Page 95 of Silenced

No one else.

Feeling overheated, I start to jack him off while I twist and fondle his balls. The time for breaking his cock has gone. Why would I want to destroy something that reveres me so?

Shuddering, it takes me a moment to recognize that Nikolai has tipped his head back.

God, I could do so many things right now.

He’s probably got a key somewhere on him. I could snatch his cell phone. I could try to grab the knife he always has holstered on his shoulder.

But I don’t do any of that.

I just stroke him with long pulls as I tighten my fist, exploring him for once. Pre-cum makes the journey easier. My mouth gapes at how much of it there is. It leaks out, seeping free with abandon, making my palm slick…

God, that’s not the only part of me that is either.

My thighs rub together as I try to ease the internal ache that’s spiked into being in my core.

I twist and flick my hand like I’d learned to do from the first guy I’d been with until he grabs a hold of my wrist and shows me whathelikes.

Somehow, it’s not embarrassing. He doesn’t make me feel like a failure for doing it wrong. If anything, the groans he releases when he makes me grip him more fiercely, clamping down harder than I’d ever be comfortable with, has my pussy throbbing.

My hips rock of their own volition as the emptiness deep inside makes me feel hungrier than ever, especially when he starts grunting.

He’s always silent. Always. But today, I have him making noises and it’sglorious.

I can feel myself blushing all over at the sounds.

They’re guttural and raw and wild and I’m in love because he’s making them forme.

I angle upward, sitting higher in the water, and I let go of him which has his eyes popping open—yeah, he closed them.

But when I shift onto my knees, he frowns then realizes what I’m doing.

One minute, he’s sitting there.

The next, he’s on his feet.

A cry of disappointment escapes me when I think he’s departing, then I realize that’s not his intention at all.

His jacket flies to the floor, his shirt next. Pants are discarded after his shoes are toed off.

From one moment to the next, he goes from dressed to nudity and I. Am. Here. For.That.

Shuddering at the sight of him, I half expect him to drag me out of the water and to try to fuck me or something. But he doesn’t. He slips one foot into the tub and then sits down where he was before.

As I take in the sheer majesty of this man with no clothes on, I can’t help but skim over the scars on his hip. They’re brutal but old. I want to know their backstory as much as I want to touch him…

Apparently, we share the same train of thought.

His hand reaches for mine again and he curls it around his dick, reminding me with a soft squeeze of how much pressure he prefers. That he takes care to only place that pressure on my fingertips makes something clutch in my chest at his care.

Cheeks still hot with the impromptu strip show, I take in again just how much pre-cum he releases. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen or felt his cum after breakfast and dinner, but this is different.

I’m the protagonist here, not him.

The very idea has me wanting to rub my clit, but I don’t. Not yet.

Instead, I think about how it’d feel if he were coming inside me and if all that cum was flooding my womb.

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