Chapter 52 A dream of desire
CHAPTER 52: A dream of desire
Silas
The room was thick with heat, the air heavy and permeating with the sweet scent of roses and flickering candlelight that casted alluring shadows across the walls.
I pulled Vera closer, our bodies intertwined on the silk sheets. My fingers traced the curve of her small waist, exploring the softness of her flesh, her breath quickening beneath my ministrations.
Her skin was slick with sweat, tasting of salt, sin and summer night. Soon, my mouth was on her swanlike neck, tasting her flesh, feeling her pulse hammer against my lips while her fingers were tangled so tightly in my hair, causing a sweet, sharp pain.
The thick, humid, perfumed air in the bedroom from the scent of melting wax from a dozen candles and the crushed roses scattered across the dark sheets, added a heady rush to our befuddled senses.
“Silas,” she gasped, and it wasn’t the broken, scared whisper I’d grown accustomed to. It was full…rich, a sound of pure want. The sound I had always secretly desired to hear from her. Her back arched, pressing her bare breasts against my chest. “Please.”
That one word, so freely given…so desperately said, unraveled something that had always wound tight inside me since I met her.
All the jagged edges, the bitter aftertaste of grief, disdain and rage, smoothed out, burning away in the heat of her.
Here, in this soft light, she wasn’t the complex enemy I couldn't handle as desired.
She was just Vera. My wife. And I was just a man, desperately aching for his wife.
I slowed, pulling back to look at her.
Candlelight danced in her eyes, glistened on her parted swollen lips, painted gold across the elegant slope of her shoulders and the gentle swell of her breasts.
I liked seeing her this way…beneath me. Desperate. Aching. Thoroughly ruined.
I dove in and kissed her again, deep and searching, my tongue sliding against hers. I loved the taste of her. I couldn't get enough.
My hands moved down, tracing the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. I worshipped the length of her body with my palms, my mouth following the trail.
Then I moved lower, my lips brushing the sensitive skin of her slightly curved stomach.
She shuddered, a soft cry escaping her. I hooked my fingers in the lace of her red panties…the only thing I was yet to take off her delectable body…and drew them down her legs. She lifted her hips to help me, her eyes never leaving mine, as I pulled the scrap of lace down her legs.
There was no fear in her eyes. No shadow. No tears. Only hunger. A burning hunger that mirrored my own.
I settled between her thighs, my breath hot against her core. She was already wet…glistening in the flickering light.
Ready for me.
I didn’t tease.
I didn’t punish.
I dove right into it. I had waited so long for this. My mouth found the softness of her, and her back arched off the bed, a choked, beautiful sob tearing from her throat.
But I didn't hesitate. I licked her slowly, thoroughly, savoring her taste…musky, sweet, uniquely her.
I never did this in the past, no matter how much my partners wanted it. But with Vera, I had an irresistible craving to taste her on my tongue.
My tongue licked and swirled… circled her clit, and her hips jerked. I held her down, gently, my hands firmly splayed on her stomach, increasing the pressure.
“Oh, god, Silas… right there… yes.” Her words were a ragged chant.
Her hands fisted in the sheets, scattering rose petals. Then they slipped into my hair…pulling, gripping, holding my head firmly to her burning core.
The scent of the roses, of her, of us, was overwhelming. I lost myself in the rhythm, in the feel of her trembling against my mouth, in the sounds she made…each gasp, each moan, a melody I’d thought I’d never hear.
When her thighs began to shake violently, I knew she was near and I pulled back, crawling up her body. I wanted to look into her eyes when I drove her off the edge.
I needed to be inside her.
Now.
I pulled my boxer down, freeing myself from the suffocating restraint. Vera's eyes widened as she took in my length, her tongue running over her lower lip.
She reached for me, her hands sliding down my back, her nails scoring lightly over my skin, as I hovered about her.
“I need you right now, Silas,” she whispered, shuddering against me.
I positioned myself at her entrance, my own need, a painful, throbbing ache.
“Look at me,” I rasped.
Her eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with pleasure, lifted to find mine.
Immediately, I pushed into her— one slow, inexorable inch at a time.
She was so tight, so impossibly hot and wet. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry, a single tear rolling down her tears to disappear into her hair, as I filled her completely, our bodies joining with a profound sense of rightness that stole the air from my lungs.
It took all my willpower to sit still inside her…to let her adjust to my size. When she began to shift around for some friction, I knew that was my cue to move.
I began to move. A deep, rolling thrust that made her gasp. Then another. And another.
The world narrowed to the slide of our sweat-slicked skin, the sound of slapping flesh and the creak of the bed as I pounded into her.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, her heels pressed against my bottom, pulling me deeper into her.
I buried my face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in, my thrusts becoming harder, faster, driven by a primal need to fuse with her, to forget everything but this.
Her fingers left my hair to claw down my back, pressing me deeper into her, as her back arched off the bed to meet my thrusts.
“Harder,” she begged, her voice raw. “Please, Silas, I need…”
I gave her what she needed. I changed my tempo, driving into her with a force that shook the headboard against the wall, each thrust a release of every silent scream, every night I had spent in lonely fury these past few days.
She met me stroke for stroke, taking me and everything I gave her. Her hips rose to meet mine, her cries growing louder, more frantic.
Soon, I could feel her inner muscles beginning to flutter around me, her hips bucking around me, the telltale sign of her climax coiling tight.
I picked up more pace.
“Come for me,” I growled in her ear. “Let me feel you come, wife.”
It was all the permission she needed. Her body seized, a sharp, beautiful convulsion, and she cried out, a long, trembling wail of my name that seemed to echo in the heated perfumed air.
The rhythmic clenching of her walls around my length was my undoing. My own control shattered.
With a final, deep thrust, I spilled into her, a hot, pulsing release that felt like it was tearing my soul from my body. Her walls gripped me firmly, greedily milking everything from me to the last drop.
I collapsed onto her, our hearts hammering against each other, both of us breathless and slick and utterly spent. But totally sated.
Through my hazy, tangled mess of a mind, I remembered the baby, then I rolled to the side, pulling out of her with a pop. She hissed at the sensitivity down there.
I pulled her with me, keeping her close. Her head rested on my chest, her breathing gradually slowing. I kissed her damp hair, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her back.
The candlelights swayed and flickered low, casting long, dancing shadows. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of candles, flowers and sex.
For the first time in so many years, I felt… peace. A heavy, sated quiet.
A sharp, intrusive sound shattered the silence.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was wrong. It wasn’t the soft oak of our bedroom door. It was harder. Hollow.
My eyes flew open.
The warmth vanished. The scent of roses and sex was replaced by the familiar smell of leather and whiskey.
The soft candlelight was gone, replaced by the cold, gray predawn gloom seeping through the windows of my study.
I was in my chair. Behind my desk. Still dressed in yesterday’s rumpled shirt and trousers.
There was no Vera. And there was no passion filled bedroom.
A dream. It had all been a dream.
A crushing, suffocating weight settled in my chest, so physical it made me gasp. The vivid, visceral sensations…the taste of her, the feel of her climax around me, lingered like a cruel phantom limb.
And then I felt the damp, uncomfortable chill in my underwear. I had soiled myself. In my sleep. Like a pathetic, longing boy… Longing after my murderous little wife.
The knock came again, more insistent.
“Sir?” It was one of the maids. Her voice was muffled through the heavy oak door.