Page 365 of One More Kiss

His hands white-knuckle the counter, his restraint holding on by a very thin thread. “And what about tomorrow?”

I shrug. “I won’t regret it tomorrow. Even if it’s only tonight.” I know it is. I know that’s all it can be. That’s what he’s saying without coming right out and admitting it.

And whereas minutes ago, I was plotting my escape, the word he used sits too heavy on my chest to be ignored. Regret. I don’t want to regret not saying what I’m thinking. I don’t want to regret the possibility of one night with him because our lives and situation are too complicated for more beyond this.

Likely I’ll never see Silas again after tonight. The bar was a fluke.

But it’s like he said, I think I’ll regret not acting more than I will taking what I want now.

He lingers, locked in place for another moment, the tension mounting to such a height I can hardly stop myself from squirming in place or shifting my gaze. And once it reaches a boiling point, a temperature neither of us can stand for another second, he shoots around the island, slices his hands into my hair, cups the back of my head, and crashes his mouth down on mine.

My reaction is instant. Chemical.

My hands and body take over, ripping at his button-down shirt and shamelessly grinding myself against him while his mouth does unholy things to mine. I got a taste of him earlier, but I never would have expected Silas, a man so broody and closed off to kiss like this. Consuming. Ravaging. Almost filthy as his tongue fucks my mouth, nipping and sucking and breathing me in.

I’m dizzy with it, so delirious I don’t want to come up for air for fear of missing a second of this. His kiss and hands that are working me so perfectly. He moves his way across my face and along my body, sucking on my neck, the space beneath my ear. He squeezes my ass, pressing me into his hard length that’s straining through his pants, and I moan at the feel of it.

“I want to taste you,” I murmur into him.

“Jesus,” he hisses, nipping at my bottom lip.

My fingers fumble with the belt, button, and zipper of his pants. But once I’ve freed him, I immediately fall to my knees on his kitchen floor, taking in the sight of his perfect cock before me. He’s big. And thick. And veiny. And his head is just begging for my mouth. Gripping him firmly in my hand, I pump him toward me and he hisses out a breath. My eyes glide up to his just as I open my mouth and lick at his slit.

“Fuck.” His hand dives into my hair, gripping me by the roots. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured you doing this very thing to me.”

My eyes widen in response, my lips parting because I had no idea he thought about me before tonight. Not in that way. Not to that extent. Something about that drives me wild and I take him down my throat, eager to get as much of him in my mouth as I can. Desperate to blow his fantasy away with reality.

I start to bob on him, my tongue playing with the underside of his cock as my hand reaches into his pants and briefs and finds his sack. A slew of expletives hit the air, his grip in my hair tightening and a pool of hot, wet lust coats my panties. I continue to suck him off, smelling his musky scent and tasting the saltiness of his precum. Divining in the sounds I’m pulling from him. The way he thrusts into my mouth, almost as if he can’t help himself.

He pushes in and I gag on him as his head hits the back of my throat. I swallow reflexively, moaning against him, and that nearly sets him off. His thighs tremble and then suddenly that hand in my hair is pulling me up and off him as he drags me to stand. In a flash, his mouth is back on mine, and I’m being slammed into the cabinets, dishes rattling inside. The straps of my dress get yanked from my shoulders, the rest tugged down my legs.

He steps back, taking me in, standing here in his kitchen in just my bra and panties. “You have no idea,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Until his eyes meet mine. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Then he’s back on me before I can even formulate a response. His hands rip at the cups of my bra, forcing them down so he can lift and play with my tits. His mouth captures one peaked bud, flicking it with just the tip of his tongue, the most featherlight touch, but god…

Just having his hands on me. The way he’s touching me. Looking at me. Wanting me.

I would do anything he asked. If he wanted me to crawl to him on all fours, I would. That’s how insanely turned on I am. How much I want to please him. This single dad who devotes his life to his autistic son and his job. Yes, I want to please him. I don’t even care if he’s my ex’s brother.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hums into my chest, licking and sucking at me. Then he moves lower. His lips, his fingers gliding along my belly, lower still until he reaches my tiny thong. “Delaney Banks, I’m going to eat your pussy so good.”

Words I never thought I’d hear Silas Atwood ever say to me.

But words that have me begging, “Please,” all the same.

“Not like this.”

And before I can process what that means, he’s lifting me up, carrying me practically naked across his damn house and then up a flight of stairs until I’m in his room and somehow splayed out on his bed.

“I can’t eat you out in my kitchen with your leg over my shoulder. I need to be able to take my time with you in my bed. I want to be able to open you wide and lick every inch of you.”

“Silas, yes. I need this.”

Only he’s not done with what he wants. Not even by a long shot. I expect him to spread me wide and drop to his knees. Nope. Instead, he crawls up his bed and slides my panties off. My bra next. Then he’s holding my hand and tugging on it as he climbs higher.

“Sit on my face and fuck it till you come all over me.”

And I’m done. Just like that, I’m done.

He hasn’t eaten me out yet and we haven’t fucked, but it doesn’t take a Mensa candidate to understand that a man will never make a sexier request to me. And mean it. I don’t even think he’s saying this to get me fired up or more aroused or to pretend like he’s a porn star talking to his dirty slut—truth, I would have been there for that too.

He’s taking this “it’s only tonight” thing and running wild with it. Telling me all his fantasies and desires and I’m so wound up I’m already coming a million times over.

Silas lays himself down on his pillow, grasping my naked hips and urging me up. “On my face.” He says it again as if there is no negotiation. Does it get more real or intimate than this?

I straddle his face, just beneath his chin, and stare down at him. He’s so gorgeous. So impossible. So devastating to behold. A man I never imagined I could have. Certainly not like this. I cup his face and run my fingers through his thick, dark hair.

“I thought about you too,” I tell him since honesty seems to be the name of our one-night game. “I’d catch you watching me, and a flutter would hit my chest. I shouldn’t have, but I used my vibrator to you more times than I’ll ever admit beyond this room.”

Without another word, he settles my pussy over his lips and looks up at me. “This will be better than the fantasy. I’m about to make damn sure of it.”

---