Chapter 15: The First Surrender
He led her into the bedroom, a room that felt like him. It was uncluttered, solid. The four-poster bed was a dark island in the center, the sheets rumpled from his sleep. He didn’t turn on a lamp. The first hint of dawn, a pale grey seam, outlined the heavy curtains.
“Call your sister,” he said, his voice quiet but leaving no room for debate. He handed her phone over from where he’d taken it from her purse in the kitchen.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed. Sarah answered on the second ring, her voice thick with sleep. “Tam? Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Tamara said, her eyes locked on Silas as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. “The girls are still asleep?”
“Out cold. What’s going on?”
“I’m… I’m staying at a friend’s tonight. I just… I need a night. Is that okay?”
A pause. Sarah knew. “Of course it is. Stay as long as you need. We’re good here. Love you.”
“Love you too.” She ended the call, the act of saying it aloud—staying at a friend’s—making it real, making her a woman who did this sort of thing. The phone slipped from her hand onto the rug.
Silas stood. He came to her and his hands went to her blouse again, this time pushing it slowly off her shoulders. It whispered to the floor. The pink lace seemed to glow in the dim light. He traced the strap with a single fingertip, down over the curve of her breast, his touch so light it was almost not there. A full-body shiver racked her.
“He hurt you today,” Silas said, not looking at her face but at the path his finger took. “Not with his hands. With his words. He put his fingerprints on your mind.” His eyes lifted, capturing hers. “My job now is to replace them.”
He turned her gently, his hands on her shoulders, until she faced the bed. He unzipped her skirt, let it fall. He knelt behind her, his breath warm on the small of her back as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her tights and peeled them down, an inch at a time, following the descent with his lips. It was an act of such deliberate reverence that tears pricked her eyes. When she stood before him in just the bralette and her plain cotton panties, he rose and turned her back to face him.
He looked, his gaze a physical weight. Then he lifted her, one arm behind her knees, the other cradling her back, and laid her in the center of his bed. The sheets were cool, smelling faintly of his soap and the cedar from his closet.
He stripped off his own clothes without ceremony, a shadow moving in the half-light. Then he was beside her, over her, his body a welcome shelter. He kissed her—her forehead, her closed eyelids, the corner of her mouth where tension still lingered. He kissed the hollow of her throat where her pulse hammered.
“You gave your mind to the lawyers today,” he murmured against her skin, his voice a low vibration. “You gave your body to the drive, to getting here. Where are you right now, Tamara?”
It took her a moment to find the words. “I’m… floating. Nowhere.”
“Good.” He kissed the slope of her breast above the lace. “Nowhere is safe. Nowhere is mine.” His mouth found the peak through the fabric, wetting it, the lace becoming a delicate abrasion. She arched into the sensation, a soft cry escaping her.
He took his time. His hands, calloused and infinitely gentle, mapped her. He learned the dip of her waist, the faint stretch marks on her hips like silvered threads, the softness of her belly that had carried her girls. He worshiped it all without using the word, his touch speaking a language that bypassed every defensive wall she’d ever built.
When he finally removed the last scraps of lace, it felt less like being exposed and more like being revealed. His breath hitched, a ragged sound in the quiet room. Then he took her into his mouth, bare.
The shock of it, skin to skin after so much waiting, was a lightning strike. A raw, broken sound tore from her throat. Her back arched off the bed, her hand fisting in his hair, anchoring herself to the sensation. Her wet core dragged against the hard plane of his stomach, a frantic, seeking pressure.
Any remaining thought of sweet or gentle vanished.
He was not gentle. His mouth was desperate, devouring, his tongue and lips claiming her with a focused hunger that felt like ownership. He had denied them this for so long, and now he was starving. Tamara cried out again, the sound dissolving into a gasp as he found a rhythm that shattered her.
He released her only to surge up and take her mouth, his kiss a dark mirror of what he was doing below. His tongue thrust deep, a relentless promise. She could feel him, the hard, heated length of him, rubbing against her dripping wetness with each shift of his hips, but not entering. The denial was exquisite torture.
She was flooded, overwhelmed, gasping for air between kisses that tasted of her own salt and his need. Her nails dug into the dense muscles of his shoulders, scoring his skin. A sharp hiss escaped him, but he didn’t pull away. The pain seemed to arc through him, straight down his spine, his hips jerking harder against her.
“Silas,” she begged, the word a ragged breath against his lips.
He reared up above her, his body a silhouette against the greying window. His hand came up, his fingers banding around her throat. Not squeezing, just holding, a firm, inescapable circle of heat and possession. A guttural growl emanated from his chest, vibrating through his hand and into her very bones.
The restriction should have been scary. It wasn’t. The raw, naked need in his eyes, the sheer depth of his wanting, had her clenching around nothing, weeping for him. She was utterly exposed, completely consumed.
“Please,” she whimpered, her hips lifting, trying to find him. “Si, please, I need—”
“What?” His voice was shredded, dark. He pressed the head of his cock against her, a blunt, impossible pressure. “Tell me what you need.”
“You.” It was a sob. “I just need you.”
“Good girl” he praises before gliding his other hand down her body he fingers finding her pussy. Her throat was pinned but her lower body rose to meet his touch. Silas circled her clit roughly, not afraid of pushing her where he needed her. His eyes glued to her face watching every moment of pleasure, learning what she liked. When he parted his fingers, into a “V” rubbing them on both sides of her opening, her clit caught in the middle, Tamara’s body shot of the bed so strongly she cut of her own air supply, the pressure stifling her scream. Silas had to ease his hold but he didn’t release it.
“Oh yes. My baby girl likes that,” he croon in that rough voice watching her wriggle and gasp as she chased her orgasm. “Please, please, please,” She begged. Tears of need leaking from her eyes
“Please what, babygirl?” He teased “what do you need?” She could do nothing but arch and cry out as he increased his pace. “Does my baby need to come?”
“Yes, please” she screamed stretching it into a plea that would embarrass her if she wasn’t so fast gone.
“Please what? Come on baby? Please what? You know what I want to hear,” he couch adding pressure to the speed. “Say it and I’ll give your more than you can handle. Come on..please what?”
“Please, Daddy.” She screamed.
“Yes” Silas growled, immediately shoving two fingers into her pussy. He pump roughly, his pace unrelenting, his palm slapping her clit. Tamara’s body folded upward. She never felt anything like this. The sensation of strong she couldn’t make a sound. The hand in her throat forced back down as he continued to work her pussy. His hand dripping with her juices.
“Come on, give it to me. It’s mine and I want it,” Silas demanded, curling his finger as continued to pump, his eyes wide as he watched her crest. Her hands glue to his arms, nails digging into to anchor her as she flew over the edge. Her climax stop her breath, her scream silent as her pussy gushed. As she collapses tears began to fall, the sensations to much. Silas pulled her body to him holding her tight as she rode the aftershocks. She just learned what it meant to be his. And he wasn’t done with her yet.