Locked in Silence: Grimm's Circle, Book 5 (13 page)

Through the walls, he could hear water running.

His body ached as he thought of her slipping off those sexy, skimpy clothes, slipping naked into the water.

Her body aching, needy…

Shoving away from the bar, he told himself,
One night
.

Then they would focus on her training. Only that. He would figure out how to put distance between them, without hurting her more than he already had.

He slid into the bathroom, seeking her out with his eyes.

She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.

There were tears in her eyes, and the sight of it was a dagger to his chest.

Coming up behind her, he slid his arms around her waist. Brushing her hair aside, he pressed his lips to the scars along the left side of her face. Such minor, paltry things to him.

But he knew they bothered her, knew she hated them.

She tried to turn away but he ignored it, kissing each mark, each wound.

“You look lovely,”
he murmured to her. Even as he did so, he marveled that he
could
.

Marveled that he could so easily speak to another.

Something he’d never thought he’d have again. God, how he cherished it…how he cherished
her
.

Was it any wonder he already felt so much for her? Although it went so much deeper than his ability to be able to speak with her. So much deeper. There were psychics among the Grimm, but never had he found one who could hear his thoughts. He was a psychic null, Will had told him. Some of them could skim his memories and lift random pieces there, but to hear his thoughts? For him to be able to
speak
again? It had never happened.

He could
make
himself heard with Vanya and it was a miracle.

She was the real miracle, though. And for a while still, she was
his
miracle. His miracle…and she was staring at him with a derisive smile on her face as she tried to push him away.

“I’m not lovely,” she said, shaking her head.

“I disagree.”
Resting his hands on her shoulders, he kissed her temple and then stared at the mirror, at their reflections.
“Lovely…so pale, so soft…”

“Scarred,” she added, turning her head so that the harsh light fell on them. “Let’s not forget the scars.”

“How can I…they mark you as a survivor.”
He trailed his finger down one. There was more to those scars than just their appearance, he suspected. And looking into her eyes now, seeing the sadness there, he knew he was right. Only one person could have put that grief in her eyes.
“Your sister did this, didn’t she?”

She tensed against him. Her lashes lowered, shielding her eyes. “Yes. It wasn’t her anymore, but yes.”

“There is nothing ugly in your scars,”
he said.
“You survived—you resisted what she could not. And don’t tell me they weren’t trying to take you as well. I know their kind too well. You would have been young, scared…you should have been an easy mark.”

Vanya turned her head, once more met his gaze in the mirror. A shaky sigh escaped her and she nodded. “They tried. I pushed them out. But I couldn’t save her.”

“By then, it was too late. You know that now. They are marks of honor…courage. Perhaps you see them as something ugly, but they are not.”
He kissed each one and then dipped his head, kissed her shoulder.
“You are lovely, Vanya, so lovely. Know that.”

When he touched her, she felt lovely.

She felt wanted…even if she was just his student, just a responsibility he’d been stuck with. At least he wanted her. For now. It was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

Her head fell back against him as he reached between them, loosened the laces of her corset.

As it sagged then fell away, she took a deep breath, groaned. The thing was nowhere as tight as traditionally made corsets, she suspected, but still. That contraption took some getting used to. Silence’s hands came up, cupped her breasts.

“I think damn near every man who saw you tonight wanted you.”
His voice was rougher, harsher as he used one leg to nudge hers apart.
“I hated it.”

The thought sent a thrill through her.

Or maybe it was the way he nudged her closer to the counter, bending her over. Big hands smoothed her skirt up, what little there was. Cool air kissed the bared flesh of her butt. Only the thong covered her and already she was wet, aching. One hand came up, stroked her. Vanya shivered.

“You’re wet.”
Harsher, rougher…all but growling through her mind, and she felt the backlash of his satisfaction shuddering through her. Her knees threatened to give out and she had to lock them simply to stand upright. He tugged on the thong and she whimpered as it rubbed against her, against the slick wetness of her sex, pressing between the cleft of her rump.

