You’re wet all over my stomach, and I can feel how slippery your fingers are from fucking your own pussy.” Silas stabbed his hips up and Viola cried out.
“So deep,” she gasped into my ear. “I can feel him everywhere…my hips feel so tight and my thighs are tight too and it’s so hard to breathe…shit, I’m going to come again.”
“Not yet,” Silas growled. “Viola, I want you to take those hands that you have so prettily wrapped around my Molly’s waist, and I want you to move them down to Molly’s cunt. Yes, just like that. And now take one and push it inside of her, and then use the other to work her clit. Molly, I want you to take your fingers and press them against my mouth so I can taste you.”
He’s trying to take over again, I realized, but at that moment, his tongue danced across the already-wet pads of my fingertips and Viola found the right pressure and pace, and I didn’t care.
“Viola,” Silas said, his breath tickling against my fingers, “you can’t come until Molly comes. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she breathed against my shoulder, resting her forehead there as Silas began fucking her from below. Her fingers were magic, but even more magic was Silas underneath us, all muscles and man and need, covered with sweat, his face angry and worshipful all at once as he sucked on my fingers and drove his cock into Viola.
I pulled my fingers back to knead my breast, and he started saying words, filthy words that were so wrong and so raw, words that stroked the inside of me like I wanted his cock to, do you like another girl in your pussy? and she feels so good, Molly, you picked a good one and sit on my face, God, I’d kill someone to have you on my face right now.
I knew what Viola meant about everything being tight—my neck and back and stomach and even my feet felt ready to snap, ready to shatter like so much glass, and it felt like there was nothing but those fingers on my cunt and Silas’s beautiful eyes and filthy mouth.
“I’m going to fuck her pussy like it’s yours,” he said, to me, only to me, as if we were the only people really here. “I’m going to make her take my cock, and you’re going to feel every minute of it and know that each and every stroke is for you. And you are going to look me in the eyes while you come and it will be my name you scream. Understood?”
“Y-yes,” I shivered out; Viola’s were fingers so good and so strong and so fast. “Yes.”
“Please,” Viola begged in my ear. “Please hurry. I can’t wait much longer—”
Her voice broke off as Silas thrust upward at double the pace, a delighted laugh bursting from him as he watched both Viola and I tumble over the cliff and plunge to the rocks below.
She went first, and it was her hitched gasp, her fingers digging into me as her body was taken, that triggered my own release. I went hot, then cold, feverish and fervent and almost hallucinatory as my world shrank down to his grin and his eyes blazing blue with victory and our little pleasure doll behind me, barely holding on for dear life as she convulsed through her second orgasm of the night.
“Silas,” I breathed, the word catching in my throat.
The waves started deep in my center, but quickly exploded outward, my toes curling as every muscle rippled with release and a deep and primal satisfaction, and I could barely breathe, the entirety of the erotic scene driving my orgasm on and on and on until I was slumped back against Viola, my head leaning back to rest on her shoulder.
“Jesus Christ,” Silas said, a little desperately, as both of us girls gradually finished climaxing on top of him. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Viola gave a tired little laugh from behind me.
Silas’s voice was rough and brooked no argument when he said, “Untie me right the fuck now.”
I should have said no. This was definitely me losing our little bet, but I couldn’t deny it any longer. Silas was what I wanted. Silas dominating me was what I wanted. And when he murmured, “That’s my good Molly,” when I slid off the bed and went to the bottom posts to unknot his feet, I felt a flush of pleasure that I would have given anything to feel all the time. A flush that told me that I was his, that I was taken care of, that when I was with him, I could relax and feel safe.
As I worked on the knot by Silas’s ankle, Castor came up to me. “Are you finished with Viola?” he asked quietly.
I glanced up to Silas. The look on his face told me that whatever was going to happen next was going to happen between him and me alone. “Yes,” I replied.
“Then I’m taking her, if she agrees. Can I trust you two to behave yourselves? I’d rather not commit perjury if I can help it, but…” He trailed off, his face hard as he looked at Viola’s naked form, which was currently curled into a ball of pale limbs and red hair. His erection bulged under the trousers that he hadn’t bother to button when he’d pulled them back up.
“I understand, believe me.”
He nodded curtly and walked over to Viola, where he gently swept the hair from her face. “Would you like to go to bed with me?” he asked.
She made a purring noise of assent, and he gathered her into his arms, and then they were gone. I turned my attention back to Silas; with one leg freed, I moved to the other, admiring the long, strong bands of muscle that made up his calves and thighs and stomach and chest.
His erection had not abated—if anything, it had grown harder, the head a dark purple, and the shaft so rigid that it didn’t lay flat against his stomach; instead it pulsed with every beat of his heart, the pre-cum beading at the tip betrayed exactly how aroused he was.
He didn’t say anything as I moved up to his right hand, and the lack of chatter from him made me nervous. Silas was a talker, a charmer, the kind of person you could count on to fill any awkward gaps in conversation with easy, polite chatter and an infectious laugh. But not right now. Right now, he watched me in silence, a silence that wasn’t stern or solemn necessarily, but a silence that was practically electrified with power.
Castor and I had tied the knots well, but we hadn’t made them very tight since we hadn’t wanted to wake Silas as we worked. But Silas’s thrashing and straining had yanked the silk ties fast, especially around his wrists. It took me a few minutes to pull apart the first one, and even longer for the second, and still he didn’t speak, his eyes
pinned on me the entire time.
But the moment I finally pulled the last knot loose, he was on me, his hands on my throat and waist, and then I was on my back, his knees on either side of my shoulders, his large hand gripping my jaw and forcing my head to tilt back.
“I won’t violate your fucking contract,” he said, and I didn’t need to see to know that his other hand fisted his dick. “But you’re going to take this, every drop of it, for making me fuck someone else. For teasing me. For walking away on the ballroom floor tonight.”
