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You could feel the brewing jealousy emanating off of him in seismic waves, even from across the room where you were engaged in polite conversation with other party guests. One sparing glance between your lashes was all it took. That deceptively calm mask of his—always perfectly practiced—was beginning to crack.
The slightest furrow of his brow. The faintest twitch at the corner of his beautifully scarred mouth. That barest hint of a scowl beginning to paint his features. Indicators only you could interpret, considering your intimate knowledge of him both inside and out.
You lowered your eyes again with a demure tilt of your head, lips curving into a faint smile as you nodded along to the dull story one of the ladies beside you was telling. You didn’t really care, honestly—these gatherings weren’t for you. They were Silco’s strategic efforts at diplomacy, carefully calculated performances to maintain business relations and forge new connections.
You hated them.
Not because of the gaudy wealth on display or the excessive posturing. But because he was always preoccupied, surrounded by nobles and merchants and scientists who never shut up.
Silco being occupied with something other than you? Unacceptable.
So tonight, you decided to play a little game.
The young man had been eager, sweet and attentive. And clearly unaware of who you belonged to. He complimented your dress, made you blush prettily, and when he pressed a kiss to your hand and swept you into a dance, your eyes deliberately caught Silco’s over the boy’s shoulder with a triumphant spark.
A flash of fire, a glint of seafoam green.
You held his gaze. Long enough to make him seethe. Long enough to make you feel the weight of his glare across the room, heavy like a knife laid against the delicate skin of your throat.
Silco hadn’t said a word as the evening wound down, but his silence was far from passive. It was a brewing storm building behind that cool facade. It made your entire body hum in excitement, and delicious fear.
Now the office door shuts behind you with a loud click.
The air shifts. It’s heavy. Tense. Electric.
You should apologize. You should explain. But you remain silent, watching him steadily, anticipation curling low in your gut.
Silco circles you like a predator. He’s loosened his cravat, sleeves rolled up along his forearms, and the scent of smoke and whiskey clung to his skin tantalizingly.
“You’re playing a dangerous game tonight,” he murmurs, low and controlled.
You lift your chin, defiant. “It was just a dance.”
His seafoam eye narrows, as the sclera of his damaged eye burns like an inferno. “It was disrespectful, pet. Have you forgotten who you belong to?”
He’s on you before you can respond. His hand wraps around your jaw, firm enough to remind you exactly who you belong to.
“You want my attention, Sofya?” he breathes, leaning in so close that his breath ghosts over your lips. Your lips part expectantly, unable to hold back the exhale of anticipation that escapes them. “You have it.”
The hard wood of the desk is behind you before you realize he’s walking you backward, and then you’re pressed against it, pinned by his lithe frame. His thigh slips between yours, parting them just enough to press against your core, between the thin layers of silk of your dress. His gloved hand trails along your hip, slow and almost burning over the fabric covering it.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growls, voice rough. “To make me angry.”
You don’t answer. You simply gaze up at him with innocent eyes, an impertinent little grin on your lips.
But your breath hitches when his nails dig into your skin, and your hands clutch the edge of the desk. And he smiles, dark and barely baring his teeth.
“Pretty little thing,” he murmured, voice like velvet and steel. “You blush for some simpering, inexperienced boy and think I’ll let that go unpunished?”
The hand on your jaw slid to your throat, like a reminder.
“Is this what you need?” he hummed, voice rumbling through your bones. “A lesson? A reminder of who owns you?”
Your breath stuttered, hips pressing forward, chasing the heat of his thigh between your legs. A smirk bloomed across his face, and you almost fell apart at the sight of him.
“You really are desperate for it,” he chuckled. “Because he couldn’t give you this, could he? He wouldn’t dare touch what belongs to me, and he can’t make you feel the way I make you feel. ”
His knee pressed up slightly, just so, causing your back to arch painfully against the unforgiving wood of his desk.
“You want to come undone on me like a common whore, after playing the virginal maiden?” His eyes burned into yours. “Then that’s exactly what I’ll make you.”
He spun you sharply, your palms flat on the desk now, and breath knocked from your lungs as his hands gripped your hips. He tugged your dress up in one fierce motion, bunching it at your waist. Cool air kissed the backs of your bartered thighs before the sharp sting of leather meeting bare skin echoed through the firelit room.
You gasped, the sudden heat blooming across your ass, searing and immediate. The fine supple grain of his glove left behind a distinct, delicious burn.
Silco took a moment to admire his handiwork, a blooming red handprint on the soft skin of your ass.
You felt the press of his fingers afterward, the creak of leather flexing as he rubbed over the spot he struck. It was almost gentle, as if he was comforting you.
“Count, Sofya,” he commanded, his low breathy voice flooding your senses and sending warmth flushing throughout your entire being.
Your voice trembled. “One.”
He spanked you again, harder this time.
“Two.”
“Louder, my love.”
You bit your lip, willing yourself to not cry out and focusing your gaze on the crackling logs merrily burning in the fireplace. “Th-Three.”
