Page 91 of Glass

I told her that I wanted to own her.

But it has always been the other way around.

She gasps when I tug her back further, my mouth moving from hers to give me access to the soft skin of her neck. “Silas.”

The sound of my name on her lips is the best kind of music. I keep my touch gentle, my lips tasting her as I move down. And then I stop.

“Stasi,” I pull back, my eyes roving across my face as she watches me, flushed and soft and warm. “This is not the night.”

But she shakes her head, a hint of fire creeping into her eyes. “No. That night should have happened long ago. We’ve lost enough time, Silas. And I’m tired of just waiting around for the good things to happen to me, instead of taking them for myself.”

And she slams her mouth back against mine, her hands gripping my hair.

I groan into her and she drinks it down as my cock hardens beneath us, feeling the tentative brush of her over my lap as she moves. Her breath hitches when she feels it, and then she moves again.

“Stop that,” I murmur against her lips, “or you won’t be walking out of here tonight.”

And when she pulls her face back, there are sparks there. “If you think I’m walking away tonight, then I’m not doing this right.”

She shifts her hips, and my hands slide down to her waist.

“Are you sure?”

I will only ask once. I don’t have the willpower to ask any more. Not when I want her so fucking badly, so much that my own hands shake where they hold her.

When she nods, her arms tighten around my neck as I stand, keeping her close to me. She yelps when I turn us, and she bounces down onto the mattress. “Oh!”

I lean over her, placing my hands on either side of her head as she blinks up at me. My towel is dangerously close to slipping off my waist.

“You,” I say quietly, “are wearing far too many clothes, Anastasia.”

She doesn’t move her eyes from mine, but her hands drop down, to the hem of her black top. “Help me?”

I cover her hands with mine and help her pull the top over her head before tossing it to the side, leaving her bare to me, her breasts tipped with dusky brown nipples that stiffen beneath my gaze. I can’t stop drinking her in, mapping her, tracing the hundreds of freckles dotting her skin with my eyes.

When she moves to cross her hands over herself, my hands snap out, gently circling her wrists.

“Don’t hide yourself from me,” my voice is fierce. “You’re beautiful, Anastasia.”

I told her something different, once. And regret stabs in my chest at the faint look of disbelief that flashes across her face.

“I didn’t think we would ever be here,” I say quietly. My hands take her wrists, lifting them and pressing them above her head. “Keep them up.”

She nods, and it fuckingdoessomething to me when she obeys me. Almost as much as when she fights with me. I slide my hands down her skin, down the softness of her arms and over her shoulders. She stiffens when I cup her breasts, stroking my fingers over the hard nubs as her back arches, a breathy gasp slipping from her lips.

“These breasts were made for me,” my voice is husky. “Every single part of you was made for me, Anastasia. And everything I see is perfect.”

I will not let a day go past without reminding her, until those ghosts in her eyes disappear. Any response she might have given is swallowed by the choked sound she makes as I lean down, laving my tongue over her nipple before sealing my mouth over it and sucking.

My hands slip beneath her back as she moans, holding her up to me, one hand in the small of her lower back and my palm between her shoulder blades. Her hair trails out behind her, a mass of burgundy and cinnamon as though the fire in her soul is echoed by her body.

And tonight, she is mine.

I switch from one breast to the other, feeling her flex beneath my hands, her body undulating as she keeps her hands above her head, twisting and tugging the bedcovers. My stubble scrapes across her sensitive skin, and I should care more about that, but all I care about is that I’m leaving my mark on her, branding her with me.

When I finally lay her down, she’s panting, her skin dewy and her forehead damp. I move back up to taste her again, our tongues dancing together as she lifts her hands to clasp around my neck, her breasts pressing against my bare chest.

Her hips lift, nudging me, and I break from her mouth to press a hot, damp trail down her neck, over her breasts anddown.“So impatient, Anastasia.”