by Meli Raine
Only Silas does.
I watch my own movements with a heated rush as I wrap my fingers around his waistband and slowly, exquisitely, pull off his boxers. His erection pulls with the fabric, then springs back with a thick power that makes me want to pull him into my mouth, give him pleasure.
Make him want me as much as I want him.
Kicking his pants off the bed, Silas props himself up on one hand and grins at me.
“Your turn.”
I look down, my shirt half off, pants still on. The lights are on. We can see each other completely. There is nothing being hidden.
There is no reason.
Impulse makes me rise up on my knees, untamed breasts bobbing slightly as I pull the shirt completely off, stretching to point myself closer to him, giving Silas a show. Those deep-blue eyes never leave me, tracking my breasts, my hips, my face.
I sit on the edge of the bed and hook my thumbs into my panty waistband. Arching up off the bed, I slide them down, then sit on the cool cotton comforter while I finish removing them.
Before I can do it, I’m dragged back, Silas’s hot mouth on mine, our bodies askew. He’s kissing me like he’s drowning, like I am how he breathes, and I’m matching him.
The way the light shines off the muscles in his back as I give myself the luxury of opening my eyes while we kiss makes me think of Greek gods. Of men in the woods, strong and sculpted by hard work and necessity, by honor and truth. We move our naked bodies against each other, his skin coarse with hair, mine smooth and shivering.
After a while, I lose the sense that we’re two separate bodies, until he moves me back and sits up over me. Silas takes his hands and places them gently, reverently, on my hips, gliding up over my ribs, my breasts, and along my underarms.
I lift my hands up until my wrists cross above my head, skirting through my shorter hair until they rest on the pillow.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, bending down to plant an open-mouthed kiss on each nipple. As he finishes the first, his tongue lingers, making me tighten and pulse. I forget to breathe as he blows gently on the wet skin, which curls inward, closing like a rosebud, waiting for another time to reveal itself.
I’m all gasp and throb by the time he kisses his way between my legs. My heart quickens, breath picking up, but he pauses.
“These scrapes,” he says, one gentle finger tracing a couple of cuts. “I hate seeing them on you. They’re marks of my failure.”
“No,” I whisper.
“Yes. I’m so sorry you’re hurting. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t hurt anymore.”
“Everything?” My answer is loaded with innuendo. He picks it up.
“I’ve wanted you,” he murmurs to my belly, “since we first met.”
“You hated me,” I whisper, my fingers loose in his hair.
“No. I mean before. When you met with Lindsay after she came home. I thought you were the most captivating woman I’d ever met.”
“When we were at The Toast? You–you did? You thought that?”
“I did. It was hard to hide it.”
“I just thought you were a super-innocent, nice guy.”
“You’re half right.”
“Which half?”
His lips move against the tender skin right below my navel. “Let me show you.”
My abs tighten every second his lips graze me. The light stubble of his late-day beard feels like an electric skin, like someone has added a layer to me, all wire and heat and wetness. I’m tingling everywhere, his hands moving my thighs apart, until I arch up and gasp at the warm pleasure he gives me with his tongue.
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know that a man could touch me like this, so masterful and bold, yet make me feel delicate and worthy at the same time. I didn’t know that a man could play my body like an instrument, bringing blood to a crescendo, breathing con slancio that soaks into my pores as he licks me, his passion raw and atavistic, laid out as if it were a given.
I didn’t know.
I do now.
Too much emotion turns my blood to lava, the light strokes of his hands on me a quick accumulation of aching unanswered prayers. My body moves toward him, drawn by need, his gravitational pull too much. If I thought I was overcome by my crazy, dangerous life, I am learning as he runs his hands up over my hipbones straight to my breasts, touching me like a man who is determined to study me until he’s an expert, that crazy and dangerous apply to this, too.
What do I do with my hands? I want to touch him, explore him, my palms curling around his shoulders and touching the thick muscle I find. My mind races as he turns me into nothing but quivers. Exposed like this in the night, I open my eyes, shadows mingling with the whispers of the flesh.
And then it all fades, a soft infusion that makes me feel light, so light, I’ll float away. His fingers perform magic across my ribcage, calloused hands pulling me to him through the simple act of pressure. His body gives and I take, my hips arching toward him until he stops, pausing only to give me something even better.
His mouth.
The kiss is firelight and peace, sanctuary and trust, my hands finally free to feel all of him, finding a long torso, the well-worn terrain of hard work. This man protects people with his body. It must be a fortress. As I touch him, his hand dips between my legs, the fevered rush of his kiss giving me a taste of myself, the hedonism so intoxicating.
Come with me, his fingers say, turning me up until I’m about to explode. Let me take you to a place where there is no shame.
So I do.
Pleasure crowds out all of my doubts, emptying my mind with a suddenness that defies the neat orderliness I assumed it required. I kiss him back, hard, and grind into his hand, then move until I’m straddling him, his erection pressed between my legs, the wet friction making me gasp as he looks at me with dark eyes that promise more.
I’m not sure how much more I can take.
