Page 24

She moves toward me, slow and sure, the sound of her bare feet a whisper against stone. When she stops in front of me, I lift the sash between us like an offering. My gaze never leaves hers.

“I’m going to tie you up.” It’s more of a declaration than a request.

Her breath hitches, and she nods once. No words. Just quiet, trusting consent.

I take her wrists in my hands so gently that it almost feels like reverence. Then slowly, I begin to loop the fabric around them. The fabric glides, binding her wrists in a simple knot that rests light and loose. No tightness. No threat. Only promise.

Her lips part slightly. Her cheeks are flushed, glowing.

“You trust me?” I ask.

She doesn’t speak. But she doesn’t have to. Her silence is devotion.

I guide her to the garden bench, iron-framed and padded, surrounded by vines curling like silent sentinels. She lowers herself onto it without resistance, the silk knot resting between her thighs as her arms stay bound.

The moonlight washes over her like water. She looks like something sacred. Truly like sin wrapped in silk.

“You’re perfect like this,” I whisper, my voice a slow burn. “So good. So quiet. So… mine.”

She shudders. Her legs shift slightly, her thighs pressing together as though to hold something in. Still, she says nothing.

My fingers trail down her calf, grazing her ankle and drawing a line of heat up the back of her knee. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move away, doesn’t stop me. My knuckles continue to brush her bare skin.

She gasps.

I lean in, close enough that my breath fans over her lips. But I don’t kiss her. Not yet.

“Look at me,” I say.

Her eyes lift, wide and luminous, locking onto mine.

My hand drifts higher, up over her abdomen, before resting softly just beneath her navel. A grounding touch. Protective. Possessive in its stillness.

“No one,” I say quietly, “will ever touch you like I do. Because they won’t earn it.”

Her body arches, quiet and pleading. That beautiful nervousness returns, threaded between reverence and ruin.

I lower my forehead to hers, exhaling slowly. She trembles beneath me, open and vulnerable, her wrists still bound in silk, her every breath a wordless yes.

But still, I wait.

Because the real power is in the pause.

And she deserves every second of it.

“On your knees,” I command, my voice deep and raw.

She obeys instantly, kneeling between my legs, her wrists bound and resting just above her thighs.

Moonlight spills through the glass walls of the sunroom, painting gold across her skin.

She looks up at me through those dark lashes that have lived in the back of my mind for far too long, her mouth slightly parted, waiting. Willing.

Her body is flushed and glowing, her pale skin kissed pink, her nipples tight and begging for my mouth. It’s small enough to cup fully in one hand, but full enough that I can already imagine how they’ll feel sliding against my chest… or around my cock.

I push my pants down just enough to free myself, leaving everything else on. I have always preferred it that way, clothed and composed, while she’s naked and unraveling at my feet. There’s something brutally intoxicating about it. Like power stripped bare. She’s the conundrum. I’m the control.

She shifts, her thighs trembling slightly as she squeezes them together. Even with her hands tied, she finds a way to touch herself, the friction enough to keep her trembling.

“You’re leaking on me already,” I murmur, glancing at the dark stain soaking through my pants. “Is that what you wanted?”

“I want to come,” she whispers, her eyes still locked on mine.

My lips twitch into something dark. “You can make yourself come anytime. That’s not why you’re here.”

She hesitates, her breath catching. Then, quieter, when she says, “I want you to do it. I want you to make me come.”

“But you know you shouldn’t even ask for that.”

“I know,” she breathes. “But I still want it.”

God help me, that wrecks me. Because it is wrong. All of this is wrong. And that’s exactly what makes it so damn irresistible.

“Lick,” I command, my voice raspy.

I don’t touch her. I just sit back and watch as she leans forward with her mouth open, her tongue sliding along the length of my cock in one long, torturous stroke.

I hiss, my knuckles whitening where I grip the arms of the chair.

Her tongue is soft, sure, and precise, tracing the underside of my cock with maddening care, flicking the sensitive ridge, and then circling the head like she’s memorizing it.

Still, she doesn’t take me in. She just licks, teasing, her eyes wide and locked on mine through the soft light, her tied hands twitching at her sides.

“Suck,” I growl.

She smiles, just a flicker, clever, knowing, and unapologetically confident. It’s the kind of smile that could walk into a boardroom and walk out owning it. Then she lowers her head, and all I can see is a mess of dark waves between my legs.

I groan, deep and involuntary. Fuck, this… this I’ve missed. Her mouth wrapping around me, warm and wet and hungry. But my mind flashes to other things too—her bent over on the bed, riding me in the dark, and the sound she makes right before she shatters.

So many sights I’ve missed. So many I want to burn into my memory.

