Page 69 of Fire and Silk
A full display stretches from corner to corner, lit by a low amber light that reveals it isn’t just decoration—it is invitation. Leather whips hang beside silver cuffs. Chains drape like jewelry over polished brass hooks. A lace blindfold sits coiled like a serpent on a velvet tray.
I stand there; breath caught between horror and fascination. The air smells faintly of something masculine and sharp—cedarwood, sweat, and sin. My heart pounds as my gaze moves across the gleaming tools of seduction, and I don’t even hear him step up behind me until his presence grazes my back.
I turn, the slap cracking across his cheek before I even think to hesitate.
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t even blink.
Just stands there, a slow breath leaving his chest like I’ve given him exactly what he’s been waiting for. His jaw flexes, and those dark eyes of his stay pinned to mine as I shake beneath the fury curling in my stomach.
“Do you take me for a cheap slut?” I spit, my voice frayed and shaking, heat flushing down my neck, into my hands.
His gaze drops briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes.
“No,” he says, low and even. “I can tell you’re hungry.”
He steps closer, his voice a thread wrapping around my spine.
“And I will satisfy you.”
I try to step back.
He catches me.
One hand wraps around my jaw, firm but not cruel, angling my face up to his. His touch stills my breath; halts every instinct I have to run.
“I can give you everything,” he murmurs, eyes flicking across my face, “that he can’t give you.”
Then he kisses me.
His mouth meets mine, and I freeze under the weight of it—of him. His breath stutters against my cheek, ragged, like he’s held it for hours waiting to taste me.
I want to pull away.
But I don’t.
His other hand skims down the side of my body—slow, testing, reverent. I feel the tremble start in my knees as his fingers trace the line of my waist, my hip, the dip where my chest refuses to release.
And then... I give in.
My hands move without permission, curling around his neck, dragging him closer like I need him to breathe. His arms lock around me as he lifts me off the floor, holding me to him, walking me backward until I feel the edge of the bed hit the backs of my thighs.
His mouth never leaves mine. His hands are frantic and controlled all atonce,fingers threading through my hair, down my spine, cupping my ass as though he already knows every curve by heart. He tastes like heat and fury and something dangerously addictive, and when his teeth graze my lower lip and pull—fuck—I moan, helpless and loud against his mouth.
He kisses me like it hurts to stop.
He breathes into me, lips slanting, tongue flicking deep, teasing mine until I chase him. His hand cradles the back of myskull, fingers threading through my hair, tugging it just enough to expose my throat, and his mouth moves.
And then—
I break.
I shove him back, breathless, flushed, straddling him now, the satin comforter whispering beneath my knees as I press him to the bed.
“You think you can just do this to me?” I gasp, clawing at his shirt.
I shove at his shoulders, flipping him under me, the sheets twisting beneath us. My knees lock around his hips as I sit up, staring down at him—at the dangerous calm in his eyes, like he knows this will happen all along.