She heard a deep, harsh sigh escape him and she looked up, stared at his face, but he was staring down at her, long blond hair shielding him.

He gripped her hips and pressed against her, and she moaned at the contact, hating the clothes he still wore. Squirming against his hold, she tried to turn—she wanted him naked.

But he caught her hands, pressed them back to the counter.
“Be still…”

“I can’t,” she snarled. Abruptly, hunger threatened to tear her alive. Lust was a ravenous beast in her belly and she wanted—
needed
—this. Shoving back against him, she glared at him in the mirror. “Damn it, I
can’t
. I need…”

He shoved himself against her. Harder this time. As he did it, he slid a hand around to her front, unerringly seeking out the tight, rigid bud of her clit.
“This?”
he asked.
“Do you need this?”

She whimpered. “More.”
 

He pushed two fingers inside her, scissored them.

Closing her eyes, she rocked against him, riding his hand. But it wasn’t enough—not enough. She reached back, clawed at him, found her hand fisted in the flowing leather of his jacket. “More,” she begged.

Silence pulled away…left her alone.

She could have cried, but when she looked up, she saw that all he was doing was stripping out of his coat, his shirt. Barely aware of what she was doing, only that the hunger was still burning inside her, riding her, she stroked a hand down her middle, sank a finger inside her aching sex. The muscles clenched down tight and she groaned. It wasn’t enough—

Damn it, where was this coming from…

A hand stroked her hair back from her temple.

“It’s from earlier,”
Silence murmured, bending over her.
“I can help. If you want me to…”

Turning her head, she stared into eyes of the palest blue. “Do it. Damn it, I can’t stay like this…”

He stroked a hand down her arm, tugged her wrist back up and slid her fingers into his mouth. She gasped then whimpered, rocking back against him. He hadn’t taken his pants off, though, and she couldn’t wait—didn’t want to. He guided her wrists back to the counter, still holding her gaze pinned with his. She stared, helpless, as he reached back.

She heard the rasp of his zipper and closed her eyes, sucked in a desperate breath.

“Look at me…”

“I can’t…damn it, Silence, please.” She groaned and pushed back. Ready to beg, all but dying.

“Shhhh…”

She felt him then. The hard, hot length nudging against her.

“Yes…”

“Do you trust me, Vanya?”

She stiffened, stilled—

Her eyes flew open and she stared at him.
Trust…
Looking at him, she tried to figure out what he was getting at. He curled a hand over her hip.
“Do you trust me?”
he repeated.

“Yes.”

A pleased smile curled his lips. Then, before she could so much as draw a breath, he caught her hips, lifted her so that her feet left the floor. He buried himself, full length inside her.

She came in the next breath.

Impaled on his length, taken by the hard, fast surprise of it, she shuddered and shook with it, helpless.

Silence fisted a hand in her hair. The other hand came to her shoulders, pulling her back against him. Twisting against the deep, complete invasion, she cried out.

“Lean back against me,”
he ordered, slipping his hands down to her waist,
“and watch us.”

Stunned, she stared in the mirror.

Oh.

Oh, damn.

She still wore her skirt and her pendant. That was it.

Silence wore leather pants. And
her
. Her hair disheveled, mouth red, eyes bright and hot. She looked…wanton. Hot. And sexy. The scars, what she normally saw when she looked at her reflection, she hardly even saw them.

As she stared at their reflections, he lifted her up then down. She could see the swollen, reddened flesh of his cock, slick from her, as he penetrated her.

“Look at you,”
he growled, mind to mind
.
“Look at how lovely you are. Touch yourself, Vanya. Stroke yourself.”

Vanya shuddered, her hands gripping his wrists.

“Do it.”

Swearing, she reached up with one arm, clinging to him for balance. The other hand, she slid down. His gaze was locked on her hand, and the pale blue of his gaze glowed like fire. The tips of her fingers bumped against her clit. She hissed and arched. From Silence, she felt…something. It wasn’t thought, wasn’t emotion…

No.

