Chapter One Hundred Fourteen: Summoned
497 Words
-----Silas's POV-----
Sierra was glowing.
Not the cute pregnancy-glow kind. Not the soft-lantern look people meant when they said it politely. No—she was lit, radiating heat and sass and hunger as she stood at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, belly round with their child, eyes dark with fire.
“Put your phone down,” she said.
Silas didn’t need to be told twice. He tossed it face-down on the nightstand and stepped toward her, shirt already peeled off, sweatpants hanging low.
“Bossy tonight?”
She smirked. “Horny tonight.”
He growled under his breath. “Even better.”
She was already naked beneath her robe, her breasts full and flushed, her thighs slightly parted like an invitation he’d never be man enough to deserve but would always accept like a starving sinner.
Silas dropped to his knees.
Hands on her hips.
Head tilted up.
“You know I’m addicted to you, right?”
“Prove it,” she said breathlessly.
He kissed the inside of her knee first.
Then her thigh.
Then the soft swell where her scent lived—warm, musky, perfect.
His tongue was slow at first. Gentle.
She moaned, leaning back on the bedpost, hips tilting forward into his face. He held her there, mouth working her until her knees shook.
“Silas,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. Not until she was bucking, trembling, her fingers tangled in his hair and the words I’m coming, I’m coming spilling from her lips in a desperate chant.
When she collapsed onto the bed, he followed her.
His c**k was throbbing, dripping.
She looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “You’re not done, are you?”
He smirked. “Not a f*****g chance.”
He kissed her belly, then her breasts, then aligned himself and slid inside her with a guttural moan.
She was soaked.
Hot.
Tight.
Perfect.
He moved slowly at first, then deeper, harder, until she was clenching around him, crying out, nails digging into his back.
Her orgasm hit again—harder this time.
He chased his own right behind it.
When he came, it was with a curse in her neck and a worshipful groan, spilling deep inside her.
They lay there tangled in silence.
The phone buzzed.
Again.
And again.
Sierra sighed. “Answer it.”
He reached over and grabbed it, chest still heaving.
Price.
Urgent.
He answered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Emma’s gone.”
Everything in Silas stilled.
Sierra sat up, eyes wide.
Silas locked eyes with her.
“I have to go.”
She nodded without hesitation. “Then go.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
She grabbed his face. “You’re not leaving me. You’re going to help bring her home.”
He kissed her.
Her lips.
Her belly.
Then he was moving—packing, dressing, weapon holsters clipped.
He texted Axton.
En route.
The storm had called.
And Silas was answering.
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