“I want you to feel it all right now. All the shame and all the fear and all the hate, and I want you to let it all go. Give it to me, give yourself to me, and I will carry it all for you. For the rest of eternity or even just for a few minutes. Give it to me.”
Fire licked everywhere, at the soles of my feet and the insides of my palms and up my neck, but most of all at my core, which burned and flamed at his rough, demanding touch. He shifted, so that he had one foot planted on the floor, while the other knee stayed planted where it was, and his new stance exposed exactly how hard he was, how ready, and I could even see the wet spot on his trousers where he’d started leaking precum. I wished he would say fuck the contract and pull his cock out and shove it inside me. I wished he would throw me down and rut into me, press my face into the floor and fuck me until I forgot everything but him, him and his gigantic, perfect dick.
He angled his fingers so that he was rubbing against that one spot inside, and I couldn’t take it anymore. My nipples tightened and my belly tightened and my cunt tightened—all of my senses and sensations shrinking to the one point where his touch met my body.
“Oh God,” I moaned, my head falling back. “I’m going to…Oh God, Silas…”
“Yes,” he groaned. “Let me have it. Let me feel it.”
And there it was, all of it, the shame and the fear and the shredded sense of self-worth. It hovered in me as my orgasm hovered just out of reach, and then my orgasm crashed into me, fusing everything into white-hot waves of release. It ripped through my body, out of me and back into me, sending me soaring and falling at the same time; my only tether to reality was Silas’s other hand still gripping mine, squeezing hard as I clenched and pulsed around his fingers and rode his hand chasing after every single flutter.
And when I opened my eyes to see Silas staring at me with his face so serious, so stern—eyes hungry and still a little angry—more shudders rippled through me.
He was right. I belonged to him.
He still clasped my hand as he slid his fingers out of me and raised them to his mouth, where he slowly sucked my taste off of each and every one, our gaze never breaking as he did.
I took a deep breath in and a deep breath out, and where I expected shame or regret for violating the contract, I found none. And I found that—just a little, just an infinitesimal amount—my other shame had lessened. It was still there, and I wasn’t young or foolish enough to believe it could be wiped out with a single act or a single intention, but it was better.
Lesser.
He was right; he had carried my burden, and carried a part of it still, because he had looked the horrible truth of it in the face and still chosen to love me. As if it didn’t matter what I had let Cunningham do to my body or to my mind, because he saw that Molly O’Flaherty was so much more beyond those events, that those events could matter as much or as little as I wanted them to, and that, either way, he would shoulder the load with me while I figured it out.
We sat in silence for just a minute more, my body languidly unwinding and his face no less intense, but before I could speak to thank him, to explain what gift he’d just given me, he wiped his hand on his pants and then glanced to the clock on the mantel. And like that, the authoritative Silas was gone and my friendly Silas was back in his place, polite smile and all.
“I should go,” he said ruefully, getting to his feet and giving my hand one final squeeze.
“Silas…” I stood too, trying to find the words. “I—I want to say thank you but that isn’t quite right. But I don’t know what is quite right.” I stopped when I noticed the formidable erection still tenting the front of his pants. “Silas, you can’t go downstairs like that.”
“I’ll walk it off,” he said with a faux-cheeriness that vanished the moment I stepped forward and pressed my palm against his rigid length, curling my fingers around it through his trousers. A low hiss escaped his lips, and for a minute, I thought maybe he would finish what he’d started. That maybe my commanding Silas would return and order me to the bed, where he’d satisfy us both.
But it wasn’t meant to be. He moved backwards, wincing as my hand left his cock.
“Let me help,” I begged. “We’ll be fast. I promise.”
He came just close enough to drop a kiss on my forehead and then he straightened his jacket so that it hid the worst of it. “I must go, buttercup. I’ll see you in an hour or two.”
And then he swept his hat off the floor and left the room.
I’d lied to Molly.
The moment I closed the door of the rented room, I was searching out another space, one private enough where I could rectify the embarrassing physical situation I found myself in. And the whole time, my mind was screaming why did you leave her, go back go back go back, but I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, we’d violated the contract. Well, I had violated it, despite all of her careful and creative planning last night to find a way for us to share intimacy without breaching the damned thing, and then I’d blown all that work to hell when I’d shoved my fingers inside of her.
While a sick part of me could justify the breach by saying that my actions had only been to take care of her after her confession, no part of me could justify further violating the agreement simply for my own pleasure.
And for another thing, there was her confession itself, and all of the rage and concern and tenderness and frustration it inspired within me. I’d wanted to show her that I was there to support her, there to love her, but I also wanted to respect the solemnity of the moment. The seriousness of it.
Serious and solemn moments, moments filled with tragedy and pain, should only rarely evolve into sticky cum-covered moments.
I wouldn’t say never. But rarely.
And the very next door I tried opened to my efforts. It was empty, and with a silent prayer, I locked the door and hoped no one would try to return to the room in the next…well, honestly, it wouldn’t take very long.
I freed myself as quickly as I could, letting out a long breath when I finally circled my hand around my dick and started pumping. I didn’t bother to pull my pants down any farther or even unbutton my jacket; I widened my stance and worked my cock fast and hard, imagining it was Molly’s hand wrapped around me, that it was her breathing I heard instead of my own.
I looked down to see the dusky-dark crown pushing through my fingers and then pulling back, disappearing and reappearing, and I thought about how it would look thrusting up between her breasts or between the cheeks of her ass. I tightened my fist, thinking about that ass, about the way she’d gasped and panted when I’d fucked her there for the first time. I’d been gentle and easy since Molly had never allowed a lover to take her that way. Only me. I’d been the first to fuck that hot, tight place. I’d been the first to mark her there.
And then my mind disappeared into a filthy haze of images—some remembered, some imagined—depraved things that I would never admit to thinking in polite company…or even in not-so-polite company. The feeling of Molly’s delicate throat under the crush of my fingers, the image of my hand holding her down as I pumped into her. The tableau of her and me and Viola and—yes, even Castor—all together in that bedroom, slick cunts and warm mouths and hunger. Me straddling Molly and jetting cum onto her lovely freckled face.
