Page 43

I hear the shift of denim, the rustle of fabric.

A breath escapes me when something cool and hard skims down the length of my spine—a flat edge, metal maybe, trailing lower until it rests at the small of my back.

My eyes widen when I realize what it is.

A fucking knife. Silas presses it there, not enough to hurt, just enough to make me feel it.

To remind me who’s in control.

“Do you trust me, Lyra?” he asks.

I nod, but his hand slides back into my hair and fists gently.

“Say it.”

“I trust you,” I breathe.

“Good.” His voice is a low rasp of approval.

The knife, the cool metal, remains on my naked skin as his other hand strokes down my spine again, slow and reverent. It slowly starts tracing the curve of my ass, spreading me just enough to make me squirm.

“You’re trembling,” he notes.

“I know.”

He chuckles softly, darkly.

And then, I feel the first sting of his palm against my skin.

The slap isn’t harsh or cruel. But it shocks a gasp from my lips, and heat blooms across my skin like a mark of ownership. My body rocks forward on impact, and I don’t even pretend not to like it. The knife digs into my skin, and I’m hoping it doesn’t cut.

He rubs the sting away with slow, languid fingers, then does it again.

I moan. He leans forward, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it isn’t. It’s not even close.

I bite my lip, the edges of pain and pleasure starting to blur. “Harder,” I whisper.

Behind me, he stills. I know what I’ve just invited. But I want it anyway.

His hand tightens in my hair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The next slap comes harder.

It lands with a crack, sharp and punishing, and I jerk forward with a breathless cry. Heat blooms under my skin like wildfire, raw and electric, my body singing with the burn of it.

Silas doesn’t soothe this time. He lets it sting.

He lets me feel it.

Lets me know he’s here—not as comfort or safety, but as the force meant to wreck me in all the ways I crave.

“I feel every twitch in you,” he growls, his voice like gravel-dragged sin. “Your body’s screaming for it, so don’t pretend you want it soft.”

I whimper because he’s right. I don’t want soft. Not from him. Not now.

He kneels behind me, his jeans rough against the back of my thighs, and I feel the thick press of his cock—hard, heavy, and throbbing against the seam of my ass. He doesn’t move, just grinds once, slow and cruel, letting me feel what’s waiting for me if I behave.

Or if I don’t.

Then, one of his hands slips between my thighs.

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t tease. He just plunges two fingers inside me, deep and filthy, and I swear I come apart right then. A cry rips out of me as my body clamps around him like I’m trying to drag him deeper, like I’m trying to keep him inside.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice gone feral. “You’re drenched.”

I’m panting now, caught between the overwhelming heat and the humiliation of how desperately I’m reacting. But it’s not shame. It’s surrender. He’s pulling every broken, buried part of me into the light, and I want to be seen like this—ruined and writhing and aching just for him.

He crooks his fingers, finds that place deep inside me that makes my vision turn blinding, and I collapse forward, bracing on shaking arms. My robe is pooled beneath me, my hair a curtain around my face, and Silas follows me down, blanketing my back with his body.

“Keep your knees spread apart,” he orders, his breath hot against my neck. “Let me see all of you.”

I obey, even as my thighs tremble. His hand leaves me, and I whimper at the loss.

But then I hear the tearing of a foil. The sound of a condom.

I tense in anticipation, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

“Say it,” he demands.

“Say what?”

“That you want me to fuck you.”

I swallow around the knot in my throat. Shame claws at me for half a second, but desire bulldozes it. I want this. I want him. I want everything he’s about to give me.

“Please,” I whisper. “Silas… please. I want you to fuck me.”

His growl is pure sin.

And then he drives into me.

One brutal, deep thrust that makes my eyes fly open and my mouth drop in a scream. He’s big, so fucking big, and the stretch is obscene, overwhelming, and toe-curling. My muscles clamp down instinctively, trying to accommodate him, but he doesn’t give me time to adjust.

He pulls back and thrusts again. Harder.

Then again. Deeper.

The air leaves my lungs. All I can do is hang on as he pounds into me, the slap of skin on skin obscene and echoing in the quiet room, tangled with my gasps and his harsh grunts.

My hands scrabble for purchase on the carpet. My body is on fire, every nerve ending sparking under his touch, his dominance, his complete and utter claim.

“You feel that?” he snarls, his hand fisting in my hair again and yanking my head back so I can’t hide. “That’s what being whole feels like. Not broken. Not ruined. Just fucking mine.”

“Yes,” I sob, the word torn from my throat. “God, yes—yours.”

Silas lets out a harsh sound like he’s losing control. His pace turns erratic, brutal. He fucks me like I’m his salvation and his damnation wrapped into one. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s all I’ve ever been.

And then he slows.

It’s not enough to give me a reprieve, just enough to make me aware of every inch, every thrust, and every growl he pushes against my spine. I feel him shift behind me and feel his hand slip into the back pocket of his jeans. A small, unfamiliar click slices through the air.

“What…” I start, but I don’t get the rest out.

He answers by pressing something hard and humming between my thighs.

A vibrator.

I jolt like I’ve been electrocuted, the sharp buzz sending a shockwave of pleasure straight through me. My arms buckle, and I collapse fully into the carpet as he keeps it there, right against my clit, while he thrusts back into me, deeper now, somehow rougher and smoother all at once.

My moan fractures into a cry as the stimulation pushes me to the edge immediately, my body trembling, slick, and overstimulated.

“Silas… fuck…”

He groans above me, and then his palm smacks my ass again, the sting shocking enough to draw a strangled scream from my throat. I don’t even register shame anymore. It’s burned out of me and replaced with raw, glistening need.

“Say something,” he growls, his breath labored.

In answer, I shove my hips back into him, chasing every ounce of friction I can. “I don’t think I’ve learned my lesson yet.”

“Still so fucking defiant.” His hand grips my ass, then spanks it again—harder this time—right as the vibrator pulses in a cruel new rhythm. The dual sensations hit like a fuse and flame.

I arch my spine as best I can beneath him. “Again.”

His fingers clamp down on my hip. The other presses the toy harder against my clit, dragging it in slow, torturous circles as he fucks me with brutal, relentless thrusts.

“I’ll make you beg to be ruined,” he growls. “I’ll make you forget who you were before me.”

He starts a rhythm, inhuman and perfect. In. Spank. Out. Vibrate.

I lose myself in it. I’m screaming and moaning, uttering incoherent words.

I’m not Lyra anymore. I’m something more, something wild and wicked and gasping, begging through bitten lips and sweat-slick skin. My cries bleed into moans. My moans turn into whimpers. I plead and apologize and thank him all in the same breath, wrecked and floating and desperate for more.

“Good fucking girl,” he grits out.