Page 25 of Closer Than You Think
He shoves the tip of his cock into my mouth to clean him up and I oblige, licking him until he can’t take any more and pulls away.
I feel the loss of him but only for a moment, before he lifts me up and sets me on top of his chest, wrapping his arms around me protectively.
I lay my head on his heaving chest, soaking in the aftermath of our passionate tryst. The room is silent, save for the faint background roar of the city and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.
My mind reels from the intensity of what just transpired between us. The way he'd claimed me, marked me as his own, both terrified and excited me in equal measure. I'd never known such primal desire, such a loss of control. Yet, in his arms, I felt safe, protected, and oddly enough, cherished.
“I've never . . . ,” I start to say, unsure of how to process what just happened between us.
I pause, still trying to gather my swirling thoughts. Silas gently strokes my hair and I feel myself relaxing into his touch.
“You've never what, angel?” he asks softly. His voice is a soothing caress now, so unlike the commanding growl from moments before.
I bite my lip, hesitating to give voice to my jumbled emotions. “I've never . . . let go like that before,” I finally admit. “I didn't know I was capable of feeling such . . . raw desire.”
Silas cups my chin, tilting my face up to meet his penetrating gaze. His eyes search mine, seeing straight through to my core.
“Neither did I, until you,” he murmurs. “You awaken things in me I thought were long dead.”
My heart flutters at his words. I want to ask what he means, but I sense there are hidden parts of him not yet ready to be revealed.
He pulls a blanket over us and I feel warm and secure, cocooned in his arms in a way unlike anything I’ve felt before. But as I drift off to sleep, something nags at the back of my mind. The familiarity. The way he touched me, moved in me.
“Angel,” he whispers.
My eyes open wide.
Twelve
Hallie
Sunlight filters through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across Silas's tranquil face. His face is softened and he looks peaceful, displaying none of the intensity from the night before.
I ease out from under the crisp sheets, my body protesting every movement with delicious soreness—a testament to the night before. My feet touch the cold laminate floor, and I drift across the room, collecting my clothes that bear the evidence of our rough abandon. Each piece is a memory, a fleeting moment where Silas claimed me with a primal urgency that still thrills at the thought. It’s pointless to dress in them, because they’re ripped to shreds.
Instead, I pick up Silas’s soft gray T-shirt and pull it over my head. It’s far too big, but I love the way it feels, despite the feelings of confusion swirling inside me.
I sneak out, careful to close his door with nothing but a quiet click.
The familiar aroma of fresh flowers greets me as I unlock the door to my haven. I sink into the plush cushions of my couch, closing my eyes as the memories of last night cascade over me.
My body burns with the recollection—the way Silas's hands roamed with possessive intent, the growl in his voice as hecoaxed cries of pleasure from my lips. It was more than just physical; it was as if he reached inside and stirred something dark and thrilling, something that hungered for danger.
As my heart races with the aftermath of our collision, I can't shake the feeling that we've started something irreversible. The connection between us, it's terrifying and intoxicating, and I'm caught in its relentless pull.
But the dream lingers, a vivid shroud that clings to the edges of my consciousness even as daylight floods the room. I inhale deeply, trying to dispel the images, but they persist—Silas's face superimposed on the man who haunts my sleep.
I’ve dreamed of it again and again, but nothing as palpable and realistic as the first time . . . Until I had a real experience with Silas.
My hands tremble as they clutch the edge of the sofa and my heart hammers against my rib cage. It's the same every time; the mysterious figure who makes love to me like an animal. I couldn’t remember his face, but now all I see is Silas.
And the night before swirls in my mind, combining the two memories in a tempest of desire and fear. The roughness of Silas’s caress, the urgency in our coupling—it was exhilarating, yet something nags at me, something that ties him to the darkness of the dream.
The rosary—I hadn't forgotten it, was tucked away in the pocket of my cardigan. So innocuous and yet filled with sinister implication. Who sent it? And why does it make me question everything, even my own instincts?
A knock shatters the quietude, reverberating through the walls of my sanctuary. Startled, I rise swiftly, my feet padding across the cool wooden floor. My heart races as I approach the door, despite knowing who it must be.
I open the door, and there he stands. Silas. His form cuts an imposing silhouette against the light of the hallway, solid andreal and impossibly here. His expression is unreadable, those same green eyes that haunt my dreams now scrutinizing me in the waking world.
