Zombie Apocalypse: I Have Safe Zone Superpower-Chapter 606: More

Before Ivy could respond...he suddenly scooped her up into his arms.

The movement was swift yet careful, his grip firm but gentle.

Ivy let out a small, startled sound, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

"Silas!"

But he didn’t stop.

With an easy stride, he carried her toward the master bedroom, his expression relaxed, almost smug, as if he had already won a silent battle only he understood.

The door closed, sealing them in the soft, private world of their bedroom.

Silas didn’t wait.

He turned, his hands already on Ivy’s waist, pulling her against him.

His lips found hers not with gentle inquiry, but with hungry possession.

It was a kiss that spoke of pent-up longing, of a deep, simmering need finally given permission to boil over.

Ivy met him with equal fire. Her fingers tangled in his blonde strands, pulling him closer.

Their mouths moved together in a wild, wet dance, breaths mingling, tongues exploring with urgent passion.

There was no hesitation in her now, only a confident surrender to the heat between them.

His hands roamed, slipping under her shirt, his palms sliding over the warm skin of her back.

He broke the kiss only to pull the fabric over her head, his blue eyes dark with desire as he looked at her.

She did the same for him, her nails lightly scraping his chest as she tugged his shirt off.

Their bare skin pressed together, a shudder of pleasure passing through them both.

He guided her to the bed, his lips trailing down her neck, to her collarbone, to the swell of her breasts.

His mouth found a nipple, and she arched, a sharp gasp escaping her.

"Silas..."

He suckled, his tongue circling, his teeth grazing with delicious precision.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her own need a mirror to his.

He moved lower, his kisses blazing a path down her stomach.

His intention was clear: foreplay, preparation, the careful build-up they had always followed.

His fingers traced the line of her inner thigh, moving toward her core.

But before he could touch her there, Ivy’s hand shot out and caught his wrist.

Her pink eyes, usually so bright and cheerful, were now fierce and determined. "Stop."

He froze, looking up at her, confusion and concern etching his handsome face. "Ivy? What’s wrong?"

"Not that," she said, her voice firm. "Today... we try it. The real thing."

The air in the room seemed to still. Silas’s expression shifted from desire to deep, palpable worry.

He knew her history, her trauma.

"Ivy, I... we don’t have to. We can..."

"I want to," she interrupted, her glare holding an angry edge. "I’m telling you I want to. Today."

He saw the resolve in her gaze.

He nodded slowly, his heart pounding against his ribs. "Okay."

He moved up, kissing her mouth again, softly now, a kiss of reassurance.

"If you feel uncomfortable, just say the word love, alright?

Ivy nodded.

Silas positioned himself between her thighs, his body hovering over hers.

He was visibly tense.

Slowly, with infinite care, he guided himself.

The first touch of his tip against her entrance sent a jolt through her.

It was unfamiliar, yet somehow deeply familiar.

A filling, invading sensation that triggered old shadows in her mind. Her breath caught, her eyes widening.

Silas saw it. He saw the fear flash across her face, and he stopped.

He halted completely, his own body rigid, his eyes were filled with anxiety and love.

"Ivy?" His voice was a whisper, strained with concern.

She looked at him. His blonde hair fell over his worried brow. At his blue eyes, so full of care for her.

This was Silas. Her husband. The man who had waited, who had cherished her, who had never, ever pushed.

He would never do anything without her consent.

The panic melted, replaced by a warm, trusting flood of relaxation.

She let out a breath, her body softening beneath him.

"I’m okay," she said, and she meant it. She gave a small, encouraging nod. "Go on."

Even with her permission, his movement was excruciatingly slow.

He pushed forward, an inch, then another.

He watched her face, every micro-expression, ready to retreat at the slightest sign of distress.

He did not break her hymen. He stayed at the surface, a shallow, careful penetration. He rocked gently.

It was sex, but it was sex on the very edge.

The sensation for Ivy was a strange cocktail: the physical pressure, the intimacy of his body inside hers, but without the piercing culmination. It was almost there.

For Silas, it was a test of will.

The feel of her, hot and tight around just the head of his cock, was maddening.

Every shallow thrust sent waves of desperate need through him, but he held himself back, his control iron-clad.

His hips moved with tiny, restrained motions, his forehead damp with sweat.

"You feel... incredible," he breathed, his voice thick.

Ivy felt his tension. She felt the rigid control in his muscles, the unsatisfied strain in his careful rhythm.

She knew what he was denying himself for her sake.

After a few minutes of this gentle, surface-level rocking, she reached up and touched his cheek.

"Stop," she said again, but this time with a soft smile.

He withdrew immediately, a question in his eyes.

"I want to do something for you," she said, her confidence returning.

She guided him to sit back on the bed, then she knelt before him on the floor.

His erection stood before her, hard and gleaming, a proof of his frustrated desire.

She looked at it, then up at him with those cute, pink eyes. She leaned forward, her pink hair brushing his thighs.

Her lips parted, and she took him into her mouth.

The sensation for Silas was instantaneous and overwhelming.

She started slow, exploring with her tongue, licking along his length. Then she took him deeper, her head bobbing gently.

Ivy focused on the act, on giving him this pleasure.