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“Here too?”
“Yes.” My voice was already unsteady. “Silas, yes. Please.”
He lowered his mouth to my pussy and drew his tongue over me in one slow, broad stroke that made my entire body jerk against the mattress.
I had never felt anything quite like it.
Daniel had gone down on me maybe twice in three years, and both times he had been so hurried and mechanical that I had spent the entire experience thinking about everything except pleasure. I worried about how I looked, how I smelled, whether he was getting bored, whether I was taking too long. I had been so tense that my body never had a chance to respond. Mostly, I remembered waiting for it to end and feeling relieved when it finally did.
Silas was nothing like that.
He took his time, moving with a patience that made me ache. His tongue swept over me slowly, then narrowed to the tip as he circled my clit, paying close attention to every sound I made and repeating whatever made me react most. His hands stayed firm around my thighs, holding them open without hurting me, steady enough that I stopped thinking about what my body was doing. I did not have to keep my legs apart or control the way I moved. I did not have to make myself smaller or quieter or easier to manage.
For once, I could simply let myself feel it.
“Delicious,” he murmured against me, the vibration of his voice running through my body. “Every part of you is delicious.”
The pleasure gathered slowly, spreading through me until I could no longer tell where one sensation ended and the next began. My hands twisted into his short hair, my heels pressed into the mattress, and his name kept leaving my mouth before I could decide to say it.
He never rushed me.
Even when I started to come, he did not change his rhythm or suddenly become frantic. He stayed exactly where he was, holding me open while my body clenched around nothing and every pulse of pleasure rolled through me hard enough to make the old iron bedframe knock against the wall.
He stayed with me through all of it.
Only when I began shaking from the sensitivity did he ease off, slowing until I was pushing weakly at his head because I could not take any more. Then he stopped and rested his cheek against the inside of my thigh, breathing against my skin.
After a while, he asked, “All right?”
A laugh escaped me, though it caught halfway out and turned suspiciously close to a sob.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think you broke me.”
I felt his smile against my skin.
It was the first time I had ever felt him smile.
He undressed at the end of the bed beneath the low lamplight, doing it without self-consciousness and without making a performance of himself. I had seen him in the Pit with his shirt soaked through with sweat, but I had never seen the whole of him before.
He was enormous.
His chest, shoulders, and arms were built with the kind of heavy muscle that came from years of using his body hard, and nearly every part of him carried some old mark. Pale scars crossed his skin in different directions, some narrow and clean, others rougher and deeper. I could recognize claw marks and knife wounds among them, but there were others I could not place.
When he pushed his pants down over his hips, his cock sprang free, thick and fully hard, and the sight of it made my pussy tighten before I could stop myself.
I swallowed.
“Oh.”
He followed my gaze, and for a moment something almost uncertain passed over his rough face.
“We’ll go slow,” he said.
“I’m not worried.”
The lie came too easily.
His eyes stayed on mine. “You are.”
