Page 94 of Salem’s Rise

“But what about⁠—”

“Silas, do you want to fuck me or do you want to keep talking?”

His eyes go molten black. He doesn’t answer with words. His hips snap forward, and he fills me completely in one slow, deliberate thrust that punches the air straight out of my lungs. For one suspended second, neither of us moves. He just watches my face, jaw tight, like he’s memorizing what I look like right now, stretched around him, mouth parted on a gasp I can’t hold back.

“Fuck, Jack.” His voice breaks, all the arrogance stripped out of it. “You feel so good. Exactly like I dreamed it would feel to be inside you⁠—”

“Move,” I cut him off, hips rocking up to meet him, unwilling to wait for him to finish the sentence.

He does.

The first few strokes are almost gentle, testing, like he’s giving me time to adjust to the size of him. It doesn’t last. The moment I dig my heels into the small of his back and pull him deeper, something in him breaks loose entirely. His pace turns punishing, deep and relentless, one hand braced beside my head while the other grips my hip hard enough to bruise, taking control and angling me exactly where he wants me.

“Look at me,” he orders, and I do, because I can’t do anything else. His dark eyes are wrecked, stripped of every careful wall he usually hides behind. “I want you to see who’s making you fall apart.”

The pressure building low in my body coils tighter with every hard thrust, every drag of him against the one spot that makes my vision blur at the edges. I claw down his back, certain I’m leaving marks, not caring, chasing the feeling building beneath my skin like a live wire about to snap. I hover on the edge of my release, trembling, so close, so fucking close. His rhythm doesn’t slow. If anything, it gets crueler, more precise, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Silas, please, I need⁠—”

“I know.” His voice is unsteady now, control fraying at the edges. “Let go, Jack. I’ve got you.”

That’s what does it—not the friction, not the heat, but the promise underneath the words. I shatter around him with a cry I don’t try to muffle, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me gripping his shoulders like he’s the only solid thing left in the world. He follows seconds later, shuddering inside me, my name breaking on his lips like it’s something sacred. His forehead drops to my shoulder as his whole body goes taut, then finally, finally still.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. His weight settles over me, heavy and warm, his breath ragged against my neck.

“Well,” I say, once I trust my voice again. “That was one way to shut me up.”

He huffs a laugh against my skin, still trying to catch his breath. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“I’m sure you will.”

He lifts his head, and whatever he sees on my face makes something in his expression soften into an emotion far too dangerous for either of us to name out loud. He doesn’t even try.

Instead, he kisses me again, slowly now, like we have all the time in the world. Like The Rites don’t exist. Like we aren’t two people who the Veil will inevitably try to pit against each other. Like we aren’t playing a deadly game where we both know there can only be one winner.

December 4 (18 Days Until Dark Solstice)

The Third Trial of The Rites begins at midnight, three days after the Winter Solstice Gala at Blackthorn Manor.

Three days after Silas kissed me like he had been starving for years.

Three days after he did unspeakable, spectacular things to me in his bed.

Three days of us both pretending like nothing had changed.

We’d passed each other on campus and in the dorms and sat through the same morning class, neither of us quite knowing what to do with the other. Once, I caught him looking at me from across the library, but I looked away before he could catch me staring back. Another time, he opened the door to Winthrop Commons for me, giving me a small nod and then disappearing inside before I could even open my mouth to thank him.

No phone call.

No text.

No awkward conversation.

Then again, I haven’t called or texted him either.

It’s not that I’d expected flowers. Silas Blackhollow would probably consider flowers a tactical liability. A severed head in a box maybe, but not flowers.

Still…