Page 87 of Where The Devil Kneels

“I wanted you to have a space that truly feels like home,” he says, his voice lower than usual, rougher at the edges. “Something that honours the estate’s history but adapts to our present needs.” He takes a deliberate step toward me, then another. “Something that isn’t just preservation, but evolution.”

Each word brings him closer, his usual measured distance collapsing with purposeful intent. I find myself retreating without conscious decision, drawnbackward by the magnetic pull of his approach until my legs meet the edge of the newly restored four-poster bed.

His hands seize my waist, pulling me against him with a strength I’ve never felt before. Gone is the man who treated me like glass, replaced by something primal. His mouth claims mine, tongue exploring with hungry purpose while his fingers tangle in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat to his descending lips.

I match his intensity, restraint forgotten. I moan as his teeth find my neck, his growl reverberating against my skin. My fingers attack his shirt buttons, revealing skin I’ve memorized but still crave. His heart pounds beneath my palms as his muscles tense and flex under my touch.

He breaks the kiss only long enough to remove the garment completely, revealing the lean muscle and scattered scars I’ve come to know as intimately as my own skin. The sight of him, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with desire, lips swollen from our kissing, sends a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly. I can feel myself growing wet, my body responding to his intensity with an ache that demands satisfaction.

His hands are everywhere, in my hair, tracing my spine, gripping my hips with bruising intensity, as he guides me backward until we both tumble onto the bed he restored with his own hands. The mattress gives beneath us, enveloping us in softness even as his body presses mine into its depths with delicious weight. I can feel every inch of him against me, the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against my thigh through the denim that separates us, making me gasp with want.

“I rebuilt this frame myself,” he murmurs against my throat, his voice vibrating against my pulse point. “Tested every joint, every connection.”

His teeth graze my collarbone, then bite down with enough pressure to make me cry out, the sharp pleasure-pain sending electricity straight to my core. “It won’t break, no matter how thoroughly we test it.”

The promise in his words ignites something molten inside me. This version of Silas, confident, commanding, fully present in his desire, is intoxicating. My hands explore familiar territory with renewed urgency, tracing the ridged scar tissue on his chest where Garrow’s knife nearly took him from me, then moving lower to the button of his jeans. I can feel the heat of him through the fabric, hard and ready, and my mouth waters with the memory of how he tastes, how he feels heavy on my tongue.

He captures my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head against the antique headboard with a grip that’s firm but not painful. The wood is smoothagainst my skin, polished by his careful hands to eliminate any roughness that might cause discomfort. Even in this new assertiveness, his care for my well-being remains fundamental. The restraint sends a thrill through me, being held, controlled, at his mercy, and I arch beneath him, pressing my breasts against his chest, desperate for more contact.

“Let me,” he says, his free hand making quick work of my clothing. He releases my wrists only long enough to strip away my shirt, his calloused fingers grazing my ribs and making me shiver. My bra follows, and the cool air against my heated skin makes my nipples tighten into hard peaks. His eyes darken as he watches, and then his mouth descends to capture one sensitive bud between his lips. I cry out as he sucks hard, his tongue circling and flicking while his hand palms my other breast, thumb brushing over the nipple in maddening strokes.

“Silas,” I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to me as pleasure radiates from where his mouth works. He releases me with a wet sound, only to lavish the same attention on my neglected breast, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh and making me writhe beneath him.

His hand trails lower, unbuttoning my jeans with practised efficiency and sliding them down my legs along with my underwear. When I lie bare beneath him, his eyes sweep over me with unconcealed hunger, taking in every curve, every flush of arousal colouring my skin. He settles between my spread thighs, and I can feel his heated gaze on my most intimate places, can feel how wet I am, how ready.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, one finger trailing up my inner thigh, so close to where I need him but not quite touching. “So wet for me already.” The words send another pulse of arousal through me, and I feel myself grow even slicker. When his finger finally slides through my folds, gathering my wetness, I moan shamelessly, my hips lifting to seek more pressure.

He brings his finger to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he tastes me, his eyes closing briefly in appreciation. “Delicious,” he growls, and the sight of him savouring my taste makes my core clench with need.

