Page 69 of Silas

“Is that okay?” Silas whispers.

I nod. “Yes,” I breathe. “I…I like it.”

He tugs me to him and leans away so I’m tilted off the bed, and then with a single deft movement, my bra is unhooked. Nerves jangle, but his mouth is relentless on mine, and the heat building at my core overpowers the fear. He nudges the cups up and my breasts are bared, although still hidden by my shirt. His hand is hard and rough, yet still gentle and reverent as he covers one breast. The roughness of his palm is delicious, sending a wild thrill racing through me. He flicks my nipple with a thumb, and then pinches sharply—I gasp, a shocked, breathless little scream.

“Okay?” He murmurs.

“Y-yes, yes,” I gasp. “That was…”

I don’t know what it was or how to describe the feeling, and I don’t bother trying.

His hand drifts to my other breast, cupping it, playing with the weight of it, and oh god his touch is so gentle, worshipful. Nothing at all like the way—no. No. I refuse to sully this beautiful, heavenly experience by even thinkinghisname.

Silas’s touch is glorious. I arch my spine, pushing my breast into his touch. My shirt is tight, constricting, restricting my movements and his ability to touch me. He kisses my mouth, tasting me, coaxing my tongue into his mouth, and I whimper, moan. And then he leaves my mouth and pushes my shirt up to kiss my belly. I suck in a breath and hold it, disbelieving, awed, hoping…yes, he’s kissing his way up. I want his kisses everywhere—it’s a wild, daring thought. I need this shirt off. I need his mouth everywhere he’s willing to kiss me.

I lift up and rip the shirt off, taking the bra with it.

Silas pauses in his kissing, his eyes ravenously raking over my bare torso, my breasts and my peaked, tight, hard nipples.

“Holy fuck, Naomi, you are so goddamn sexy. So fucking perfect.” His voice is a rough, ragged whisper. “So fucking beautiful.”

My cheeks flame; I can’t formulate a response. He doesn’t seem to need one. He just kisses between my bare breasts, and I hold my breath, not daring to believe that he’s really going to—

His mouth seizes one of my nipples, and I whimper a loud shrill moan of raw amazed delight. My whole body contorts off the bed, pushing my breast against his mouth, and a blast of heat ripples through me, centered at my core, between my thighs. It feels like I’m going to come apart at the seams, like I’m going to burst into a million pieces. He releases my nipple, but only to move to the other one, flicking and pinching and rolling with his fingers the damp nipple his mouth just left. It’s too much, but I can’t bear to make him stop.

I’m writhing under him, arching, hips flexing, seeking something, desiring more, more.

He knows.

He continues to move from one breast to the other, kissing, licking, nuzzling, pinching, flicking, until I’m gasping and panting with moans and whimpers of overwhelmed sensation.

And then his hand dances down to my thigh and drifts up under my skirt. Higher, and higher. Nearer and nearer to my core, to my sex.

Oh god, he’s going to touch me…there.

I stop breathing, but he waits until I’ve unfrozen, and his mouth finds mine again, even as one hand continues to toy with my breasts and the other skates around my thighs and belly.

“Silas,” I whisper.

“Stop, or keep going?” He asks.

“Keep going,” I whisper.

He kisses me, deep, hard, and I can’t help but kiss him back, running my hands over his shoulders and back, everywhere I can reach.

He makes a circuit from thigh to thigh to belly, tracing nearer and nearer the apex of my sex, where I throb with hypersensitivity. I know he will touch me there, and I want it and fear it in equal measure.

He finally traces a finger over my seam, over my panties.

I gasp.

He hooks a finger inside the gusset, running his touch downward and then back up, his knuckle tracing the lip of my sex.

I whimper. “Please, Silas.”

I don’t know what I’m asking for, but I assume he does.

He traces down the seam again, over my sex. “I’m going to touch you here, Naomi.”