My pulse is in every pore of my body, synched perfectly to give me an exquisite sense of Silas, as if his naked journey matches mine. He reaches up and moves a strand of hair off my face, eyes boring into me, trying to see my soul. I move against him and he groans, closing his eyes, giving in to me. Having him release the protective wall that makes me feel safe is an illicit, welcome pleasure.
It means he trusts me.
It means he wants me.
It means I am in.
In his head. In his heart. In his life.
And now it’s my turn to let him in.
A simple roll of my hip and one wet thigh’s slick shift and he’s poised at the entrance, so close to slipping in me, his body a study in restraint.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“We need something,” he says, turning toward his bedside table drawer. A condom is in his hand as he rolls back over, and within seconds, he puts it on.
He looks at me, breathing hard. Intensity deepens between us. I can’t look away.
He won’t.
“Not like this,” he whispers, moving me out of range, making me almost cry out in frustration. “Let me make sure it won’t hurt.” Kissing me deeply, he pulls me to him, then rotates our joined bodies until I’m on my back. Strong arms bulge as he holds himself above me, my knees falling to each side, my heart slamming between my legs like it’s relocated.
“I want you to tell me to stop if you want to stop, Jane.”
“I don’t.”
“Do you understand, though? I mean it.” He kisses me, a sweet kiss that is too chaste for the moment. I want raunchy and naughty, dirty and wild, and right now, he’s so earnest.
I grab his ass with both hands and pull him in.
Turns out he’s stronger than me, even in that region.
The next thing I know, my mouth and body are plundered, the pain of being entered completely outweighed by the intensity of this kiss. My mouth is now taking more than I knew possible, emotion transforming me from the inside out. He
licks, he sucks, he bites, he tells me all his secrets but I can’t understand any of them, my fingers finding every scar on his back and arms, over his abs and chest, back to his perfect ass, until he moves inside me, pulling back with a hiss.
And then he moves inside me again, slow and steady, the air changing between us. I smell musk and sweat, sex and juices, but I also sense a scent that is new. Wholly original.
As I breathe, his head dips down, kissing my shoulder as he thrusts. Coiled power radiates from him, my hands on his ass loosening their grip, riding up the small, curved surface of his lower back into the corded rope of his spine.
“Widen your legs,” he commands, my body intuitively submitting, waiting for him to give me guidance. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed with you,” I whisper into the hard curve of his ear, taking in every second and scent, every thrust and stroke, marveling in real time that we’re together like this, accepting it, welcoming it.
Loving it.
Lush kisses and deep strokes turn us into a twisting, entangled, sublime knot, his body so big above me, my own so deeply here. Grounded and present as a tactile sense inside me builds, I kiss him back, so connected to him that I lose my own edges.
I blur into him.
There is pain, yes. It’s a tender, yanking ache that isn’t fading. But it’s a reminder. A talisman, of sorts, but one you can’t hold in a pocket or your hand.
My breath breaks away and fills the curved space between us, his hair against my shoulder, his wide chest and big body making me feel wanted. A flicker, a sunburst, a change, turn me into a bonfire, and suddenly he tells me, “I can’t hold back. Are you ready?”
The push and release are so hard, so good, so–oh, oh, I’m flying, the heat lifting me up until all that is left is Silas. I am enough, gasping and moaning, letting go of voices and thoughts and fears and pain until all I am is whatever he gives me. We’re moving against each other to give and give and give until we’re empty.
Emptiness is underrated.
Our breath is so fast, so ragged, like smoke scraping against a diamond. In the soft, dusky light I catalog my senses. Electricity races across each pore. My legs shake, newly awakened. Silas’s breath thunders in my ear, his chest against mine, my soft breasts moving to fit against his thickness.
Hearts can break so easily.
But hearts can also be the greatest cure of all.
“Jane,” he says to me in the quiet. I turn just so, trying to control my shaking as he slides out of me. I look at him, unabashedly watching his body as he moves, enjoying every second of this unfettered view.
“Mmm?”
“You okay?”
“Better than okay.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Come on,” he urges, propping himself up on one elbow, facing me. He strokes a long, gentle line from my chin to one breast. “Tell me. It hurt?”
“Only a little. And it wasn’t your fault.” I smile.
“Oh, but it was all my fault.” He smiles back.
“It was worth it. You’re worth it,” I say. The words feel inadequate.
“Thank you,” he says.
I jolt, absolutely not expecting that. “For what? Sex?”
“For trusting me.”
“How do you know I trust you? Maybe I’m some devious double agent who sleeps her way to information.”
“I don’t think so.” A yawn overpowers him, so intense, he shakes a little. It’s endearing. I melt a little more.
“You don’t?” I arch one eyebrow. “Then my evil plan is working.”
“If your evil plan involves letting me have lots of sex with you, then let’s make that evil plan work.”
“You liked it?” I ask, shy again.
“I like you.”
“That’s not an answer.” I reach between us and find him, hard again.
His turn to arch an eyebrow. “Again?”
“You said you wanted to work my evil plan.”
He pulls me into his arms. “I like the way you think, even if you might be a spy.”
I kiss him quickly, then begin to stroke him. “Oh, I see something I’d like to spy...”
