His Holiday Prohibition

Chapter7

THE RECKONING

~SILAS'S POV~

The taste of her won't leave my mouth.

Three showers. Scrubbed my tongue raw. Didn't help. I want more.

5:47 AM and I'm rock hard again, replaying every sound she made. Maya spread out on that wine barrel like an offering. Dark hair everywhere. Those innocent eyes going hazy when I pushed my tongue inside her.

Twice. I made her come twice, and she sobbed my name both times.

My c**k throbs at the memory.

"Fuck."

I shove out of bed, my body protesting. Every muscle aches. My knees are scraped raw from that stone floor. Worth it. I'd do it again right now if she was here.

That's the problem.

I obliterated every line last night. Burned them to ash. She's twenty-one. My daughter's best friend. A girl I should protect, not defile in a wine cellar. But defiling her felt like worship. I was forty-five years old on my knees, eating out a woman young enough to be my biggest regret.

Except I don't regret it.

That's what makes me a monster.

I turn the shower on. Ice cold. It doesn't touch the heat burning through me. The water beats down while I remember those sounds she made. Little gasps. Whimpers. The way she grabbed my hair and held me against her like I was oxygen and she was drowning.

Her legs shaking. Her p***y clenching on my tongue.

'No one has ever touched you like this?'

'No.'

That one word nearly destroyed me. I was her first. The first man to make her fall apart. To hear her scream.

And I want to be the last.

My hand wraps around my c**k without thinking. The water streams over my knuckles as I stroke, fast and rough, picturing her face when she came. How her back arched. How she said my name. I finish hard, biting back a groan. It takes the edge off for maybe thirty seconds.

Then I want her again.

Jesus Christ. What the hell is wrong with me?

I get dressed. Black jeans. A sweater. Playing the part of a normal father making breakfast for his daughter and her friend. Not a man who paid the plow company ten grand to skip his driveway. Who sent the staff away. Who orchestrated this entire weekend just to get Maya alone.

I've been planning this for months. Since last summer when she walked out of the pool house in that bikini, dripping wet, curves barely covered. I stood there hard as a teenager, trying not to stare.

"You're dripping on my patio, Maya."

God, I sounded like a prick. But it was either that or throw her over my shoulder and do something that would land me in prison.

I thought about her every day after. Tried staying away. Told myself it was just lust. A phase.

Then Chloe invited her for Christmas. This was my shot. My only chance to see if this thing between us was real or if I was just a dirty old man projecting fantasies onto a girl too young to know better.

Turns out? It's real.

Too goddamn real.

I head downstairs. The lodge is silent. Chloe won't be up for hours. Maya's probably in her room, panicking. Regretting.

My chest tightens.

What if she woke up disgusted? What if she looks at me with fear instead of the heat I saw last night? I'll lose my f*****g mind. In the kitchen, I pull out ingredients. Pancakes. Coffee. Normal domestic s**t.

My hands shake.

I flip on the espresso machine, watching the light blink red to green.

Focus. I need to get my s**t together before she comes down. I start mixing batter. Heating the pan. But my mind keeps circling back. When can I get her alone again? How long before I can bury my face between her thighs and make her forget her own name?

Footsteps on the stairs. Light. Hesitant.

My entire body goes stiff. I know those footsteps. I memorized the sound of her walk weeks ago. The shuffle because she wears socks too big.

Maya.

I keep my back to the stairs. I can't look at her yet. Not until I have my face under control.

"Morning."

Her voice. Soft and Uncertain.

I close my eyes for half a second. Steady myself. Then I turn. She's standing in the doorway wearing a turtleneck that swallows her whole. Hair down and messy. No makeup. Dark circles under her eyes matching mine.

She looks wrecked. Beautiful and Mine.

Then I see it. How she's holding the collar. Tugging it up. Hiding her neck.

The hickey.

I marked her. Sucked a bruise into that soft skin below her ear. Now she's covering it because she knows Chloe will ask questions. Something dark and possessive twists in my gut. My c**k thickens.

Fuck. Let her hide it. Let her walk around all day knowing I branded her. That every time she touches that spot, she'll think of me.

