Page 51 of Vows of Silence

“Belle,” he whispered in return. But it was Luca’s voice. Luca’s voice and Silas on the camera. The perfect blend of heaven and hell. My saviour and my captor.

The thought only turned me on more.

The zip lowered, the parting of his trousers opened, and then…

I woke with a start and immediately groaned with frustration. My eyes remained closed, but the dream was floating further and further away with every passing second.

For fuck’s sake…

This was on par with your favourite toy running out of charge right before your orgasm hit.

What the fuck had that been about?

I didn’t even try to process what had just come over me. The dream—no, memory—of Luca had been so real. Silas, onthe other hand… that had been an unexpected interruption, but dream me hadn’t hated it.

Far from it, actually.

My legs shifted beneath the covers, and a fine sheen of sweat coated my skin. I squeezed my thighs together, attempting to relieve some of the ache I felt down there, and immediately noticed how wet I was, how slick the inside of my thighs felt.

I stroked my fingers along my thighs, teasing myself, not wanting to rush this. And then I heard something shift in front of me.

My eyes snapped open, and reality bled into my arousal. I took in my surroundings, remembering exactly where I was.

And then my gaze landed on him.

Silas.

He was leaning against the wall, his stance casual, his arms folded, his legs crossed at the ankles. If I could see his face, I was almost certain I would see a smug smirk playing on his lips.

Instead, I was met with that silver mask cocked to the side.

Oh god… I hadn’t moaned his name out loud, had I?

Dreams meant nothing. We couldn’t help where our subconscious went. But if he’d heard me, if he knew he had been on my mind, I would never recover.

Never.

I locked eyes with him, trapped behind the darkness of his gaze, unable to move, feeling pinned even though he was on the other side of the room.

“Silas,” I whispered, without really knowing what I was doing or what that meant.

The sound of his breathing roughened again beneath the mask, one sharp inhale that seemed almost painful.

And then his fist clenched, and that one small movement snapped me out of my trance.

I scrambled up the bed, grabbing the covers as I did so and pulling them up to my shoulders, covering every inch of my body from him.

By the time I looked back at him, he was no longer leisurely leaning against the wall. He was standing upright, both fists clenched at his sides, that same laboured breathing puffing from his mask.

I knew he was angry. But I couldn’t focus on that. A million questions were spinning in my mind.

How many times had he done this? How many times had he watched me sleep? Had I talked? Had I revealed anything?

This felt worse than being watched on cameras.

Worse than anything else.

Because when you were asleep, you were at your most vulnerable.