My legs are vibrating with the restraint it takes not to thrust. But I give in just enough, threading my fingers through her hair, tightening, guiding. I push up into her mouth, slow and steady until I feel the resistance of her throat, then pull back, her lips dragging with delicious friction.

Every stroke is fire. Every gasp from her throat is a prayer answered.

I’ve never been harder. Never wanted anything more than to come down her throat, then bend her over the railing and ruin her all over again.

And this? This is only the beginning.

“On the bench,” I command.

She wordlessly obeys. She’s perched on the edge of the bench now, the soft light catching the curves of her body and turning her into something almost too unreal to touch. Her wrists are still tied, the rope wrapped firm and neat, resting in her lap like she’s waiting for judgment, or worship.

I approach slowly, my pulse thick in my throat.

The air is warm, scented with her skin and something faintly citrus from the garden beyond the glass, but all I can smell is her arousal.

It clings to the space between us like static.

Electric. I want to consume her. Mark her.

Break whatever composure she’s clinging to.

She watches me. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch.

I step between her thighs and spread her legs apart, deliberate and slow, watching the way her breath catches.

The bench squeaks as she shifts and instinctively angles her hips forward, offering more than she probably realizes.

My cock pulses against the line of my slacks, but I don’t move to free it. Not yet.

“You’re quiet,” I murmur, my hand trailing up her thigh, my fingers ghosting the edge of her tiny shorts. “Does that mean you’ve finally learned how to behave?”

She swallows hard. “You haven’t told me what you want yet.”

That makes me smile. Sharp, slow, dangerous. “I want you desperate.” I lean in, my lips brushing her ear, my voice just for her. “I want you aching for me with your hands tied and your legs spread and nothing to do but feel everything I give you. Understand?”

She nods. Breathless. Wide-eyed. And still somehow defiant with the kind of boldness I crave more than I should.

I lower my hand, pressing two fingers against her pussy and dragging them along her skin. Her hips jerk. Her breath shudders. “Soaked already,” I murmur. “For me?”

She nods again. I press harder, a slow, rhythmic grind that makes her legs shake.

“You’re going to sit right here,” I tell her, dragging my mouth along her jaw, “and you’re going to stay perfectly still while I decide just how ruined you get to be.”

And when I finally kiss her, it’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s a promise.

It’s possibly the most visceral thing I’ve ever done, and that says something. I’ve lived a life of excess, of heat and hunger, of women with red lips and sharp nails, but none of them have ever undone me like Lyra does now.

Lyra, with her wrists bound above her, her breath hitching against the warmth of my chest. All soft gasps and sin. Her body knows mine like it’s been waiting for this moment, this contact, this weight. She’s soaked. Hungry. Trembling under my touch.

“I want to feel you come around me,” I murmur, my forehead pressed to hers, both of us looking down to where I’m barely inside her, just the tip, a teasing breach. It’s obscene how much I want to bury myself to the hilt and stay there.

Her breath catches. “That won’t take long,” she says, laughing softly, and God, that sound. That laugh is a promise and a challenge at the same time. Her body clenches around me involuntarily, and I groan, grabbing the edge of the nearby table to keep from losing control. “Sorry,” she whispers.

My hand slides between her thighs, stroking her with slow, deliberate pressure. “Stay still,” I remind her in a rough voice.

She nods, but her hips twitch again. She’s trying, I know she is, but she’s too worked up to be still for long. My hand moves faster, and her breath turns ragged.

“You like this?” I whisper against her jaw. “Being opened like this… taken like this?”

A shudder tears through her. She nods. “I like it when you talk like that,” she breathes. “I want it. I want all of it.”

My grip tightens. “You’re mine right now,” I growl. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

She comes with a cry, her body tightening around me, her thighs trembling, her bound hands tugging at the restraint. I hold her through it, letting her fall apart in my arms.

And when she slumps against me, boneless and radiant, she whispers, “Your turn.”

She looks up at me, her eyes dark and shining. “I want to feel it. All of it. Don’t pull out.”

I hesitate, but only for a breath. Then I nod, my jaw tight, pulse thundering.

She pulls me closer with her legs, drawing me deeper inside. I sink into her slowly and deliberately, feeling every inch, and it’s nearly too much. Her body wraps around me like a vice, like heat and heaven and all the damnation I’ve earned.

She touches herself again, bringing herself right back to the edge. And it undoes me.

My release crashes into me like a wave, violent and consuming. I groan into her neck, my body tensing as I give in completely, spilling into her as I ground myself in the feel of her, the scent of her, and the sound of her soft, satisfied sigh.

Spent, she lays her head against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence, moonlight, and her heartbeat against mine.