After a silent moment, as though he had reached a quiet verdict, Silas reached out and casually drew her closer by the waist. In an instant, the space between them vanished, their breaths mingling in the narrow gap. Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Are you afraid?”
“It’s just… it’s been so long. I’m nervous.”
“If you say so.”
His whisper brushed against her ear, laced with a velvet cynicism that proved he didn't buy a single word. She had no idea what game he was playing by bringing her to his bed, but whatever his motives, she had to play her role to the bitter end. It was her only chance at survival.
Urk!
Steeling her resolve, Rachel threw her arms around his neck and clumsily slammed her lips against his. The impact was so rushed that their teeth clattered together with a sharp spike of pain. Silas’s brow twitched upward in mild astonishment.
“…What do you think you’re doing?”
“This is what a wife does to her husband!”
She tried to sound provocative, but the sheer desperation in her voice completely shattered the illusion.
She fumbled clumsily to find his mouth again, her movements frantic and awkward. She was throwing every piece of half-remembered romance logic at the wall, praying it would keep her breathing.
Silas permitted the clumsy assault for a brief second before leaning back, a low, smooth laugh rumbling in his chest.
“It seems you don't even know how to kiss.”
His gray eyes were razor-sharp, cutting through her desperate facade with terrifying ease. Her heart hammered against her ribs; she felt completely stripped bare.
“That’s… it’s just been so long… I’m out of practice.”
“You can’t even spin a proper lie, yet you intend to insist you’re my wife?”
“It’s not a lie! I really am—!”
“Or perhaps you were simply too eager, so you skipped the pleasantries and went straight for it?”
Silas flicked his gaze down toward his groin. Rachel’s face flushed a furious crimson at his crude implication.
“Embarrassed? But you said we were married.”
“I’m always shy around you. Even if we’re husband and wife.”
The deliberate emphasis he placed on the words “husband and wife” made it impossible to tell whether he was slowly falling for her act or simply enjoying the sight of a rat squirming in a trap.
His fingers—surprisingly gentle for a man who butchered people for sport—began to trace slow, deliberate lines across her skin. Rachel held her breath, exhaling in a slow, controlled stream to hide the tremor in her chest. All the while, Silas’s dark, heavy gaze tracked her every reaction.
“You’re trembling.”
His low voice hovered near her ear, sending her heart into overdrive. She forced herself to maintain eye contact, trying to project a calm she didn't feel.
“I’m just… excited. Being close to you again after all this time.”
“Is that so?”
To anchor her shaking hands, Rachel placed her palms carefully on his broad shoulders. His radiant body heat seeped through her fingertips, stirring a volatile mix of raw terror and bizarre adrenaline deep within her.
Silas reached out, his long fingers cupping her chin to tilt her face upward. Rachel’s eyes fluttered shut automatically as he brought his lips down over hers. What started as a soft, exploratory brush quickly deepened into something far more commanding.
“Open your mouth.”
At his quiet, absolute order, her lips parted involuntarily. Silas claimed her completely. This was no gentle reunion; he invaded her mouth with practiced dominance, his tongue sweeping deep, drinking her in as though he intended to consume her whole. His cold palm cradled the nape of her neck, pulling her tight against his chest.
“Uhm…”
A faint whimper slipped from her throat despite herself. Silas pulled back a fraction of an inch, a dark chuckle echoing between them. Rachel couldn't bring herself to open her eyes, her mind reeling as she awkwardly tried to match the rhythm he set.
His fingers slid down her jawline, trailing over the sensitive skin of her throat. His cold touch burned against her flushed skin, his ragged breath brushing her cheek.
Gasping for air, Rachel surrendered to his pacing. The atmosphere in the bedroom grew heavy, thick with a suffocating, volatile tension. Silas’s hand tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard frame.
“Breathe through your nose,” he commanded softly, guiding her like a teacher with a slow student.
Rachel obeyed, drawing in a ragged breath through her nose.
“Much better.”
Satisfied, Silas resumed his slow, thorough exploration of her mouth. The intensity of the kiss escalated, melting her resolve until her limbs felt heavy and weak.
“Now you remember, don’t you? How it’s done.”
“…Yes.”
“Then show me.”
Rachel did her best to mimic his lesson, pushing her tongue against his in a clumsy imitation of passion. It was unrefined, but an undeniable improvement.
“Ngh!”
Just as she thought she was getting the hang of it, his large hand slipped beneath the lapel of her robe, effortlessly cupping her bare breast. A soft gasp broke from her lips.
Silas paid her protest no mind, deepening the kiss while his thumb lightly stroked the hardening tip of her nipple.
The soft sound of their ragged breathing and the slick ruin of their kiss filled the quiet room. Rachel’s world narrowed down to two things: keeping up with his mouth and surviving the hot, dangerous trail of his hands.
When he finally broke the kiss, Silas gripped her jaw tightly, his fingers digging into her delicate skin. The audible sound of her swallowing echoed in the quiet space.
“And yet, trembling like a frightened bird, you haven't tried to run.”
“Run away? Why would I run away from my own husband?”
Though her eyes darted frantically, she clung to the lie with stubborn resolve.
As if savoring her stubbornness, Silas slowly relaxed his grip on her jaw. His fingers drifted down to her collarbone, tracing the seam of her open robe before sliding deep into her cleavage. The sensation of his bare skin against hers sent an electric shock straight down her spine. She flinched, but he held her firmly in place.
“In that case…” he murmured dark amusement, his arms tightening around her waist.
He pulled her body agonizingly close, his rough touch slipping further inside her robe—drifting down the curve of her spine, over her hip, and sliding up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.