Chapter 23: Silas drags sleep-drunk Izzy to the kitchen, bending her over the same butcher block where she nursed Gabriel hours earlier—his calloused hands gripping her baby bump as he rams into her from behind, the obscene slap of flesh echoing through the house while milk leaks from her untouched breasts onto the wood below.
The knowledge of Cassian was a quiet, humming thing between them, a secret planted deep in her flesh. It changed the air in the farmhouse, made Silas’s watchfulness more intense, his possession more absolute. He moved through the rooms with a new kind of purpose, reinforcing windows, checking the locks not once but three times a day. The world outside, which had felt merely distant, now felt like a threat held at bay only by the strength of his will.
Tonight, the kitchen was a cave of shadows and flickering light. A single candle on the table threw his silhouette, monstrous and large, against the far wall. The coffee in his mug had gone cold hours ago. Izzy stood at the sink, rinsing a bottle, her body aching with a fatigue that was becoming as constant as her hunger. Her bare feet were cold on the tile, and she felt a slight stickiness with each step from where she’d spilled a drop of honey earlier.
She felt him come up behind her before she heard him. It was a shift in the pressure of the room. His hands settled on her hips, his touch immediate and demanding.
“You’re tired,” he stated, his voice low.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured, leaning back against the solid warmth of his chest. “Just the… you know. The extra work.”
He turned her around, his dark eyes searching her face in the dim light. He didn’t ask. He simply bent, hooked an arm behind her knees, and lifted her from the floor as if she weighed nothing. She let out a small, startled gasp, her arms looping around his neck.
He carried her to the butcher block island and set her down on the scarred wood. The surface was cool and hard through her thin nightgown. He stood between her spread knees, his hands pushing the fabric up her thighs, baring her to the waist. The candlelight danced over her brown skin, over the new, subtle curve of her lower belly.
“Silas,” she whispered, a thread of exhaustion and want in her voice.
His answer was to push her back until she was lying flat on the cold, hard surface. He grabbed her thighs, his grip firm, and pulled her to the very edge, spreading her wide open for him. The position was exposed, vulnerable. Her head rested on the wood, and she stared up at the dark ceiling, her breath catching.
He knelt.
The first touch of his tongue was a bolt of pure lightning. He didn’t start slow. He buried his face between her legs with a hungry groan, his tongue lashing her swollen clit with a ruthless, focused precision.
“Oh, god,” she cried out, her back arching off the block.
He held her hips down, pinning her. His tongue worked her, a relentless, wet friction that made her toes curl. He lapped at her, deep and thorough, his nose nudging against her sensitive flesh. She could hear the wet, obscene sounds of his feast, could feel his beard scraping against her inner thighs. The exhaustion that had clung to her bones melted away, replaced by a rising, coiling heat.
“You taste like heaven and my son,” he growled against her, his breath hot. “This perfect, greedy cunt.”
His words, filthy and reverent, pushed her higher. She was soaking now, her arousal coating his chin, her hips beginning to move in tiny, helpless circles against his mouth. She was close, so close, the pleasure a tight knot in her core ready to snap.
He pulled away.
She whimpered, a sound of pure loss, her body trembling with denied release. “Please…”
In one fluid, powerful motion, he flipped her over onto her stomach. The rough wood scraped against her tender skin. Her small, pregnant belly was pressed against the cold surface. He shoved her nightgown up around her shoulders, baring her ass to the flickering light.
He spat into his palm, the sound crude and purposeful. She heard the slick, wet noise as he stroked his cock, coating it. He positioned himself behind her, the broad, blunt head of his erection nudging against her soaked entrance.
“This is where it belongs,” he grunted, and drove into her with a single, deep, claiming thrust.
The air left her lungs in a rush. He filled her completely, stretching her, the angle hitting a place deep inside that made her see stars. He didn’t wait for her to adjust. He set a brutal, pounding rhythm, his hips slamming against her ass with a force that shook the entire island. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, holding her immobile for his use.
“Take it,” he commanded, his voice a ragged snarl. “Take my cum deep into that womb. Feed my son.”
His words were a dark incantation. The crudeness, the sheer biological reality of what he was doing—fucking his seed into her, into the life they’d already made—shattered her. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and uncontrollable. She screamed into the wooden block, her body convulsing around his driving length, milking him.
