Page 90 of Lost and Found

“Fuck, Bea, I don’t think I can wait. I’ll make it so good and sweet again in a couple hours, okay? I’ll go slow and I’ll be so nice, but I—”

I’m clawing off his shirt, shoving down his jeans, using my heels to kick them off when my hands can’t stretch past his knees. I reach into his briefs and his lips crash into mine again, groaning over my tongue when my hand wraps around him, burning hot and painfully hard. He growls out a curse when I reach lower and palm him where he’s soft and full. I scrape off his briefs with one hand until he has to help me and strips them the rest of the way. I’m the noisy one, this time, little sounds slipping out of me with every grasp and touch. I let out something truly desperate when he lurches upward and leans back on his knees, looking over me while we pant at each other.

“You’re already different here,” he says, and it doesn’t spark an ounce of self-consciousness in me, because he says it like I’m the most awe-inspiring thing he’s ever beheld. His hand spreads wide over the slightest slope of my belly. “And here,” he adds, running the same hand up to cup one of my breasts again.

I moan, low and long from the bottom of my soul. “You can already tell?” I breathe, failing not to squirm. I need to be rubbed everywhere, inside and out.

“I’ve had you memorized forever, Red,” he explains, plain and simple.

He takes himself in hand and holds me still by my hip, rubbing the head of his cock over me. My legs part wider, and he does it again. And again. And again. Torturing me until I think I’m going to lose my mind and I have to bite back a whimper, teeth planted in my lip, hands reaching up to rake at his big arms while I practically thrash beneath him.

I think it’s an accident when he finally slips inside me a few blessed inches. I think he means to tease me some more, but I’m soaked and circling, and we catch each other at the exact right angle and moment. He falls forward with a hard grunt of surprise, palms slapping down on either side of my waist, holding himself still and shaking. Holding his breath completelyuntil our eyes snag again, when he lets it out and sinks into me farther with his jaw gritted. He starts to crawl his big body over mine and gives me another inch. Kisses me sweetly before he gives me another. Brings my knee up and makes me take another from him, and my cheek turns in to the bed with a gasp. He’s so thick and big, and I’m so—full. So full. I’m so overwhelmed. My nails dig half-moons into his back.

“Silas, it’s—a lot.”

He hums an apologetic, murmured sound but brings my face back to his and seals our mouths again in a rough, wet kiss.

“You’ll endure it, Red,” he says, lips curling into a crooked smile, hot wax dripped over my skin. He pries away one of my hands and glides it down between us. “Feel it. Feel how good you’re doing.”

My fingers glide over the wet mess of me and vee over the inches of him not buried there. They stay like that when he presses a little deeper, just a tilt of his hips. I melt some more, his hard and solid pinning me in place where I’m soft and grasping at him with greedy little pulses.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “See, baby? You can take it. You have to take it. You’ll have to endure me forever now.” He grabs my hand again and brings it to his mouth, keeps two fingers there on his tongue, and bites down on them gently when he slides in the rest of the way.

I moan and arch, grinding my needy clit into him, my fingers still in his mouth. My other hand clutches his ass, holding him here, so deep in me I’ll never get him out.

He slides back and surges in. My fingers slip from his bite and tug into his hair. “Jesus, Bea,” he groans. “You feel . . . like you missed me.”

“You’ve never been”—he moves, and my breath hitches—“herebefore.” No part of him, no part ofanyonehas ever been so deep.

“Exactly,” he rasps.

He takes me slow at first, in spite of his earlier promises. Full, lingering presses, and his thumb working at my clit when his hands aren’t roving over me. He stokes it up, tells me sweet, lovely things in between filthy ones. How good I feel, how hot and tight I am around him, the best sort of burn. How beautiful I look, flushed and shining. He tells me how well I’m doing and how he sometimes wants to punish me for how badly I make him want. He says he can’t wait to see what I look like when my belly grows. Tells me he can’t wait to see what I taste like after he’s been inside me.

He works at me faster, and I pluck and pinch at my chest, sensation buzzing through every limb until it meets in my core and starts to coil tight.

“There, yeah?” he asks, but I’m moaning before he finishes the question. “Yeah, fuck,” he says, amused and amazed. “Look at you. God, I love you so much.”

I grab at him when I come, digging into him like I’ll spin away otherwise. I bury my cries and my teeth in his shoulder, and he reaches beneath me, gathers me up until I’m flush against him where he kneels, his heels under his ass. I’m split over his lap with his forearms banded across my back and no means to escape how deep he is, no way to give myself leverage.

“Silas,” I groan, overwhelmed.

“Squeeze me with your thighs,” he commands. “Lock your ankles and hold on to my shoulders.”

I manage to do what he says, but it’s dicey when he ruts up into me, and I start to come apart again. Still, when sparks rain down behind my eyelids, so bright and good I don’t know if I want to cry or laugh, I hold on to him as tight as I can while he bounces me on his lap, and I say, “I love you, too,” right into his ear, and it carries him over the edge immediately after me.

He stays inside me long after he’s done, keeps nudging into me with shallow thrusts. Eventually, completely spent, he falls back to the bed with me spread over him like a blanket, holding me so tightly I know it prolongs him catching his breath. But we stay that way even after he’s softened, like we’ve got no plans to move.

I trace the scars covering his chest, so much adoration coursing through my veins I have to fight off the urge to cry. His pulse thrums at the base of his neck, and I lay my fingertips over it. His warmth under me and inside me mixed with that steady rhythm and the sounds of afternoon rain all work together like counting sheep.

“Need to feed you,” I mumble sleepily.

“Mm. The hungriest part of me has been fed,” he says with a single laugh, his voice dragging at the edges, too. “We can rest, for now.”

I think Silas is still chewing the last bite of his grilled cheese when he bends me over the arm of the couch, props my knee up beside my hip, and slides into me from behind. I’d been awoken by my growling stomach and crept out to the kitchen to throw something together for us both. He came prowling around the corner just as I was finishing up the second sandwich, and here we are.

He strokes into me slowly, pausing when he pulls out nearly all the way. Taking his time like he’s watching himself as he slides back in.

“It’s too bad you can’t see this, Bea,” he says. He proceeds to describe his view in vivid detail without a change in pace, and something about the way his voice works over me and its hypnotized rhythm make me wildly impatient and desperate. Hetalks about how he comes out covered in a wet sheen and the hot, soft way I unfurl around him. He tells me I’m pretty and circles the ring of my ass before he calls mesweet.