Page 35 of Man of Lies

"You forgetting the rules already, counselor?" His eyes narrowed, and he moved toward me, crowding into my space until I had no choice but to tip my head back to meet his gaze. "What's it gonna be, slick? You want to play twenty questions…or you want to fuck?"

I held my ground, but my pulse tripped. It always did around him. I could rationalize a hundred decisions in a courtroom, but I'd never found a defense against the way Silas looked at me. Or the way he moved. And when he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth, unhurried motion? All bets were off.

The man was cut from solid muscle, broad and robust in a way that came from more than just a bench press. It was the kind of strength built from years of real work and real fights, carved into him by a life I knew too little about. The elastic that tied his ponytail caught on his collar and snapped, and all that thick, dark hair cascaded down his back in a glossy sheet. He didn't run a hand through it or fix it. He just stood there, bare-chested and confident, letting me have my moment.

Anddamn, did I take it.

I stared like he was mine to stare at.

"God," I breathed, dry-mouthed and aching. "You're too good for this town."

I grabbed his belt, fingers curling into the worn leather, and yanked him toward me. He came without resistance, smirking like he'd seen it coming. Our mouths collided, and he caught me by the back of the neck, instantly taking control.

Somewhere in the tangle of breath and teeth and tongue, I dropped to my knees. Whether I volunteered or he put me there, I didn't know—and didn't care.

"Right where you belong," he growled, looking down at me with those dark eyes. He tipped my chin up with one finger, firm but careful. His free hand went straight to his belt, unfastening the buckle with practiced ease.

A shudder rolled through me as I fought with the button of his jeans, chasing that praise. I hated how he exposed me, how effortlessly he understood what I needed. But I couldn't fight it anymore. Not after weeks of restraint and second-guessing and pretending I could live without this.

I dragged his jeans down just far enough to free him—and Jesus, I'd forgotten how glorious he was: thick, flushed, and already slick at the tip. My mouth actually watered.

"You look so good like this," Silas rumbled, sliding his thumb down my cheek and skimming it over my mouth, pressing just enough to part my lips.

I licked his thumb first, then the head of his cock, before opening up and swallowing him inch by inch. He threw his head back and groaned, burying his fingers in my hair and holding me where he wanted. I took my time, mapping every ridge, reveling in the weight against my tongue and the way his breath hitched every time I convulsively swallowed.

When the muscles in his thighs jumped beneath my palms, I knew he was getting close. But just as I hollowed my cheeks to finish the job, he hissed and pulled back.

A choked whine escaped before I could stop it. I swiped my mouth with the back of my hand, still catching my breath, when his fingers caught my jaw and tilted my face up.

His eyes were burning.

"Get on the bed," he said, all smoke and sin.

It wasn't a request—and fuck me, I obeyed. I stripped on the way to the bed, yanking my clothes off like they'd started to burn, especially once I caught the sound of his boots crossing the floor behind me.

The mattress dipped as he followed, warm and solid as a brick wall. Wordlessly, he reached past me, yanked open the nightstand drawer, and tossed a foil and bottle of lube onto the sheets. Then his weight returned, blanketing me in a slow, inexorable press that drove me to my elbows.

"Just like that," he murmured, punctuating his words with a sharp bite at the nape of my neck. His hands bracketed my hips, lifting me onto my knees and adjusting me the way he wanted. One palm pressed into the small of my back, steadying me, while he spread me open with the other. I hadn't noticed him open the bottle, but his fingers were already slippery, coaxing me open with gentle circles.

"Look at you," he whispered, low and reverent. "Opening up for me so easily. You trust me to take care of you, don't you, baby?"

I dropped my forehead to the mattress and squeezed my eyes shut. But hiding wouldn't save me from the truth. "Don't make me say it," I muttered. "You already know."

He laughed, deep and pleased and indulgent, and the sound warmed me from the inside out. "That's my boy."

God help me, it felt like a reward.

Silas didn't rush. He moved with the devastating control of a man who already knew exactly how this would play out. Nothing like the hurried, forgettable encounters I'd forced myself to settle for. This felt different. It shouldn't, but it felt like it mattered.

I didn't want to obey him. Not really. I never wanted to obey anyone. But my body betrayed me, trembling with anticipation, desperate for what only he seemed to know how to give.

"See?" His breath was hot in my ear. "Told you I knew what you needed."

I heard the tear of foil, the slick sound of lube—and then he was there, thigh to thigh, fitting himself against me.

"Deep breath," he warned, kissing between my shoulder blades. He dragged his teeth across my skin and then bit down, just hard enough to pull my focus to the flash of pain and not the slow, stretching burn of his cock pressing inside.

"Fuck,"I cursed through clenched teeth, twisting the sheets around my fingers.

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