Feeling her climax, he lost all control. His thrusts became frantic, animalistic. He pistoned into her, his rhythm breaking into a series of harsh, desperate lunges. With a guttural roar that seemed to tear from the very center of him, he came, pumping his release into her in hot, pulsing jets. He held himself deep, grinding against her, as if ensuring not a single drop was wasted.
He collapsed over her, his weight a heavy, comforting blanket. His breath was hot and ragged against her back. She could feel him, still hard inside her, still pulsing with the last of his release.
For a long time, they stayed like that, joined in the silent, candlelit kitchen. The only sounds were their slowing breaths and the soft pop of the candle flame.
Slowly, carefully, he pulled out. A warm gush of his spend followed, dripping down her inner thighs onto the butcher block. He didn’t move to clean it. Instead, he turned her over again, his hands surprisingly gentle. He looked down at the evidence of their coupling, his thumb stroking through the mess on her thigh.
He lifted his thumb to his mouth and sucked it clean, his dark eyes locked on hers.
“Cassian,” he said, the name a quiet vow in the stillness.
He then lifted her from the block, cradling her against his chest as he carried her from the kitchen, leaving the candle to burn itself out in the room that smelled of sex, sweat, and his absolute claim.
He carried her down the dark hallway, her body limp and spent against his chest. The worn floorboards were cool beneath his bare feet, a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from their skin. He shouldered the bedroom door open and laid her on the tangled sheets, the scent of their earlier sleep still clinging to the fabric.
With efficient, purposeful hands, he stripped her naked, peeling the damp nightgown over her head and letting it fall to the floor. He followed, shedding his own black clothing until they were both bare in the moonlight filtering through the window. His tattoos were a dark tapestry across his skin, a map of a life she would never fully know.
From the crib in the corner, a thin, hungry wail pierced the quiet.
Silas didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room and gathered Gabriel into his large, capable hands. The baby’s cries softened into fussy whimpers against his father’s chest. He brought him to the bed and placed him carefully into the crook of Izzy’s arm, guiding her nipple to the searching mouth.
“There,” Silas murmured, his voice a low rumble. He watched, his dark eyes intent, as Gabriel latched on and began to suckle with greedy, rhythmic pulls.
Then he moved. He knelt between her legs, his hands spreading her thighs wide once more. He leaned in, his breath warm on her sensitive flesh. “My turn,” he said, and his tongue delved into her.
Izzy gasped, her back arching off the mattress. The dual sensations were overwhelming—the gentle, draining pull at her breast and the rough, wet friction between her legs. Silas ate her with a focused hunger, his tongue lapping up the fresh seep of her arousal and the lingering evidence of his own spend from the kitchen.
“Taste yourself on me,” he growled against her clit, his words vibrating through her core. “Taste our son in your milk. It’s all one thing, Sweetheart. It’s all for me.”
He feasted, his beard scraping her tender skin, his mouth a demanding counterpoint to the baby’s gentle nursing. She was split in two, a vessel being consumed from both ends, and a profound, dizzying pleasure twisted through her exhaustion. She tangled one hand in Gabriel’s fine hair and the other in Silas’s dreads, holding on as they both took what they needed from her body.
When Gabriel finished, his mouth going slack in sleep, Silas pulled away from her. He lifted the baby, his movements surprisingly deft, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead. He settled him back into the crib, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
Then he was back, his weight dipping the mattress. He loomed over her, his eyes black with a need that went beyond sex. “The other one,” he commanded, his voice rough. “I need to taste it.”
She understood. She arched her back, offering him her full, aching breast, the one Gabriel had not emptied. A drop of milk pearled at the tip. He lowered his head, his mouth closing over her nipple, and suckled.
It was not a gentle pull. It was a claiming. His suction was strong, insistent, drawing the sweet, rich milk from her in deep draughts. His tongue worked her nipple, and his hand found its way between her legs again, his fingers sliding easily into her wetness.
“So good,” he muttered against her breast, his voice thick. “This perfect fucking body.”
He drank from her, his hunger a tangible force in the quiet room. She cried out, a sharp, broken sound, as his fingers curled inside her, finding a spot that made her vision blur. Her orgasm was a deep, internal unraveling, a silent, shuddering release that milked his fingers and spilled more of her essence into his waiting mouth.
