“You need rest,” he says, more to himself than to me. “You’re sore.”
Setting my now clean legs down, Silas stands. Water pings across his shoulders, running down the murals of tattoos covering his hard stomach and thick-veined forearms. And his hands—god, his hands—have been everywhere. On me. In me. Shoving cum back into my swollen core before forcing their way into my mouth, coating my tongue with the sweet, bitter tang of our pleasure.
I grab his hand as he starts to turn, letting myself admire the crisp black lines across his knuckles before looking up. He must see something in my eyes, because his body goes still, cock twitching, the thick length just inches from my lips.
I meet his gaze, emerald flecks striking against the deep green tiles behind us, as I guide his hand to my head, adjusting my position until my lips hover over him.
“My mouth isn’t.”
Only once all the cum is cleaned from my face and neck, and my hair is brushed, do I exit the washroom. There’s a pair of Silas’s sweatpants and a T-shirt waiting for me, along with a new toothbrush still in its packaging, and my favorite toothpaste and floss set beside it on the counter. With minty-fresh breath and a subtle ache between my thighs, I step into the main studio and find Silas seated at a fresh canvas, still naked.
A forest-green towel is wrapped around his waist as he perches on his stool, but the edges have fallen low, revealing the top curves of his ass. The hard muscles across his back flex as his paintbrush flies across the canvas, and I realize what he’s rendering.
The large rectangle set on the easel is a mixture of pearl and eggshell whites, twisted with flashes of scarlet. Most would assume it’s impressionistic or perhaps modern with its bold strokes, but all I see is the backdrop of the bed Silas stares at as his hand moves.
“You’re painting the sheets?” I ask, padding toward him.
“Yes and no,” he says, tilting his head toward me, though his eyes never stray from the silk sheets—marred forever with my ruin—until the last splash of red is added to the canvas and his brush falls still. “I’m painting you. Us. Just in another form.”
He tugs me to his side, pressing his head into my stomach, and I inhale the masculine scent of him. I run my fingers through his still-damp hair, my heart thrumming at how vulnerable he looks right now. How open he is with me—only me.
“I have this need to tell you I love you,” Silas whispers, pressing a kiss to my navel. My breath hitches as he holds me there, staring up at me. “But that word isn’t strong enough. I love you, and my soul is yours as much as it is mine.”
His fingers tug on the drawstring holding my pants up, andthe loose waistband slips down, leaving me in nothing but his oversized shirt.
“I love you, and I would gladly worship at the altar of your body for eternity.”
He lifts the hem of the fabric, sending sparks of electricity across my skin as he exposes my nakedness. Silas’s fingers tease my core with gentle strokes, just enough to have me slick with need, despite the lingering soreness. And god above, I already want him again.
He pushes the towel from his lap, tugging me forward until the most sensitive part of me is poised over his straining cock, the velvety head sliding through my slick folds.
“I love you, and I would erase any threat.” Gripping my thighs, he slams me down, impaling me on his length before lifting me again. This position draws him so deep I swear it feels like he’s etching ownership into my bones. “Punish anyone foolish enough to hurt you.”
His words are punctuated with another deep thrust, and I cry out from the sharp pleasure. He captures the sound with his mouth as he sets the rhythm, moving me with ease, as though I weigh nothing. Our bodies writhe together, desire already smoldering into a raging inferno of need and want and love.
Silas sucks hard on a nipple, and I cradle his head to me as his teeth find the other.
“I love you,” he pants, his grip on my back tightening with his release just as mine crashes into me.
“And I’d destroy the world to keep you.”
39
SILAS
“To help the ache,” I murmur low enough for only Evie to hear as I slide three tablets and a glass of water across the kitchen counter.
“Thanks,” she says, faint traces of pink stealing across her cheeks. I love the way she blushes, knowing she’s thinking of all the ways I bent, fucked, and used her last night. And this morning.
Tempest pads into the kitchen, reaching for a coffee mug as she takes a seat beside Evie. I give her a smile before turning, finding Erik. His blonde hair is a mess, bite marks covering his chest and neck, and he’s tying the drawstring on a pair of grey sweatpants like he only just remembered to put on clothes. Odd that he’s coming from the east wing when his room’s on the opposite end. They must’ve invited people over after all.
I catch a glimpse of Noctis in a teal-blue T-shirt and jeans, his put-together ensemble and wide awake gaze completely opposite of Erik. He’s perched on the edge of a built-in lounge beneath the three large windows overlooking the canyon, his computer open and already humming. A pair of French doors lead out to the backyard, the combined light bringing lifeto the colorful Spanish tiles and wooden accents throughout the house.
One day, I’ll get to Spain. Morana will be found, the trafficking circuits destroyed, and I can fucking run to the Mediterranean Sea with Evie at my side. I’d planned on Italy, but Evie mentioned wanting to see Spain, something in a book that caught her eye. And just like that, my dreams of Italy were replaced. Made better. Fuller. More whole with my little fox beside me.
I take a seat next to Noctis, waiting while he types. He looks peaceful, but I need to make sure Evie’s dickwad of a brother gets what’s coming to him.
“Robert’s been taken care of,” Noctis says, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Shane’s still working that shitty above-the-table job. No signs of the circuit contacting him yet, but I still don’t believe our little vacation downtown in the holding cells was all because of Jonathan?—”
