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Silas laughs—laughs—while sucking my clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue against it. "I love those little sounds you make," he says, and then he pushes his fingers into my pussy, moving them in and out of me while his tongue swirls around my clit.

And then I can't help it—I place my hand on the back of his head and rock my hips back and forth, riding his tongue. He angles his fingers, matching the pace of my hips while moving his tongue back and forth, side-to-side. I feel that tightening in my core, threatening to come undone.

"That…that feels so good," I tell him, my voice strained. "Fuck! Oh, my god, I'm going to…come."

He sucks my clit into his mouth and moans, flicking it with his tongue, and I scream, gripping his hair in my fist, my toes curling inside my boots.

Goose bumps run up my spine as the orgasm rolls through me. I push back against the wall to stay on my feet while my clit pulses against his tongue until it's too much.

"I can't…oh, god. I can't take it anymore," I say breathlessly.

"I'm not done yet, baby. Not until you stop shaking."

I clench my thighs around his head, and he keeps me spread open, licking me and pumping his fingers inside me through the aftershocks, through my whining and squirming, until finally, my legs stop shaking.

Silas pulls away, kissing the inside of my thigh.

"I love you…" I say again, my breath heaving. My eyes flutter open, and when I look up, Tate is standing in the bedroom watching us.

There's fire in his eyes and not the good kind.

"Found the fucking guns if anyone cares," he says, his tone harsh. "Let's grab them and get the fuck out of here."

Tate storms out of the room, not waiting for us to follow, and Silas pulls himself to his feet.

"I love you, too," he says. He grabs my underwear and pulls them back into place, then does the same with my tights before kissing me on the mouth. "Let's go, princess."

I follow him toward the door, but he stops me.

"No, Noah. You need to crawl."

Unlike before with Tate, I don't protest. I drop onto the carpet and crawl toward the door with Silas behind me.

"This carpet is going to ruin the knees of these tights, you know."

"If it were up to me, you'd be on your knees so much that none of your pants would have any knees at all, Noah. Don't complain to me when you just rode my tongue, and I can still taste your pussy. Respectfully."

Tate waits in the hall with that same dark look in his eyes, his jaw flexed.

"Where are they?" Silas asks.

"They're downstairs. The bookshelf is a cabinet. It's locked, but it isn't anything special; you should be able to get into it," Tate says.

The two of them walk down the staircase, and I stop, debating whether I should ask if I can stand. But the idea of asking permission is a little too much for me right now—especially when Tate is in this mood—so I turn and crawl down the steps backward.

When I reach the bottom, Silas is already working on the lock. I crawl over to the couch and sit at Tate's feet, leaning against his leg.

"You must know you're in trouble," he says.

"Yes," I tell him. "But I don't know why."

It wouldn't be because Silas went down on me. That's never been a problem for him before, and he watched me suck him off last night and kissed me afterward.

He wouldn't just change the rules like this.

Tate leans forward, petting my head. "Because you're a bad girl, Noah," he says. "You're a sickness for me. And I'm going to have to do something about it. I'll have to punish you for it."

I turn, resting my head on his knee, and look up at him. "No, I'm not. I'm not bad, Tate."