Another. Then another. By six, your knees were weak and threatening to fail you. By ten, he was running his long, elegant fingers between your legs, finding you soaked through your panties.
He laughed darkly, fingers trailing along the damp lacy fabric. “You’re dripping, my love. You took your punishment so very well.”
Silco pulled your panties down your legs, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Never mind the way you were trembling with need in his hands.
When he slid two fingers into you without resistance, you moaned, voice high, breathless, wrecked.
His fingers were still gloved, the soft leather dragging against your slick walls in a way that made you jolt, made your body seize and flutter around him. The cool smoothness of the glove was a stark contrast to the simmering heat that was engulfing you entirely.
Silco curled his fingers, just so. No one knew your body like he did, what made you sing and how to make you crumble into pieces. Silco works his fingers into you, knuckles brushing your entrance with every thrust, his leather-clad thumb lazily circling your clit.
Your breath begins to catch, the heat in your stomach almost boiling over and goosebumps start to prickle across your skin—then his fingers suddenly withdraw. Devastated, you cried out at the sudden loss.
“Misbehaved girls don’t get to make demands,” he said simply, and you could almost see the smug smirk on his face.
You whined, but he was already undoing his belt. You could hear the metal clink, the low rasp of fabric falling free. You feel his heavy, hard cock rest against your bare ass, sliding teasingly low against your entrance.
“You’ll take me. And you’ll thank me for it after.”
You looked over your shoulder at him. Your eyes are glassy, lips parted, hair undone from its arrangement and dizzy with need. “Please.”
He growled, and in the next breath, he was inside you, dragging a broken gasp from your lips as he bottomed out with impatience, no pause for you to adjust to him. His hips pressed you into the desk, sure to leave marks the next morning that he would gently kiss.
You gasped, bracing yourself against the desk as your walls clenched instinctively around him, the stretch sudden, almost overwhelming with how thick he was.
“Fuck,” Silco hissed through his teeth, his hips surging forward to seat himself fully inside you. His gloved hand dug into your waist, holding you in place. Like you were just a thing for him to use—and in this moment, you were.
“So wet for me already?” His voice was rough as he pulled back and slammed into you again, hips snapping hard enough against you to jolt the desk beneath your body. “Or is it that pathetic boy’s touch that has you dripping like this?”
You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. You could only focus on the feeling of him driving into you. He filled you completely, leaving no room for coherent thought or words, just the feel of him, the sound of his voice in your ear, the almost unbearable pleasure threatening to pull you under.
He set a punishing rhythm, fucking into you with ruthless precision, the slap of skin echoing through the room. Every thrust drove you forward against the desk’s edge, your elbows trembling, legs struggling to hold you upright. His cock filled you too perfectly. You felt like you would die without him. You’d be nothing, without Silco.
You were spiraling fast, dancing on the edge and he could sense it. Of course he could.
“Don’t you dare,” he snapped, hand leaving your hip to wrap around your throat, pulling you up against his chest and placing a kiss on your head—almost mocking in how tender it was. “You don’t come until I say you can.”
You whimpered, pulsing around him in protest.
His grip shifted, gloved fingers sliding up to clamp over your mouth, muffling the ragged sob you let out as your teeth sank into the leather.
That earned you a low, guttural chuckle.
“That’s better,” he breathed against your ear. “Now take it.”
He fucked you harder now, meaner, rutting into you like he had something to prove. Like he wanted to fuck every trace of that boy’s touch out of your skin. His free hand moved to your clit, rubbing tight, precise circles, teasing you toward the edge again but not allowing you release.
“You’ll come when I tell you,” he gritted out between thrusts. “You’ll scream my name, and then maybe I’ll believe you’ve learned your fucking lesson.”
You sobbed, hands clawing at the desk for leverage, leaving slight scratch marks that he would chastise you for later. “Please, please Silco, I can’t—”
“You can.” His hips rolled slower, deeper now, grinding up into you so hard it made entire constellations burst behind your eyes. “You will. You’ll take every inch of me until your legs give out and you can barely remember your own name.”
He didn't stop. Not through your begging and strangled pleading. He chased his own release with furious thrusts, panting against your throat, that iron composure he always kept up like a shield falling apart with each breath. His grip turned bruising on your hips as he slammed into you one final time and came with a low, broken groan—deep and raw and yours.
His fingers pinched your clit—just once—and it was enough in your wound up state. You shattered with a strangled cry, your body clenching down like a vice around him, keeping him in place, his name escaping you like a shouted prayer to the heavens.
His cock throbbed inside you, spend spilling out of you and dripping down your thighs as he kept you pinned, still pulsing, still twitching from the overstimulation.
You didn’t speak. You couldn’t seem to take control of your voice.
He stayed buried inside, breath ghosting over your shoulder, lips brushing your ear and then dropping a tender kiss along the column of your sweat-drenched throat.
“Now,” he hummed, low and dangerous. “Say it.”
“I’m yours, Silco.”
“Good girl.”