Page 52 of Whispers of Helena
“Please Silas”
“Say it again.” His finger circles my clit with the lightest touch. My hips push back, urging him on, but his hand leaves me.
“Please.”
He leans over me, brushing my hair aside to expose my neck. Tugging on the hair, I gasp as he pulls, twisting my spine.
“No, Helena. I want to hear you say my name.”
In this position, it’s hard to breathe, so I force out a quiet, “Silas.”
As soon as his name passes my lips, I know it sounds exactly like the calls I have made to him. He releases my hair and my cheek drops back to the cushion. I can hear his breaths quicken. Needing to bring him back in the moment, I move my hips, rubbing against him. He responds by plunging two fingers into my pussy.
“So fucking wet. So fucking tight.” He flattens his fingers against my front wall and picks up his pace. His arm wraps around me while his other hand shifts to my clit.
“Shit, Silas.”
“There she is,” he says in a saccharin tone. “You’re drenching my hand, Helena.”
I lift my head, then drop my forehead to the cushion, my eyes squeezing shut. “That feels so good. Your fingers feel so good.”
“Imagine if it was my dick. When it’s time, I’m going to destroy this pussy. Do you hear me?”
“I–” My muscles tighten, the energy building. “I hear you.”
“Good dove, using her words.” His fingers brush over my gspot again…and again until my legs are shaking. “Now come for me, Helena. Give your devil what he wants.”
And I do. It washes over me, a euphoric pulsing pleasure. I scream into the cushion, not able to contain my voice. I feel my arousal drip down my thigh.
“Fuck yes, let go, dove.” Pushing my orgasm further, he moves his fingers violently. I hear my wetness as he rams into me. My hips buck forward when it becomes too much. He slows until he gently slides out. The warmth of his body leaves me as he bends down behind me. I feel his tongue start at the back of my knee, then it slides up the sensitive skin of my thigh all the way up to my clit. I suck in a breath as he passes over it, doing the same to the other thigh.
“You taste like heaven, Helena.”
Carry Me
Silas
I settleonto my knees behind her, the lingering taste of her on my tongue spinning through my mind. My cock stirs again, insatiable, but a glance at her shoulders, trembling and marked by my rough hands, steadies me. The hour is late; responsibilities wait for us with the dawn. I exhale slowly, leaning forward to work the knots around her wrists.
The rope slides free, and I cast it into the shadows in the corner. I guide her arms forward with a tender touch, kneading her hands as the blood returns to them. She winces when my fingertips brush over her reddened skin.
Then, without thought, my arms slip around her waist, drawing her against me. Her body yields, collapsing into my embrace. Leaning back, I hold her to my chest, letting the quiet envelop us. For just a moment, I want to feel her warm body on mine.
Her head tilts against my shoulder, her breaths slowing, starting to match mine. Each rise and fall feels like a fragile rhythm between us, a wordless connection that feels too intimate.
“I’m so tired, Silas,” she whispers, her voice rough-edged, like a confession that carries more than just exhaustion.
I tighten my arms around her before shifting her in my grip. Carefully, I turn her, then slide one arm beneath her knees andthe other behind her back. Lifting her from the floor, her soft body molds effortlessly into mine. Her lashes flutter as her eyes drift closed, her trust palpable.
As I carry her to the door, fumbling with the lock, I steal a glance down at her. She looks peaceful in a way I’ve never seen, as though the fight within her has stilled, if only for now. Her head sways with the gentle rhythm of my steps, resting in the crook of my arm as I ascend the stairs. The quiet hum of the house seems to wrap around us, a soft cocoon in the still of the night.
For once, I let myself feel her entirely. Her tenderness, her fragility, and the trust she’s placed in me. It seeps into the cracks of the walls I’ve built. Heat spreading into spaces left cold for so long.
When we reach her door, I find it unlocked. Pushing it open feels invasive, as though crossing a threshold into a part of her she hasn’t invited me to see. But the act is necessary.
The moment the door creaks open, a familiar scent crashes over me like a breaking wave. Caroline’s perfume. The sweet, floral notes flood my senses, each one striking a memory deep in my chest like a hammer. My knees threaten to give out as images of her cascade through my mind. Caroline smiling. Caroline laughing. Caroline reaching for me in the stillness of a thousand nights past.
I’ve smelled it on her before. But it was subtle and fleeting, wafting past me like an echo. But here? In her space, it is overwhelming, suffocating. The scent weaves through the air like a phantom’s touch, clawing at my ribs and wrenching my breath away. Why this scent? My thoughts splinter and stumble, unable to make sense of why this woman, so separate yet so alike, would share this haunting detail with the ghost of my past.
