Page 20

She knows I’m watching, and she wants me to.

Either way, I’m rooted to the spot with my breath caught in my throat as Lyra slides her hand up her chest and cups one perfect breast. Her fingers knead and tease, circling her hardened nipple until she gasps, her hips shifting. My cock twitches at the sound.

She grips the vibrator in her other hand, lining the tip up to her entrance. I know that model. It’s strong as hell, with an extra nub at the base that’s made to hit her clit just right. The moment she turns it on, her body reacts, her back arching slightly, her thighs parting wider.

I watch, entranced, as she presses the head of it against her folds.

Her mouth parts in a moan so soft and sinful that it’s almost reverent.

That dress bunched around her waist is familiar, one I’ve fantasized a million times about her wearing.

But right now, it’s not the fucking clothes I care about.

It’s the way she starts to push the vibrator inside and the way her body yields around it, stretching and welcoming.

Her fingers pinch her nipple harder, tugging, while she eases it in further. My hands clench at my sides as I fight the urge to storm in and take over. But I can’t move. Not when she looks like that, wild, flushed, and drenched in heat and hunger.

Then she grabs a pillow, props it between her knees, and straddles it. For a moment, everything slows. I barely breathe. Then she drops down, impaling herself on the silicone cock, and I nearly lose it.

I should look away.

I should .

But the part of me that still knows right from wrong, the part that gives a damn about boundaries and consequences, has gone silent, drowned under the low, hungry growl that builds in my chest. It’s not my brain calling the shots anymore.

It’s lower than that. Harder. Hungrier. My cock is thick and straining against my zipper, and every breath is a struggle.

I stand. I don’t even remember deciding to.

My legs move without permission, driven by something primal, urgent.

I’m moving down the hallway like a man in a trance.

The world’s gone blurry around the edges.

All I can hear is the soft, wet sound of her—Lyra—slick and full and riding that toy like she’s trying to break herself on it.

By the time I reach her door, I’m not even sure I’m breathing.

I hesitate for a half-second. Just long enough to feel the heat pulsing in my blood and taste the raw ache of wanting her on the back of my tongue. Then my hand is on the knob, turning, pushing.

The door creaks open, just enough for me to see her.

She’s still on her knees with her thighs spread around the pillow and her body arched.

Her back is to me, the curve of her spine gleaming with sweat.

And that dress, God, that fucking dress is bunched just enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

The vibrator is buried deep inside her, and she’s grinding against it like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.

I step into the room before I can stop myself, letting the door click shut behind me.

“Lyra,” I rasp, my voice low and hoarse.

She freezes. Then she turns slowly, almost dreamlike, and our eyes lock.

The door clicks shut behind me, soft but final. I flick the lock into place without taking my eyes off her.

Lyra is sprawled on the bed like a vision I’ve conjured from every dark thought I’ve ever had about her.

Her thighs are wide open, the vibrator still buried between them, her chest flushed and lips parted.

Her hair fans out over the pillow like a halo, but the look in her eyes is anything but angelic.

She doesn’t move when she sees me. She just watches with something that looks a lot like challenge in her gaze.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I say, my voice guttural with restraint. Her body answers before she does, her hips twitching, and I see it, the way her inner muscles clench around the toy.

God help me.

Every inch of her calls to something deep and primal in me, something I’ve tried to keep buried. But not tonight.

I cross the room slowly, peeling off the boundaries we’ve danced around for far too long. My hand wraps around the back of her neck, firm but not cruel. Her breath hitches as I lean down close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off me.

I tug gently at first. She doesn’t resist. So I tug harder.

She rises, her pupils blown wide, the edges of fear and anticipation blurring together so perfectly that it makes my pulse thunder. Her body slides up, nearly lifting off the toy, and I feel it, the moment she hands over her control.

“Are we doing this?” I ask, my tone low and edged with promise.

“Yes.” Her voice is soft but sure, vibrating against my fingers.

I hold her there, suspended in that delicious space between yes and more, then reach down to flick the toy back on. She gasps. “Raw is the safe word,” I say, my lips brushing her ear. “No matter when. No matter what I’m doing to this greedy little body. Do you understand?”

She nods, trembling.

“I need to hear it.”

“Raw is the safe word,” she whispers, and the vulnerability in her voice nearly undoes me.

I push her back down until she’s once again filled and grinding helplessly. “Swivel those sweet hips,” I command, watching every inch of her respond, and her need to obey and to be seen doing it. “Again. More.”

Gone is the teasing I usually wear like armor. She’s stripped it off me with one look, and what’s left is something darker, unforgiving, and consuming. I clamp down on her clit just as the toy pulses against her from inside, and her back arches like I’ve hit a nerve wired directly to her soul.

“Were you trying to punish me?” I ask.

She can’t answer. Her lips part, but no sound escapes. I wait. I want her ragged and breathless, teetering on the edge.

“Yes,” she finally chokes out. “I was mad you weren’t here.”

“I would’ve come for you.” My voice turns rougher. “You should’ve waited.”

Her body starts to tremble again, and I ease off just enough to make her feel everything flooding back. Her thighs quake, and her moan breaks. I let her rise just high enough to think she might fall over the edge.

Then I pull the toy from her body and toss it aside.

