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When a door to a sound booth opened, he rushed inside to continue wreaking his havoc.

Each time I thought I was getting close to grabbing him, he turned and ran at me—honking, bloodlust in his eyes.

Then, suddenly, a door opened, a witch podcaster walked out, and the goose immediately froze, then ran to her, his little wings flapping, letting out happy honks.

“You know this goose?” Steve asked, still offended that said goose bit his tail.

“This is Walter. He’s my familiar.”

“And he’s at the studio why?”

“I guess he followed me. Did he make a fuss?”

“A fuss? He was a whole menace,” Steve insisted. The witch picked up Walter, who turned his long neck around hers. He looked like a little angel, no signs of the evil creature who held the whole station hostage for the past hour.

Once Walter and his witch were gone, I had to spend another hour or two getting everything back in order.

I was just heading to the supply closet to find some paperclips after Walter had knocked them into the trash bin that was full of the remains of Grum’s dinner.

The second my hand turned the knob, I felt the rush of air.

Then an arm was around me, pushing me into the storage room.

The door kicked closed and Silas pushed me up against the wall. His heated gaze held mine for just a blink before his lips met mine in the dark.

There was no warning. No easing into it. Just me, and him, and the collapse of the denial and restraint.

His lips were rough, hard, borderline bruising.

My fingers curled into his shirt as his mouth devoured mine.

He caught my bottom lip between his, sucking gently until my head fell back on a moan. He used the moment to slip inside, his tongue coaxing another moan from me.

My body was flooded with sensation—all pulse and heat and need.

Silas bit my lip as his hand slid down my skirt, grabbing my leg, lifting it up, and spreading it against the wall. He shifted inward, the thick outline of him pressing against the aching need in my core.

He caught my gasp with his lips as the hard demand of him rocked against me.

My leg hooked around him, holding on as he dropped my knee so his hand could glide upward, sliding over my hip, belly, ribs, then closing over my breast.

My breath stuttered when he broke the kiss, his lips and tongue on my neck. His hand moved upward, sliding into the bodice of my dress.

His cool skin on my overheated skin had another throaty whimper escaping me as his hand finally closed around my breast without a barrier, the sensation making my nipple harden against his palm.

Against my neck, he let out a groan of approval as his thumb and forefinger went to the point, rolling, circling, pinching. And just when I thought the aching pleasure had reached an apex, Silas leaned down and sucked my nipple into his mouth. A choked groan escaped me as my hand slapped to the back of his head and I arched into the feeling.

His lips and tongue were cool as they circled and sucked, making currents of need slide down from the contact, through my belly, down between my thighs.

I nearly came undone when his teeth grazed the aching point.

I was fevered, buzzing, alive with static.

He moved across my chest, continuing the delicious torment as the need tightened, coiled, threatened to snap.

My hand slipped between us, palming him through his slacks.

His lips released me, his face pressing against my breast as a ragged groan escaped him while my fingers traced the rigid length of him.