Page 22 of Illusionist
I should push him away. Should remember that I'm supposed to be lying low, staying invisible. Should rememberthat men like Silas are dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with the law.
Instead, I arch into his touch. “Silas.”
He makes that sound again, deeper this time. His hands drop to my waist, fingers digging into the boning of my corset.
“This has to come off,” he says roughly. “Now.”
“Someone could walk in?—”
“Let them.” His fingers find the laces at my back, working them loose. “I don't give a fuck who sees.”
The corset comes apart, and I can finally breathe properly. But breathing becomes impossible again when his mouth finds the swell of my breast above my bra.
“God, you're beautiful.” His voice is muffled against my skin. “Those freckles drive me insane. I want to worship every single one with my tongue.”
My hands tangle in his hair, holding him against me. “This is a bad idea.”
“The best ones always are.” He straightens, those blue eyes now dark with hunger. “Turn around.”
The command makes me shiver. I should refuse, should maintain some semblance of control. Instead, I turn to face the mirror.
He stands behind me, his hands spanning my waist. In the reflection, I can see the hunger written across his face, the way his gaze devours every inch of exposed skin.
“Look at yourself,” he commands softly. “Look how beautiful you are when you stop hiding.”
I meet my own eyes in the mirror—green and wild, pupils blown wide with desire. My hair's coming loose from its pins, auburn strands framing my flushed face. The corset hangs open, revealing the black lace bra underneath.
“Silas...” His name falls from my lips like a plea.
“That's right.” His hands slide up my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. “Say it like you need me to touch you.”
“I do.” The admission tears from my throat before I can stop it. “I need…”
“Tell me.” His mouth finds my ear, breath hot against my skin. “Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you.”
I should lie. Should deflect like I've been doing since the moment I met him. But the woman in the mirror—flushed and desperate and completely undone—doesn't look like someone who lies.
“I need you to stop asking questions.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I need you to just... take me. Make me forget everything else for a little while.”
Something shifts in his expression. The playful seducer disappears, replaced by something darker and infinitely more dangerous.
“Turn around,” he says again, but his voice is different now. Rougher. Commanding.
I turn, and he lifts me onto the vanity in one smooth motion. Makeup scatters, but neither of us cares. His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“If we do this,” he says carefully, “there's no going back. Don't ask me to let go once I've had a taste of you.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends molten heat straight to my core.
“I'm not asking you to let go.” I reach for his belt, fingers working the leather with the same efficiency I use on locks. “I'm asking you to hold on tight.”
His control snaps.
He crushes his mouth to mine, all gentleness abandoned. This kiss is pure fire—teeth and tongue and desperate hunger.His hands tangle in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants it.
I work his belt free, then the button of his pants. The zipper follows, and when my hand wraps around him, he breaks away from my mouth with a curse that would make a sailor blush.
“Fuck, Nova.” His forehead drops to mine, breath coming in ragged pants. “You're going to kill me.”