“That involves going deep undercover, Jane,” he says, then moans as I do just that.
Turns out he’s right.
My evil plan does require a lot of practice.
So we do.
Chapter 9
I wake up to an empty bed, a sun-bathed room, and the seductive scent of coffee in the air.
As I sit up, the sheet slides down my body. I’m naked.
And in walks Silas, carrying two mugs of hot coffee, wearing nothing but a smile.
“I’m still asleep,” I mutter. “This is all a dream.”
“If you say so,” he laughs, setting the coffee down on the end table closest to me, ripping the top sheet off me completely. “Coffee first, sex second.”
“I will need coffee to be awake enough to have sex.”
“Not if this is still a dream.”
“If you deny me my coffee, it becomes a nightmare. Trust me.”
He kisses me, tasting like coffee and male pride. “Drink up, then. You’ll need the energy for what I’m about to do to you.”
“Don’t you mean with me?”
“Just wait.”
We drink our coffee around grins on our faces. The world changed in one single moment last night, forever different. Giving myself to Silas feels natural. Real. Authentic and true. When we made love last night, all the fear washed away. That wasn’t a revenge screw, or an angry screw, or one iota negative.
I feel rejuvenated. Recharged. Revitalized.
And now, I want more.
I’m halfway through my coffee when Silas places his mug on my end table, leaning across me intentionally, dragging his forearm across my nipples, the tiny hairs covering his muscled arm tickling my skin to pearly pebbles.
“Oh. Excuse me,” he says, not at all sincere. “I just needed to make a little room.”
I admire the long, tight curl of muscle from his thigh to his ass, how ridged and rolling his body is. Shadows and light make looking at him a joyful process. For a few seconds, I view him as a painter looking at a subject, but the moment fades quickly. My heart races and I lick my lips. He’s too gorgeous, too close, and smells so good. Tan and peppered with darker hair, his arms and legs are powerful machines, finely honed and trained to protect.
And kill.
But mostly protect.
Those big, speckled eyes are fringed by long lashes, thick eyebrows arching up a strong brow. His hair is messy and he has stubble. Relaxed and playful, this is a side of Silas he’s revealing to me slowly.
As his lips kiss a trail where his arm just dragged, I gulp my coffee, spilling a few drops down my collarbone, two rolling right into the valley between my breasts.
“Let me clean that up for you,” he says in a low voice thick with desire, his tongue curling to a tip at my navel, then flattening as he rides all the way up my torso, between my breasts, ending at the hollow of my neck. I lean back and let my body take over, my sigh turning to a moan, as he faithfully does as promised.
He keeps his promises. Always. I know that about him, and I’m learning it’s true in bed, too.
Every time our skin connects, I marvel at how good this feels. Two parts of me are at war inside: the Jane who wants to let go and enjoy, and the Jane who is so new to being this intimate with a man that she freezes, worried she’s doing the wrong thing. I am both of those Janes.
But there is only one Silas.
“I need my coffee,” I protest, but giggling at the same time.
He lets out a mock sigh. “Coffee isn’t better than sex.”
“No. It’s not. But it’s close,” I tease as I turn just enough to reach my cup. I don’t have the courage to tell him I’m sore from last night. That I’m nervous.
That I need a little bit of time to sort everything inside me and let it all se
ttle.
He grabs his own mug and takes a sip, sitting next to me.
I open my mouth and to my surprise, blurt out: “I didn’t know sex could be so, so, so...”
“Incredible?”
“I was going to say ‘athletic.’ But ‘incredible’ works, too.”
Unrestrained laughter from Silas shakes the bed. “You,” he gasps, “are killing me.”
“That’s a nice change. Because normally, I’m the one someone’s trying to kill.”
His laughter stops abruptly.
And then my phone buzzes. Seconds later, his does, too.
We both groan in unison.
“I am not going back to The Grove,” I declare before either of us locates our phones. “No.”
“I won’t make you,” he says, resolute. “But I have to see what’s going on.”
My phone is on a chair on the other side of the room. Silas walked in here naked and completely unselfconscious. Just a few hours ago, we had messy, naughty, awesome sex, and he’s seen my body in darkness and in daylight.
And yet... standing up and walking across the room without a stitch of clothing on feels so provocative. Exhibitionist.
Crazy, right? I pose naked for Alice’s paintings but can’t bring myself to go get my phone?
Taking a deep breath, I toss off the sheet and just do it. When I turn around, I see it doesn’t matter. Silas is staring intently at his screen.
I look at mine.
It’s Lindsay.
We need to talk. Now. Meet at The Toast in an hour?
“Anywhere but The Grove,” I mutter. Besides, The Toast has great coffee. Much better than the stuff Silas made for me.
On the other hand, the service here at his place is top notch. We can work on the coffee.
Another text makes the phone leap to life in my hands. I back out of Lindsay’s text to find one from Harry Bosworth.
Er... my father.
Come to The Grove in an hour, Jane. We need to talk.
My father wants to see me.
My not-sister wants to see me.
I have to choose.
No, I reply back to Senator Harwell Bosworth, the man who is one election away from being the leader of the free world. I don’t choose him.
I choose Lindsay.
