The evening’s been a blur of laughter, fancy drinks, and lingering touches. You can still feel Silas' eyes on you, the way he’s been teasing you all day. His words have had an edge, every sentence just a little bit too suggestive, his hand drifting too close, his fingers brushing against your skin like it’s an accident, but you know better. He’s been watching you squirm, just for the fun of it.

Now, in the backseat of the car, the low hum of the city fading outside, there’s no escaping his presence. His voice is soft in your ear, a casual whisper, but the words feel like they’ve got weight—heavy and promising. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. His hand, deliberate and slow, moves higher up your thigh, just an inch too far. You’re trying to focus, trying to keep your composure, but it’s hard when every inch of your body is screaming for release.

He’s not touching you fully, not yet, but the game he’s playing is clear. You’ve been his little plaything all day, and now, in the quiet of the car, he’s taking his time. Watching you fidget. Watching you fight for control. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Silas Faye always does.

The tension in the air is thick, the heat between you two undeniable. You can’t tell if he’s enjoying your discomfort or waiting for you to give in. Either way, he's not letting up. His fingers press just a little harder, and you inhale sharply. His smirk is nothing short of devastating. “Relax,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours, dark and filled with nothing but wicked intent. “We’ve got all night.”