Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance (West Bend Saints #4)

Reaching for the waistband of his boxers, I pulled them down, releasing his erection. "Well?" I asked. "What would you rather I did with my mouth?"

Silas gripped my arms, pulled me against his nakedness as he stepped out of the last stitch of clothing he wore. His forehead pressed against mine, he spoke close to my mouth. "You can get down on your knees and wrap that sweet, sassy little mouth of yours around my cock."

I inhaled sharply, and he kissed me, gently this time, his tongue teasing me. Running my hands over his hard chest and down his muscled abdomen, I sunk to my knees between his legs, his cock in front of me.

Moving my hands up his thighs, I paused, my mouth an inch away from him, and looked up. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Shit, Tempest," he said, his voice gravely as he threaded his hands through my hair. "You know I do. You need to stop fucking talking."

I laughed. "You're bossier than you used to be."

Silas gripped my hair, and my body responded immediately, the throbbing between my legs more insistent now. "You're mouthier than I remembered," he said.

"You have no idea," I said, wrapping my hand around the base of his dick and guiding it toward my mouth. I touched his tip to my tongue, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum where it dripped from his head.

Silas groaned. "Fuck, Tempest."

"I haven't even gotten started," I said, licking the length of him before I took him in my mouth. Moving my hand up and down his cock, I began to suck him, harder as I worked.

He was silent, his eyes half-closed, until I cupped his balls in my hand and rubbed the sensitive area under them. Then, they fluttered open and he looked at me with hooded eyes. "You keep doing what you're doing, bright eyes, and you're going to make me come right in that sassy little mouth of yours."

I paused at the use of his nickname for me.

No one had called me that in years.

Suddenly overwhelmed with emotions I couldn’t explain, I pulled back from him.

Silas looked down at me. “Fuck, you think I didn’t remember?”

“I don’t know.” I thought I’d forgotten. Or I’d tried to put it out of my head, the same way I’d half-heartedly tried to forget everything else about him.

He pulled me to my feet and drew me against him. "I couldn’t forget,” he said, then softly hummed a few bars of the song, the words I’d memorized a long time ago, this song about seeing someone for the first time. It was playing in this coffee shop where we’d gone on our first official date - First Day of My Life. Sitting across from him, nervous in the awkward silence, I'd said I liked the words; the band was Bright Eyes, and the nickname had stuck, just between us.

I touched my hand to my mouth, shook my head. Why the hell did a silly little nickname make me feel so damn...nostalgic?

Silas’ hand came up to mine, and he pulled my fingers away from my mouth, then drew the inside of my wrist against his lips before he dragged them up the inside of my forearm. The act made me shiver. Moving both palms up my arms to my shoulders, he hesitated at the straps on my dress, then slid his hands around my back, finding the zipper. When it stuck, he stopped, spinning me around so that my back faced him, and tugged harder. “Is this some trick chastity dress or what?” he asked.

He kissed my neck, distracting me to no end while he tried the zipper again. “I’m going to rip this goddamned dress right off you in the next two seconds if it doesn't come undone,” he said, before the zipper finally gave way and the dress dropped to the floor.

And then Silas’ hands were on me, covering me, traveling up the sides of my hips, over the flesh of my ass he’d playfully smacked before, and across my back. I couldn’t help but let out a moan at his touch.

With him standing behind me and my eyes closed, I was transported to being seventeen again, back when his touch was the most familiar thing in the world. It was like returning to the one place I’d lived that felt like a home to me. Being touched by the only person who’d ever felt like home.

“Please, Silas,” I whispered.

He slid his hands around me, cupped my breasts, his erection pressed firmly against the flesh of my ass. “I knew you could say please.”

I groaned. The shithead had been waiting for me to beg him. “Stop screwing around and just fuck me already,” I said.

He made a sound that was something between a laugh and a roar. Gripping my wrists, he yanked them down to the small of my back and pushed me closer toward one of the windows that overlooked the city. He pulled my arms up roughly, pinning my palms against the window above my head.

Then he ran his hands down my arms from my fingertips to my shoulder, kissing my ear and then my neck, the roughness of his five o' clock shadow against my skin making every movement even more delicious. He reached between my legs, then drew back his fingers. “Shit, you’re wet,” he said, his voice guttural.