Page 23 of The Bull's Beauty
He doesn’t stop. He growls, “Again,” and drives into me even harder, fucking me straight through the blinding pleasure, prolonging the sensations until they border on painful. I’m over-sensitive, writhing, but I don’t want him to stop. I never want him to stop.
In one fluid, powerful motion, he pulls out and flips us, settling me astride his lap. His cock, slick with my release, stands rigid between us. “Ride me,” he commands, his hands gripping my hips to lift me to sink back down onto him. It’s a slow, torturous descent that makes us both groan. Then I move, rocking my hips, bouncing up and down on his thick length, setting a frantic, desperate pace. I am in control, and the power is intoxicating. My heavy, aching breasts bounce with the motion.
His eyes are locked on them as he sits up, his mouth latching onto my nipple. He suckles hard, and a sharp, sweet shock goes straight to my core. A stream of warm milk hits his tongue.
He moans against my skin, the vibration shooting through me. “Keep fucking me,” he rasps, drinking from me, his tongue lapping and teasing while his hands guide my hips, helping me ride him faster, harder. The dual sensations—the deep, filling thrusts and the pull at my nipple—push me towards another dizzying peak. I’m babbling, pleading, my head thrown back.
I feel his control snap. His thrusts become erratic, his grip on my hips bruising. “Fuck, Beatrice! I’m—” he snarls as he slams up into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and I feel the hot, pulsing rush of his release filling me. The feeling triggers my own second climax, a deep, rolling wave that milks his cock, drawing every last drop from him.
We collapse together in a heap of tangled limbs and spent passion, his cock still nestled deep inside me. The only sounds are our ragged breaths and the crackle of the fire. He holds me close, his face buried in my hair.
The world comes back to me in pieces. The feel of his heart hammering against my palm. The slick heat of our skin pressed together in the cool night air. Silas’ arm is a heavy, warm weight around my waist, his chest a solid wall at my back. His breathing is still labored, his lips occasionally pressing a soft, absent-minded kiss to my shoulder. For the first time since I was ripped from my bed in Havenmoor, my mind is utterly, perfectly quiet. There is no rage, no plan, no fear. There is only this: the safety of his embrace, the aftershocks of pleasure still humming in my veins.
And then, the thought slithers in.
Tomorrow.
He feels the tension seize my muscles. His hand stills its gentle stroking on my hip. “Bea?” His voice is a low rumble, still thick with sleep and satisfaction.
I can’t speak. I just shake my head against the furs, my throat tight.
He understands. Of course, he does. He always sees right through me. He shifts, turning me gently in his arms until I’m facing him. In the moonlight, his face is all stark planes and soft shadows, his dark eyes searching mine.
“Stay,” he whispers, and my heart cracks clean open.
“Come back with me,” he continues, his thumb stroking my cheek. “To the stronghold. Be my mate. Stay with me, Beatrice.”
Tears well, hot and insistent. I have to look away, focusing on the hollow of his throat. “Silas…”
“I love you.” He says it like it’s a fundamental truth, as unchangeable as the sunrise. “Let me love you. Let me build a life with you.”
A sob catches in my chest. “I can’t.”
“You can. You’re choosing not to.” There’s no accusation in his tone. Only a profound, heartbreaking sadness.
“I have to go home,” I choke out, the words tearing at me. “I have to see it. I have to know if there’s anything left for me there. It’s all I’ve thought about, all I’ve fought for, for so long…” I finally meet his gaze, begging him to understand. “This…you…it’s everything I never let myself want. But Havenmoor… it’s who I am.”
He is silent for a long moment, just looking at me, his expression unreadable. I expect anger or frustration. The cold, stoic mask he usually wears…
Instead, he lets out a slow, shuddering breath and pulls me against his chest, tucking my head under his chin. His arms wrap around me, holding me so tightly it’s as if he’s trying to imprint the feel of me into his very bones.
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice rough with emotion. “I know, my fire. I would never cage you. Not even in a gilded one built from my love.”
A broken cry escapes me, and I cling to him, my fists clutching at his back. We stay like that for a long time, wrapped in a silence that is both agonizing and tender. This beautiful, impossible man. He fought for me, freed me, laid his soul bare for me, and now he’s letting me go because he knows it’s what I need.
He doesn’t beg me to choose him. He just holds me, giving me this one, perfect night, knowing that when the sun rises, I will walk away.
And the worst part is, a piece of me is already screaming that I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.
Chapter Fifteen
Silas
I pack up our camp, my hands methodical, my mind a hollowed-out shell. I roll the furs, the ones that still smell of her, of us, and the scent is a physical ache in my chest. I douse the ashes of our fire, scattering the last of its warmth to the wind. Each task is a nail in a coffin I never wanted to build.
She is quiet, too, moving with a stiffness that mirrors my own. We don’t speak. What is there left to say? Last night said it all. Her body in my arms, her tears on my skin, the way she clung to me as if I were the anchor and the storm all at once.
We walk as the grasslands stretch before us, an ocean of green and gold under the rising sun. For me, it is a funeral march. Every step is a step closer to losing her. My hooves are heavy, my heart a stone in my throat. I watch her from the corner of my eye—the set of her shoulders, the way the morning light catches the gold in her hair. I am memorizing her. Branding this final image of her onto my soul.
