Chapter 67 Who you belong to
CHAPTER 67: Who you belong to
Silas
I flipped Vera onto her hands and knees without giving her a second to process. Gripping her hip firmly, I positioned myself behind her, one hand keeping her steady, the other guiding my hardness back to her dripping entrance. I pushed inside again, deeper from this angle, impaling her completely at once, she cried out, burying her face in the sheets.
This time was different. Primal. Animalistic.
My hands gripped her hips, holding her still as I pistoned into her, each thrust a punctuation mark in a sentence of damnation we had become entangled in.
The sight of her…her back bowed, the obvious curve of her stomach swaying with our rhythm, her ass meeting my hips…it was the most erotic— most devastating thing I’d ever seen.
I could feel it, I was close. So close.
Leaning over her, my chest to her back, my mouth at her ear. I husked the one question that came to my mind.
“Who do you belong to? Tell me.”
“You,” she gasped.
“Say it.”
“I belong to you, Silas,” she cried out.
It was the truth. She belonged to me. Body, soul and spirit. She owed me everything: her guilt, her restitution, her loyalty, her payment…her pleasure.
Everything.
I drove into her one last, deep time, and froze. My release tore through me, white-hot and violent. I came, spilling into her with a roar that was part agony and part release, my body shuddering as my vision went dark at the edges. I pulsed inside her, emptying myself…filling her, claiming her in the most basic way a man can claim a woman.
Slowly, the world came back.
The room was filled with the sound of our harsh breathing. The smell of sex and sweat stood in the air. The feel of her, soft and pliant beneath me was anchoring. I was still inside her. I didn’t want to move. The heat of her warmth was tempting me to stay put.
I softened and slipped out. I rolled onto my back beside her, staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving.
The fog hadn't cleared, neither did the haze clear when the cold reality began to seep in, around the edges of the warmth.
What had I done?
She shifted beside me. Curled onto her side, facing away from me, one hand resting on her stomach.
I sat up, alarm jolting through me.
Had I been too rough on her?
Her shoulders were trembling.
I reached out. My hand hovered over the slope of her shoulder. But I didn’t touch her. I let my hand fall back to the sheet, clenched into a fist.
The line was crossed. There was no going back. And the terrifying part…the part that made my stomach clench with self-loathing, was that I already craved the next time.
I still wanted and craved her like a hit. So much was it, that it was like I hadn't just had her.
I got up and left.
I walked naked to the bathroom, my skin still humming, the scent of her and the act we had committed, clinging to me like a second skin.
I didn’t look back at her curled form on the bed. I wasn't sure of what i might do if i looked at her another second.
The punishment was in the distance. For her. For me.
I closed the bathroom door. The steam from the shower we had taken had long since dissipated, leaving the marble tiles cold and dry underneath my feet.
I braced my hands on the vanity until my knuckles whitened. I leaned down, staring at my own reflection in the fogless mirror.
A stranger looked back.
A man with hollow eyes, his mouth still swollen from her kisses, his hair damp with sweat.
A man who had just buried and spent himself inside a woman he swore he hated… a woman he was supposed to punish but couldn't erase from his mind. A woman he was bound to by law. The same woman he still craved with a desperation that felt like dying. His wife.
My member, formerly spent and softening, began to harden once more aching with a phantom fullness.
I could still feel her. The incredible, wet heat of her. The way her body had responded to me, clenched around me, milking my release. The memory was a brand. I was fully erect and hard again in seconds, just from the thought.
I snarled at my reflection, disgusted at my teenage boy excitement because of a traitorous need that refused to be sated. I could hear Chauncey’s voice saying “I told you so”.
One time, and I was craving for more.
I turned the shower on, ice cold and stepped under the brutal spray, gritting my teeth as the icy water needled my overheated skin.
Even the chilling intensity of the water did nothing to quell the fire burning inside me. The cold couldn’t reach the inferno she’d lit in my gut. I could still taste her on my tongue. Salt and sweetness and something uniquely her. Something I couldn't place along with the flavor of my own damnation.
I washed myself with rough, punishing strokes. The soap lathered, the usual moderate scent of sandalwood and something else. But It couldn’t remove the scent of her. She was in my pores. In my senses. Everywhere.
I scrubbed until my skin was red, but the feeling of her hands dragging down my back, her nails scoring my shoulders was etched into my nerves.
When I came out with the towel slung low on my hips, my state of mind was still the same as when I entered.
The bedroom was silent. Vera hadn’t moved. She lay exactly as I’d left her, curled on her side, the silk sheet pulled up to her waist.
Her bare back was a pale, graceful curve in the dim light. I could see the faint red marks my stubble had left on the delicate skin of her shoulder.
My marks.