Chapter 91 I've got you
CHAPTER 91: I've got you
Vera
His hands came up to cradle my face, his thumbs sweeping under my eyes, catching the tears I didn’t know were falling.
“Shhh,” he breathed, and it’s the softest sound I’ve ever heard from him. He leaned his forehead against mine, our breath mingling warm in the cool air. “You are not disgusting. You’re not tainted.”
He said it like a command, like he could make it true just by sheer force of will.
Then his mouth found mine.
It was not the searing, devouring kiss from the last time.
This was slow. Deep. A claiming of a different kind…cleansing.
His breath was warm against my face, his lips were soft, insistent, mapping mine with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
It was a deeply emotional and vulnerable moment as my husband… my jailer, kissed the tears, the fear…the memory of that unknown man away.
He kissed me as if I were something precious, and the contradiction of this gentle touch from a man who had sworn to see me in pain for the sake of his vengeance, shattered me completely. It was my greatest undoing.
I melted into him, clinging to him like my life depended on it. My sanity did. My hands came up to clutch at the fabric of his rumpled shirt. I kissed him back, pouring every ounce of my need, my desperation, my confusion… and my gratitude into it. He tasted like coffee and a long, bitter night.
I loved it and drank it all in.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips along my jaw, down the column of my throat. His hands slide from my face, down to my shoulders, my arms, as if re-memorizing the shape of me. They came to rest on the slight swell of my stomach, and went utterly still, the warmth of his palm, spread over the skin there.
This was the moment. My eyes watered. I held my breath waiting for the rejection. But I was wrong.
Silas didn’t pull away in repulsion. He bent and pressed his lips to my skin, right over the place where new life was growing. The kiss was feather-light, a prayer. A hot tear slipped from my eye and down my face.
“Silas…” I whispered, too overcome by emotion to say more.
He straightened, his eyes meeting mine. The storm in them had quieted to something deeper. “To me,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, “you are only Vera. Not whatever happened that night.”
A huge lump clogged my throat. Gratitude and relief came flooding so fast I couldn't say a word.
He picked me up then, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back, and carried me a few steps to the bed, and laid me down on the cool silk as if I were made of glass. He followed me down, bracing himself on his elbows above me, careful not to hurt my stomach, his body a welcome weight above me.
When he kissed me again, and again, each one was a promise, a seal. His hands were suddenly everywhere, but with a new purpose. They skimmed my ribs, cupped the heavy weight of my very sensitive breasts. His thumbs brushed over my nipples until they peaked into tight, aching points.
Next, he worshipped the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips, reacquinting with the new landscape of my body with a patience that surprised me and stole my breath.
He slid lower and knelt between my legs. My eyes never left him, and his heated gaze drank me in, and there was no disgust there.
Only a softness I wasn't used to from him, and something else I couldn't read. He hooked his hands under my knees, and eased them apart, and they fell wide open for him. I laid there, panting and exposed to him, completely.
The cool air kissed my damp heat, and I flushed, but I didn't look away.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. When he leaned in, my pulse skyrocketed. I thought he was going to kiss me there. But he didn't. He hooked my leg on his shoulder, and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the inside of my thigh, his mouth a hot, wet brand. Then he did the same to the other. His beard brushed the tender skin, but it was a delicious friction.
With my legs over his shoulders, his hand slid up my inner thigh, his fingers finding my slickness.
A low groan rumbled in his chest. “You’re dripping for me,” he said, the words thick with awe.
“Yes,” I panted, gripping the pillows beside my head.
He circled my clit with a blunt fingertip, building a slow, maddening pressure. “Does this please you?”
I arched off the bed, a broken sound escaping my lips. “Yes—yes.”
He added a second finger, sliding them through my folds, coating them in my arousal.
He worked me with a slow, deliberate rhythm, and precision, his eyes locked on mine, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed my face.
This wasn’t the frantic claiming from before. This was something else. It was slow. It was an erasure. A redefinition. My cleansing.
With every stroke of his fingers, every soft groan from his lips, Silas was trying to wash away the memory of that other man’s hands, and claim. He didn't have to do it, but he did. He was trying to prove, with this unbearable tenderness, that his touch was the only one that mattered, the only one that defined me.
“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice a rough caress.
I did. I drowned in the dark pools of his eyes. It wasn't vengeance, but a fierce, painful kind of possession. He curled his fingers inside me, finding a spot that made my vision blur.
A sharp cry tore from my throat, my toes curling reflexively.
“That’s it,” he murmured, a dark approval in his tone. “Let me hear you. Only for me.”
I was yet to gather my senses when he leaned down, replacing his fingers with his mouth. The first swipe of his tongue was a lightning bolt. I jerked against the sheets, my hands leaving the pillow to fly into his hair, tangling in the silky strands.
He didn’t rush. He took his time. He feasted. Like a man starved, and finally served his last meal. His tongue was flat and hot, laving broad strokes through my folds before focusing on my clit with a precision that stole all the breath from my lungs. He sucked gently, then flicked, then sucked again, building a rhythm that has my hips lifting off the bed, seeking more.
“Silas… please…”I begged, but didn't know what I was begging for. For mercy? Or more?
He seemed to know what I wanted and gave it to me.
He slid two fingers back inside me, crooking them as his mouth worked me over. The dual sensation was too much for me.The coil in my belly tightened, a sweet, unbearable pressure. I was a whimpering mess, in between babbling words that had no meaning, his name slipping out in between like a broken chant.
I clenched around his fingers, and he growled against me, the vibration sending another shockwave through my core.
“Come for me, Vera,” he commanded, his voice muffled against my skin. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
That was all it took to push me over the edge. My orgasm crashed over me, a wave of pure, white-hot release that wiped every single thought from my head. I arched on the bed, a silent scream on my lips as my body trembled violently. Silas rode it out with me, lapping up my release, his mouth gentle, soothing the aftershocks.
He moved up my body, his weight settling over me. He was still fully dressed in his shirt and trousers, the fabric rough against my oversensitive skin.
The contrast is dizzying.
I was fully naked, spread open to him; my vulnerability, against his complete control.
He kissed me, deep and slow, and I tasted myself on his lips. It should have shocked me. But it only made me hotter.
I wanted more.
“Ready for me?” he said against my mouth, his hands going to his belt.
I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.