He finally removes his jeans, and the sight of him fully naked and aroused makes my breath catch. He’s magnificent, hard and thick, the head flushed dark with blood, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. I want to taste him, to feel the weight of him in my mouth, but he’s already positioning himself between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

He stares down at me for a moment, eyes nearly black with want, and then, without warning, he thrusts forward with a single, powerful motion that drives him deep inside me, burying himself to the hilt in a single unhesitating stroke.The shock of it tears a cry from my throat, the force of his entry making my vision go white at the edges. I was expecting the slow, gentle accommodation of the past; instead, he overwhelms me utterly, filling me so suddenly and so completely that every other thought vanishes from my mind, replaced by the sharp, animal knowledge of his body invading mine.

He makes a noise low in his throat, a growl that vibrates through my whole body, and the sound of it, raw, almost feral, sends another jolt straight to my core. He moves, not with the careful slowness he’s shown before but with a claiming rhythm, each thrust deep and unhesitating, as though he’s been waiting years for this moment and is determined to make it last. Every motion grinds his pelvis against my clit, the friction building with relentless precision, and I match his movements instinctively, arching up to meet him, urging him on with broken sounds and helpless moans.

The mattress cradles us, muffling the slap of skin against skin but amplifying the sensation of being pinned, utterly possessed. The old bed creaks beneath us but held fast, the headboard shuddering with each of his thrusts, a testament to his craftsmanship and, perversely, a turn-on to imagine him building this very frame knowing one day he’d fuck me senseless on it.

“God, you feel incredible,” he groans, his forehead pressed against mine, his breath coming in harsh pants. “So tight. So perfect.” He withdraws almost completely, and I whimper at the loss, only to cry out again as he slams back in, the force of it driving me up the mattress.

His hands never still, one moment gripping my ass to tilt my hips, the next carding through my hair to pull my head back, baring my throat for his teeth and tongue. He marks me with nips and kisses, leaving a trail of heat in his wake, and the possessiveness in his gaze makes something inside me unravel.

His teeth graze my earlobe, then bite down as he growls, “Mine,” the word more animal than human. His hips snap against me with bruising force, establishing a rhythm that borders on frenzy. “Mine to protect. Mine to devour.” Each snarled claim punctuated by a thrust so deep I taste it in my throat. The wet, carnal sounds of our joining echo obscenely in the room, my arousal dripping down his length and onto the sheets beneath us.

“Yours,” I agree breathlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist to draw him closer, my heels digging into his lower back. “And you’re mine, Silas.” My nails rake down his back, leaving red trails in their wake, marking him as thoroughly as he’s marking me.

The pleasure claws through me with each savage thrust, a wild thing coiling and snapping in my core. His cock drags against places inside me that make my vision blur, that make me bite down to keep from howling. When his hips slam against mine, the impact jolts through my bones, animal and primal.

“Touch yourself,” he growls, teeth bared, sweat dripping from his jaw onto my breast. “I need to feel you come apart around me.”

I obey without hesitation, my hand sliding between our bodies to find my swollen clit. The first touch makes me gasp, the bundle of nerves so sensitive that even the lightest pressure sends jolts of pleasure through me. I circle it with my fingers, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and the dual stimulation rapidly pushes me toward the edge.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his eyes locked on where my hand works between us, where his cock disappears into my body again and again. “So beautiful. So perfect. Come for me.”

I come so hard my spine bends like a bow, squeezing him inside me with each pulse while pleasure floods every inch of me. I hear myself—some animal sound I didn’t know I could make—bouncing off the walls of this room that’s finally ours. My whole body shakes with it, wild and helpless. I’m soaked, dripping around him, making a mess of us both, and God, I don’t care, I want him to feel exactly what he does to me.

Silas loses it right after me, breaking his usual silence with a sound that’s half growl, half my name against my neck. His hips stutter and then slam home one last time, his whole body going taut as a bowstring above me. I feel every pulse as he comes, hot and deep, filling me up in waves that trigger little aftershocks of my own. My body squeezes around him, greedy for every last drop, and I can’t help the sounds I make, half-wild things that belong to him alone.

After, as our breathing slows and our heartbeats gradually return to normal rhythms, we lie tangled in sheets that still smell faintly of newness. I can feel him softening inside me, can feel the warm trickle of our combined fluids as he slowly withdraws. The loss makes me whimper, suddenly feeling empty, and he soothes me with gentle kisses pressed to my temple, my cheek, my lips.