He drank until she was empty, until her breast felt soft and light in his mouth. Finally, he released her nipple with a soft, wet sound. He looked down at her, his lips glistening, his expression one of raw, satiated possession. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then lowered himself beside her, his body curving around hers in the dark.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then lowered himself beside her, his body curving around hers in the dark. The room was quiet save for their slowing breaths and the soft, sleeping sounds from the crib. His arm was a heavy, possessive weight across her waist, his hand splayed over the slight, firm swell of her belly where Cassian grew. She felt boneless, utterly drained, yet a restless, buzzing energy still hummed beneath her skin.
It was a deep, cellular ache his mouth and fingers hadn’t been able to soothe.
She shifted against him, pressing her ass back into the hard heat of his groin. He was already semi-hard, his flesh stirring against her. She reached behind her, her fingers finding and closing around his thickening length. He was still slick from her, from his own spend.
“Daddy,” she whispered into the darkness, her voice raspy. “I still need it.”
She pumped him slowly, firmly, feeling him swell to full, rigid hardness in her hand. “I need you inside me. Now.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. He didn’t speak. His hand left her belly and gripped her hip, pulling her back onto him as he shifted onto his side. He guided the broad head of his cock to her soaked entrance, which was still loose and swollen from his previous taking. He pushed into her from behind with a single, smooth, deep stroke that filled her completely.
“This greedy cunt,” he muttered against her neck, his voice thick with sleep and renewed desire. “Always hungry for me.”
He began to move, a slow, rolling rhythm that was entirely different from the frantic pounding in the kitchen. This was deeper, more intimate, each thrust a long, deliberate possession. One hand came around to cup her breast, his thumb rasping over her nipple, still tender from his mouth and Gabriel’s. The other hand slid down her stomach, his fingers finding her clit.
“You feel that?” he breathed, his lips against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “You feel how deep my cock is in this pregnant pussy?”
“Yes,” she gasped, arching back against him. His thrusts were hitting a place that made her toes curl. “Oh, god, yes.”
He squeezed her breast, his fingers working her taut nipple. “This body was made for this. For taking my seed. For feeding my sons.” He sucked a dark mark onto her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. “You’re just a perfect, fuckable vessel, aren’t you, Sweetheart?”
The filthy, degrading words, spoken in that low, intimate rumble, shattered her. Her climax built not in a frantic rush, but as a slow, rising tide, coiling tighter and tighter with each deep, penetrating thrust and each crude, possessive syllable.
“I’m gonna come,” she choked out, her hand clamping over his on her breast.
“Come on my cock,” he commanded, his own rhythm beginning to falter, growing harder, faster. “Soak me. Milk this dick dry.”
His words were the final push. Her orgasm broke over her, a silent, screaming wave that locked her muscles and squeezed his length in a series of violent, pulsing contractions. She felt him grunt, a harsh, guttural sound, and then the hot, sudden flood of his release as he emptied himself deep inside her once more, his hips stuttering against her ass.
He held her there, pinned and full, for a long time, his breath hot on her damp neck. Finally, he softened and slipped out, followed by that now-familiar trickle. He didn’t move to clean it. He just held her, his hand resting once more on her belly, his body a fortress around her and their children.
He just held her, his hand resting once more on her belly, his body a fortress around her and their children. The room was silent except for their mingled breaths and the faint rustle of sheets as she shifted against him. His warmth seeped into her bones, a heavy comfort that made her limbs feel like lead.
“Sleep, Sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair, his voice a low vibration against her scalp. She nodded, her eyes already closing, the last of the day’s tension ebbing away. The scent of their sex clung to the air, a musky reminder of his possession.
Her mind drifted, images of the kitchen and his rough hands blurring with the dark. She felt the steady thud of his heart against her back, a rhythm that lulled her deeper. The weight of his arm across her waist was both a chain and an anchor.
Gabriel made a soft sound from his crib, a sleepy sigh that didn’t stir her. Silas’s breath evened out, his chest rising and falling in a slow cadence. She let herself sink into the mattress, into him, the world narrowing to this shared heat.
SHE FALLS ASLEEP.