It was a storm.

His head dipped and he raked his teeth over her shoulder.
“Touch…let me see
,” he demanded.

Helpless to resist, she began to circle her fingers around her clit. Slow at first, in rhythm to his deep, thorough strokes.

Then faster.

She shifted as much as she could, used her legs to awkwardly grip his and work back against him, clenching down tightly around him, shuddering at the pleasure of it. He stretched her, so hard, so thick, he almost bruised her.

Orgasm lurked just out of reach and she chased it, but she couldn’t quite get there.

“Damn it, Silence,” she snarled, shoving awkwardly back against him.

Over her shoulder, she saw him staring at her, a savage, harsh look on his face.

“You need more.”

“I need to come.”

“You need more. The succubae, incubae. It’s like a fever. You need more.”

“Then fix it.” She didn’t even care
how
—she just needed him to do something about this aching burn in her belly, this hunger that threatened to drive her mad.

“Fix it.”
His teeth flashed in a harsh smile.
“You’re certain.”

“
Yes…
” She twisted her hips against his erection and sobbed out—it felt so damn good, but the ache only spread. Even the light touch of her fingers against her clit was more pain than pleasure right now. “I don’t care how.”

I don’t care how
—

Those words, even as they made some predatory, hungry monster inside him burn with hunger, were enough to make him pause.
“You should be careful with your words, Vanya,”
he murmured inside her mind.

Then, although the last thing he wanted was to pull away from her, that was what he did, separating their bodies.

She cried out, clinging to him.

Once he set on her feet, she whirled around and reached for him, just as he was reaching for her. Hauling her against him, he stared down into her face, lifting one hand to touch her cheek.

“A succubae is a psychic thing…she sinks her power inside you, with each touch. It infects you—until you become immune to it. It will fade, but until it does, you will hunger, and you will burn. I can make it pass—if that is what you want?”

Vanya glared at him. “Didn’t I already
tell
you that?” She curled her hands into the waistband of his pants, tugging him closer.

“You did…but didn’t you notice how desperately you needed to come, and how it lingered just out of reach? You need more—it’s a darker hunger, and you need something darker.”
Stroking her hair back from her face, he asked,
“Do you have dark hungers, Vanya?”

She swallowed.

Staring at her, he backed away just enough, letting some air come between them as he fisted his hands in her snug skirt.
“Are you going to tell me?”

Then he tore the skirt, shredding it in his hands.

Her eyes widened, and he saw the excitement flare before she covered it with a scowl. “Damn it, what are you doing?”

He hooked his hand in the front of her panties, a black silk thong he’d bought. He did the same thing he’d done with her skirt. And watched as the same excitement darkened her eyes.

Her hands flexed wide then curled into fists. Her mouth parted as her breathing sped up. Purely instinctive because neither of them needed to breathe so much anymore. He advanced on her, crowded her up until she came against the bathroom counter and still he moved in on her until their bodies were pressed snug against each other, her naked one pressed to his partially-clothed one. Still staring into her eyes, he caught her wrists, held them in his, watched her face as he started to rock against her.

Her head fell, the tumbled brown silk of her curls shielding her face from him.

“Look at me,”
he ordered.

She jerked her head up, stared at him, eyes dark and wild and wide. He tightened his hold on her wrists and she jerked against his hands.

When he didn’t let go, an array of emotions ran through her eyes—everything from fear to hunger to nerves to excitement, even the edge of shame and guilt. Dipping his head, he raked his teeth over her neck.
“What do you hunger for, Vanya? Can you tell me?”

“Silence…” Her body burned, blistered hot against his. “Damn it, would you just take me, please? I’m dying…”

“Take you how?”

She stilled. Once more she jerked against the hold he had on her wrists. Her breathing hitched in her throat, raspy, shallow. He pushed his thigh between hers. She was hot, hungry…so wet he could smell it and it was killing him.

He heard her swallow and then she looked up at him, her cheeks flushed hot—embarrassment, excitement…both… “However you want. However
you
want…”