Page 61 of Whispers of Helena
When he turns back to me, his eyes are dark, but then his hands thread into my hair, fingers combing through the strands before tilting my face up to his.
I exhale as our eyes meet. The unsettling hunger I’ve seen in him before is gone. In its place is something I haven’t seen in him for so long. His pale blue gaze is steady, sure. Soft in a way that makes my chest ache.
“I’m sorry I’ve been rough with you, dove,” he confesses, guard down. “I see it in your eyes. That man isn’t here tonight.”
I sink into his touch, letting his words settle between us. “Who is here, then, Silas?”
His thumb strokes the edge of my jaw, his breath fanning over my lips. “A man who’s beginning to feel like I don’t have toprotect myself. A man who wants your pleasure, but more than that, wants your trust. I want you to know I care for you.”
My pulse stumbles. “You do?”
His fingers tighten in my hair just slightly, like he’s steadying himself. “More than I thought I could,” he admits. “Probably more than I should.”
I press a hand to his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. “It’s okay to care.”
He exhales, the sound almost like a surrender. “I’m starting to understand that.”
I tilt my head just enough to bring our lips closer, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Then show me, Silas. Show me how you want to care for me.”
Uncover
Silas
I pressmy lips to hers, savoring the warmth of her mouth, the silkiness of her skin beneath my fingertips. I don’t rush. I let the kiss build. Slow, teasing pecks that grow into deeper, consuming contact. My tongue glides against hers in a languid stroke, drawing out a breathy whimper that has me hard. The sound of her sigh is a reward, a fucking brand on my senses, and I drink it in like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
I pull back just enough to see the dazed look in her eyes before lacing my fingers with hers, guiding her toward the bed. The moment stretches between us, thick with anticipation, crackling like a slow-burning fuse.
Releasing her hand, I reach behind my neck and tug my shirt over my head, letting it drop to the floor. My skin hums as her gaze rakes over me, but I don’t give her long to look before my hands find the buttons of her shirt.
One by one, I undo them, purposefully slow, peeling back the fabric to reveal every inch of smooth, inviting skin. I let my fingertips brush against her as I work, tracing the newly exposed flesh, memorizing the heat of her, the way her breath stutters when I graze the sensitive skin of the side of her breast.
By the time I push the shirt off her shoulders, my restraint is hanging by a thread, but I contain it, I don’t hurry. Not tonight.Tonight, I want to take my time unraveling her. Piece by piece, sound by sound, breath by breath. I want it all from her tonight.
With her shirt pooling at our feet, I let myself look, really look. My reverent gaze traces every bit of her, taking in the way her skin glows in the dim lamplight. She watches me, a quiet confidence in the way she reaches behind her back. A small shift of her shoulders, the whisper of fabric sliding down her arms, and then her bra is gone, leaving her bare before me.
I swallow hard, my fingers twitching at my sides. My restraint is razor-thin. She must notice it because her lips tip up in the faintest of smiles.
"Touch me, Silas." Her request unravels something in me, a knot of hesitation I didn’t realize I was holding.
I reach out, palms skimming over her tender skin, cupping the weight of her breasts in my hands. Her breath hitches, lashes fluttering as her head tilts back. Her heart beats against my palm, quick and insistent. I’ve touched her before, tasted her before, but this, this is different. There’s no desperation, no grief-laced need to take and forget. This is about something deeper. A deep knowing. A simmering desire. An all consuming need.
Her eyes open, locking onto mine. “Can I touch you?” she asks, her voice like silk over raw nerves.
I nod, barely breathing as her delicate hand presses against my chest. Her touch is featherlight, but it burns like a match struck in the dark. She moves slowly, tracing the lines of my body, memorizing me as if she has all the time in the world. When she reaches my belt, she pauses, looking up at me through her lashes. The metal clinks, the leather slides free, and then she’s unfastening my jeans, the rasp of the zipper impossibly loud in the quiet space between us.
“I like it when you touch me, dove,” I mutter, my voice rough.
A coy smile curves her lips. “I like touching you, Silas.”
I reach between us, undoing the button of her jeans, my fingers grazing the bare skin of her hips. We move together,pushing away the last of the fabric between us until there’s nothing left to hide behind.
And then we stand in quiet communion, breathing in the weight of the moment. No rush, no urgency. Years of solitude, of longing unspoken, about to be broken. Both of us knowing we’re about to leave behind the ones we once loved for the one we might be able to love now.
Need
Helena
Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee.
