Page 289 of Fractured Allegiance
Silas traces the edge of my collarbone with his fingertips, his touch feather-light at first, then pressing harder, like he's mapping every inch of my skin as if it might vanish.
His lips follow the path, hot and insistent, nipping at the sensitive flesh just above my breasts, sending sparks of heat straight to my core. I arch into him, a gasp escaping my lips that's half moan, half plea, muffled against his shoulder.
Every sound I make seems to unravel him further, his breath hitching as he pulls me closer, his hands gripping my hips with a possessiveness that borders on desperation.
The living room around us feels charged, the dim light casting shadows that dance like ghosts from our past—the fire we've survived, the blood we've spilled. But right now, it's just us, two shattered souls clawing for something real amid the ruins.
He lifts his head, his eyes storm-dark, pupils blown wide with raw hunger. "I want you to remember this, Lydia," he growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "Not the fire. Not the blood. Just this. Just me, buried inside you until you forget everything else."
I swallow hard, my pulse thundering. "I don’t forget anything, Silas."
His smile is faint, wrecked, and utterly sinful. "Good. Because I'm going to make sure you feel every fucking second."
He crashes his lips to mine again, but slower now, deliberate, his tongue sweeping in to claim me, tasting like smoke and sin. I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him deeper, our bodies pressing together on the couch where we've collapsed in a tangle of limbs.
The leather creaks under us as I shift, straddling his lap, feeling the hard length of him straining against his pants, pressing insistently against my throbbing center. My hands roam his shoulders, nails digging into the taut muscles of his back, tracing the scars that mirror my own—reminders of the darkness we've waded through.
There's no fight left between us, just this magnetic pull, gravity dragging us into each other. I taste the salt on his skin as I kiss down his neck, biting gently at the pulse point that jumps under my lips. He groans, the sound raw and guttural, his hands sliding under my shirt to cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they're peaked and aching. "Fuck, Lydia," he murmurs, his voice trembling with need. "You're so goddamn perfect. So broken and beautiful."
I rock against him, the friction sending waves of pleasure through me, my panties already soaked.
He strips my shirt off in one fluid motion, his mouth descending to lavish attention on my breasts—sucking, licking, biting just hard enough to make me cry out. My head falls back, fingers clutching his hair as he worships me, his tongue flicking over one nipple while his hand pinches the other, the mix of pain and pleasure igniting every nerve.
But he doesn't stop there. His hands trail lower, unbuttoning my jeans with practiced ease, sliding them down my thighs along with my underwear. I kick them off, exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, but the way he looks at me—like I'm his salvation—makes me feel powerful.
He shifts us, laying me back against the couch cushions, his body hovering over mine. "Spread for me," he commands, his voice rough, and I do, parting my legs as he settles between them.
His fingers trace my inner thighs first, teasing, inching closer to where I ache for him most. When he finally touches me, parting my folds with a gentle stroke, I whimper, hips bucking.
"So wet for me already," he rasps, his breath hot against my skin. "I need to have a taste of you again, Lydia. To devour you until you're screaming my name."
Before I can respond, his head dips, and his mouth is on me. His tongue flicking against my clit in slow, deliberate circles that make my vision blur. He laps at me ravenously, sucking gently at first, then harder, his fingers sliding inside me, curling to hit that spot that sends electricity shooting through my veins.
I moan loudly, my hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer as he eats me out like a man starved. The wet sounds of his mouth on me fill the room, mingling with my gasps and his low growls of approval. He adds a second finger, thrusting in rhythmwith his tongue, building the pressure until I'm teetering on the edge, my body trembling, thighs clamping around his head.
"Silas... oh God, don't stop," I beg, my voice breaking. He doesn't, intensifying his assault, his free hand gripping my hip to hold me in place as I writhe. The pleasure coils tighter, hotter, until it snaps. I come hard against his mouth, waves of ecstasy crashing over me, my cries echoing off the walls. He doesn't pull away, lapping up every drop, drawing out my orgasm until I'm boneless and panting.
Only then does he rise, his lips glistening with my arousal, eyes feral. He sheds his clothes quickly, his cock springing free—thick, veined, and rock-hard, the tip already leaking pre-cum. I reach for him, stroking him firmly, feeling him throb in my hand. "Fuck, Lydia," he hisses, thrusting into my grip. "I need to be inside you. Now."
He positions himself at my entrance, rubbing the head against my slick folds, teasing until I'm whimpering again. Then, with one powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside me, stretching me deliciously.
We both groan, the sensation overwhelming: him filling me completely, our bodies locked in this primal rhythm. He starts slowly, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in, each movement deliberate, hitting depths that make stars explode behind my eyes.
The couch rocks beneath us as he picks up the pace, his hips pistoning with raw intensity. I wrap my legs around his waist, nails raking down his back, drawing faint lines of red that only spur him on.
"Harder," I demand, and he obliges, pounding into me with a ferocity that matches the darkness in our souls. Sweat slicks our skin, the slap of flesh on flesh punctuating our moans.His hand slips between us, thumb circling my clit, reigniting the fire as he fucks me senseless.
"You're mine, Lydia," he growls against my neck, teeth grazing my skin. "All this heat, all this fire—it's ours now." His words, laced with possession and vulnerability, push me higher. I clench around him, feeling him swell inside me, his thrusts growing erratic.
The world narrows to pulse, heat, and rhythm—the scars on our bodies pressing together like puzzle pieces from the wreckage. No more battles. No more masks. Just us, raw and real, chasing oblivion.
I come first, shattering around him with a scream, my walls pulsing, milking him. He follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside me, his roar of release vibrating through my chest. We ride the waves together, bodies locked, breaths mingling in ragged gasps.
When it's over, we stay pressed together on the couch, chests heaving in sync, the faint smell of ash from our past still clinging to us like a ghost. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch almost reverent, though his hands still tremble from the intensity.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse.
“So are you.”