She cries out at the loss, and I answer it with a low growl, pushing her back onto the bed. In seconds, I’m above her, straddling, looming, and devouring her with my gaze.

I yank my shirt off, then pull her upright just enough to shove it under her neck. I unzip, and my pants hit the floor with a thud, releasing the ache that’s been throbbing for her since the second I saw her tonight.

She reaches for me, desperate. I catch her wrists and redirect them, pouring a slick trail of lube onto her chest.

“Touch yourself,” I command. “Make yourself ready for me.”

She obeys, her eyes locked on mine. And it’s then I realize, she wants this just as much as I do.

Maybe more.

Lyra cups her breasts obediently, spreading the lube over her flushed skin, her fingers trembling but purposeful. Her eyes never leave mine, dark, daring, and full of heat and trust. She continues to look at me as she kneads her breasts, pinches her nipples, and rolls her hips.

I kneel between her legs, watching every movement and every shiver that ripples down her body. The hunger in me has teeth, and it’s chewing through what’s left of my restraint.

“Perfect,” I murmur, guiding her hands together until her cleavage forms a slick, tight channel. I slide myself between them, and the contact nearly breaks me.

Her skin is hot silk against me. The glide is maddening, and I brace my hands on either side of her, rocking into her slowly, deliberately, and letting her feel every inch, every pulse. Her breath stutters, and her lips part in awe.

“You feel what you do to me?” I ask, my voice low and raw.

She nods, pressing her breasts tighter, giving me more friction, more heat. Her thighs shift beneath me, trying to ease her own aching need, but I don’t stop moving. I want to see it all. Her desperation. Her surrender. The way her lips tremble like she’s one second away from begging.

“Say it again,” I demand. “Whose are you?”

“Yours,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with need.

“That’s right,” I growl, picking up the pace. Her chest shines with lube and sweat, the scent of sex thick in the air. But all I can see, all I can feel , is her. Wrapped around me. Offering herself up like a prayer and a dare all at once.

My balls draw tight, my cock throbbing between the soft weight of her breasts, and I grit my teeth, chasing the edge that’s coming fast. She lifts her chin, her eyes blazing.

“I want to feel it,” she whispers. “Mark me. Right here.”

She touches her throat where my hand was, and that’s all it takes. With a snarl, I spill over her skin, pulse after pulse of release drawn from the deepest, hungriest part of me. Her hands never stop moving, pressing together and guiding me through every tremor as I come all over her.

Her breasts are coated in my cum, but she doesn’t seem to care if it’s filthy. Turns out she’s a filthy little thing herself.

I sag over her, my breath ragged and my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.

She looks up at me, smiling like she has just won something. “My turn?” she asks, her eyes gleaming.

I grin, wicked and slow. “Oh, you just flipped the switch.”

I reach for her hips, and the real fun begins.

She’s still beneath me, flushed and glowing, her body glistening with the mess I left on her skin. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, quick breaths, and there’s a question in her eyes, but not hesitation. It’s a challenge and an invitation.

And I take it.

“My turn,” I echo, my voice thick with dark promise.

I sit back on my heels, my palms sliding down the insides of her thighs and pushing them wider. Her legs fall open without resistance, and the sight of her, so slick, so ready, nearly derails me all over again.

She’s trembling. From anticipation or aftershock, I can’t tell. But I want to feel it all. I want to own every second of the way her body breaks apart under my hands.

I trail my fingers up from her knees, slow and reverent, until I reach her core. My thumb grazes her clit, and she jerks like I’ve shocked her.

Still sensitive. Still aching.

“God, look at you,” I murmur, stroking around her entrance and gathering the slickness that’s practically pouring from her. “You’ve been holding back, haven’t you?”

Her breath catches.

“I saw how close you were. Riding that toy like you were starving.” I slip two fingers into her, slow but deep, curling just enough to draw a gasp. “But you waited.”

She nods, her eyes glassy.

“You were good for me,” I whisper. “Now I’m going to be so fucking good for you.”

I lean in, my tongue flicking out to trace a path over her inner thigh, then higher, closer, until I’m right where she needs me most. I press a kiss to her clit, soft and deliberate. Her entire body lifts off the bed.

I hold her hips down with one hand, the other still working inside her, and start to feast.

She cries out. Sharp, filthy, and desperate.

Every lick is a claim. Every moan she spills is mine. I alternate pressure, tempo, angle, and reading her body like a script I’ve memorized in dreams. Her hands fly to my hair, gripping tightly as if she can anchor herself through me.

“You going to come for me?” I murmur against her. “You going to give it to me, baby?”

“Yes… please… Silas…”

The way she says my name breaks something open inside me.

I suck her clit gently between my lips and press just a little deeper with my fingers, and that’s all it takes. Her whole body locks, then shatters. A sob escapes her throat as she comes, her hips bucking helplessly, her thighs clenching around my head.

I don’t stop. I ride her through it, holding her until the last tremor fades.

When I finally pull away, her chest is heaving, her limbs boneless. Her eyes find mine, dazed and shining.

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, I crawl back up the bed and settle beside her, pulling her into my arms.

“You’re mine,” I murmur against her hair. “Every goddamn inch of you.”

She sighs, melting into my chest. “Yeah,” she breathes. “I really am.”