"You're wearing a turtleneck." My voice comes out rough. "Covering my marks already?" Her eyes snap to mine. Heat flares between us.

"Chloe—"

"Isn't awake." I cut her off. "Answer the question."

She swallows hard. "Yes."

"Pity. I wanted everyone to see." Her breath hitches. She's not scared. She's turned on.

Fuck me.

"Coffee?" I manage.

"Please."

I turn to the espresso machine. Black. She takes it black. I noticed months ago. Most girls her age dump sugar and cream into everything. Not Maya. She likes it bitter.

Like me.

I slide the mug across the counter. Our fingers brush. The contact shoots through me like electricity. Her pupils dilate. If I touch her right now, I'll snap. I'll back her against this counter and kiss her until she can't breathe. Chloe be damned.

"Thanks," she whispers.

"Pancakes are ready." I force myself to sound casual. "Chloe should be down soon."

"Right. Chloe."

The guilt in her voice should make me feel something. It doesn't. All I feel is need.

"Silas." She says my name quietly. Those big dark eyes stare at me. "We need to talk about—"

"No." I cut her off. "Not here. Not now."

"But—"

"My study. After breakfast." I hold her gaze, putting command into every word. "We'll talk then." She bites her lip. I watch the movement like a starving man watches food.

"Do you regret it?" she whispers.

The question hits me in the chest. I step closer. Close enough to smell her shampoo. Close enough to see her pulse hammering in her throat.

"No." My voice drops. "Do you?" She opens her mouth to answer.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs. I step back just as Chloe bursts into the kitchen.

"Morning!" My daughter plops on a barstool, scrolling her phone. "Dad, you made pancakes? What's the occasion?"

"Christmas." I slide a plate toward her. "Can't spoil my daughter?"

"I guess." She doesn't look up. "Maya, you look terrible. Didn't you sleep?"

Maya's face goes red. "The altitude. It's affecting me."

"Yeah, it takes a few days." Chloe shoves pancakes in her mouth.

I pour coffee and lean against the counter. Maya sits three feet away. I can see her n*****s peaked under that sweater. She's not wearing a bra.

Jesus.

Chloe keeps talking. Something about skiing. A party in town if the roads clear. I nod. Make appropriate sounds. But my eyes keep drifting to Maya. She catches me staring. Holds my gaze.

Chloe's phone rings. She jumps up. "It's Bree. One sec." She walks toward the living room.

The second she's gone, I move. Two steps and I'm behind Maya's stool. My hand goes to her lower back. She stiffens. "Don't." I lean down, my mouth next to her ear. "Don't you dare regret last night."

"Silas—"

"I can still taste you." My hand slides lower. "And tonight, I'm going to make you come on my c**k instead of my tongue." She makes a sound. Half gasp, half moan.

"You're insane," she whispers.

"For you? Absolutely."

Chloe's footsteps approach. I step back. Pour more coffee as nothing happened. My daughter walks in, oblivious. "Bree wants to know if we're coming to the party tonight."

"Maybe." I keep my voice level. "Depends on the roads."

"Ugh. This weather sucks."

I glance at Maya. Her hands shake around her mug. Good. Let her shake. Let her sit there knowing what I'm going to do to her tonight. Chloe finishes eating and disappears upstairs. The second her door closes, I pull out my phone.

I text Maya. She's still sitting at the counter.

'Check your phone.' She pulls it out. Reads. Her eyes go wide. I watch her read my message.

'Tonight. 10 PM. My room. If you don't show up, I'm coming to get you.'

'And Maya? Lose the turtleneck. I want to see my mark.' She looks up at me. Her cheeks are flushed. Her breathing uneven.

"You're serious," she whispers.

I lean across the counter. Close enough that she can feel my breath.

"Dead serious. This isn't over. Not even close." She should run. Any smart girl would. But Maya's not running. She's staring at me with hunger in her eyes.

"What if I say no?" she challenges.

I smile. Slow. Dark.

"Then I will make you say yes."

Her lips part. She's going to argue. Or agree. I don't know which. But I'm done waiting to find out. Tonight, she's mine. Completely.

And if that makes me a monster?

Then I will be her monster.