Earlier, I would have fought him. I would have teased him or provoked him, but not now. I wanted to be under him, subsumed by him, humiliated by him. Everything about it felt so right and I would never feel this way again and oh my God…I would never feel this way again. How could I live like that? Without Silas?
I’d asked myself that question so many times in the last week, but now, with him clutching my jaw, ready to ejaculate all over me, I realized how terrible it all was. I belonged here, underneath him, covered in him, and I would be lost without this.
He relaxed his grip just enough so that I could see the glorious sight of him stroking his cock. “My Molly,” he breathed as he tightened his fist. “My Mary Margaret.”
“Say it again,” I begged.
It became a prayer on his lips, a chant of power and ownership. “My Molly. My Molly. My M—fuck!”
His stomach muscles seized and jerked, tightening into deliciously tight lines, and his thighs clenched, and then he finally gave it all up to me, ropes of semen on my face and neck and hair, hot pulses of cum as he growled my name over and over, Molly Molly, my Molly, fucking his fist through it all, as if to milk himself for every drop. And the whole time, he’d kept those strong fingers wrapped around my jaw, holding me still as he marked me. As he claimed me in the basest way possible.
He didn’t let go of my jaw right away, and neither did the lust fade from his eyes. Instead, he examined every inch of my face with a possessive satisfaction, as if seeing me covered in his cum answered some deep, existential question for him.
I let my tongue move slowly, licking him off my lips as he watched.
He grunted and released my face. “You’re mine now.”
My eyelids burned at this. Why had I been so stupidly blind and proud last year? Yes, he’d fucked up, but now I’d broken our future as well. If instead of punching him and letting him leave, I had instead punched him and then forced him to make it up to me…we could be married now. We could have a forever together.
“I’m yours,” I whispered.
“And I won,” he declared with no small amount of satisfaction. Despite letting go of my face, he kept me pinned to the bed, his knees still astride my shoulders. And I loved it. He had won, and I welcomed the reminder, the reminder that I belonged to him. I would pretend that right now was for forever, that I had thousands of nights of him claiming me to look forward to.
I would pretend that this wasn’t both the first and last time that he would get to own me.
“You did win,” I said, my voice choked with the knowledge that this was almost at an end. No, Molly. Pretend, pretend, pretend, just for now. Just for tonight.
He trailed a long finger down my neck, running it through his essence, his half-hard cock stiffening as he reviewed the evidence of my submission. And then, with a reluctant growl, Silas moved off of me and went over to the table at the edge of the room. He returned with a damp towel and cleaned my face and neck and hair, saying nothing, although the low rumbles of satisfaction vibrating through his chest told me everything I needed to know.
After he finished, he tossed the towel to the side and reclined against the pillows at the top of the bed, crushing me to his chest as he did. I rarely felt this slender, this small, this female…but gathered in Silas’s arms and pressed against his firm chest, I decided that I could get used to it.
“So where are we going?” he asked.
“Pardon?” I murmured.
“I won, remember? And we’re going to run away together. Where shall we go? France? Belgium? I hear New York City is quite exciting.”
Pretend, pretend. Pretend that it’s not just more London and more misery and more Hugh awaiting you in the morning.
I shook my head. “Ireland. We’re going to Ireland.”
“Of course. To Ennis, I suppose?”
I closed my eyes, loving the feeling of his heart beating deep within his chest, a heart that I knew was mine for the taking.
Pretend.
“For a while,” I answered him, eyes still closed, allowing the scene to play out in my mind. “And then we’d go to a house on the coast.”
“Sounds wet,” Silas spoke into my hair, playfulness creeping back into his tone. “But I like it when things are…wet.”
“You are so much less clever than you think you are.”
“Then it’s a good thing I have you around to remind me. So what would our lives be like on this Irish coast? Would you try to make a fisherman out of me?”
I smiled at the image of my urbane, sophisticated Silas trying to fish. “No, we’d simply live our lives. Take walks, read books, make love.”
“Get married,” he added.
“In my childhood church,” I said. “You’ll have to become Catholic.”
“A papist? Only for you. I imagine all of our children would be little papist heathens as well?” His hands slid down to lace together over my stomach.
Pretend pretend. “Yes,” I said, and I was glad he couldn’t see my face and how close I was to crying. “All of our blue-eyed children.”
He slid deeper into the pillows, taking me with him, until we were snuggled so perfectly that I wanted to die here so that I would never have to leave. “I love you, Mary Margaret,” he said in a sleepy voice.
“I love you too,” I managed, hoping that he wouldn’t feel the way my ribs threatened to jerk and twitch with suppressed sobs.
“And tomorrow,” he said, words thick with doziness. “Tomorrow we sail for Ireland.”
“Yes.” I whispered the lie into his skin. “Tomorrow.”
Don’t worry! Silas and Molly’s story is far from over! Stayed tuned for the conclusion to
The London Lovers duet
in
The Wedding of Molly O’Flaherty,
coming this November.
In the meantime, if you would like to keep up to date with new releases as they come available, please sign up for my newsletter!
Other books by Sierra Simone:
The Markham Hall Series:
The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
The Education of Ivy Leavold
The Punishment of Ivy Leavold
The Reclaiming of Ivy Leavold
Priest
Midnight Mass (a Priest novella coming this Christmas)
Sierra Simone is a librarian who writes unabashedly sexy books with brains, beauty and big words. She lives with her hot cop husband and family in Kansas City. You can stalk her on Tumblr (NSFW!) and Facebook. You can also email her at [email protected] or sign up for her newsletter here..
Table of Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Coming Soon
About the Author
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The Persuasion of Molly O'Flaherty Page 13
