Page 5 of Ly to Me (Devils of Alliston Springs #1)

Lyra

The Mirror

P iercing blue eyes beamed like headlights through the dark hall, his broad frame large and foreboding.

I took another step back, my heart thundering in my chest as he met each of my movements with his own. His steps ate mine away until I was backed up against the sink, and having nowhere else to go, I scooted along the counter, maneuvering back further.

If he still had that toothpick in his mouth, I’d rip it from his lips and stab him in the eye. Shame to see such pretty things go down, but survival was the only thing my brain was dead-set on never waning from.

Without another word or a single glance down the hall to see if maybe Jamie was right there and had heard him, he tapped his foot to the door, clicking it shut.

“Car—”

He pressed his finger to his lips, and I forgot how to breathe as he dragged a knuckle down my cheek.

The look on his face had my limbs quaking, fingers gripping the edge of the counter.

The cold mirror sent a shiver down my spine as I pressed back into it like it’d open up and suck me in, but there was apparently no running from Carver Roland.

He cupped my chin, then gripped it roughly between his fingers, popping my lips apart. When he pulled me closer to him, I whimpered.

“Lyra Thomas, as I live and breathe.”

“Please—”

“Uh-uh, Ly. You keep that mouth of yours shut.” Carver released my jaw with force, sending my head back into the mirror.

I reached up to rub the back of my head, and he lunged forward, taking my wrist in his hand and pinning it beside me.

I angled my cheek to the glass, avoiding his heady stare and the way it was eating apart my skin, layer by layer.

“What are you doin’ back?” he whispered, a hint of vulnerability there.

Distant, but there.

Like a switch, I smiled, knowing just being here was enough to get him to that point. Mama always said to find a man’s weakness fast, and once you did, you won.

Well, Carver, I just fuckin’ won .

I glanced over his body, trying to act like the stacks of muscle he put on and tattoos he’d inked all over himself didn’t light a fire within me. “I have business here.”

Deep grooves formed between his brows. “You’re lying through your teeth.” He released my hand and put his palms flat on my legs, his rough fingers dangerously close to the hemline of my shorts. “You’ve always been that way though, haven’t you?”

I scowled, and then before I could talk myself out of it, I spit on him. Right on his bottom lip.

He grinned, then swiped his tongue out and growled low. “Ly.”

That weakness was gone, replaced with a demon of a man. Something more rabid and animalistic. A shimmer in his eyes I hadn’t seen in about a decade bloomed to life before my very eyes.

Carver looked like a man starved, and I was the meat. His hand snaked up to the roots of my hair, then jerked my head to the side as disgust twisted his lips. “You looked better as a brunette.”

Suddenly, he shifted his hands down, grabbing onto the backs of my knees, pulling my ass to the edge of the counter with one firm tug. The force sent my head back again, and he used the time that my body was unstable to pop open my jean shorts and undo my zipper.

My heart started racing, a flash of panic coursing through me. It seized my limbs and my breathing became erratic.

And then his eyes met mine.

For a moment, I thought he’d snap out of it. His lips parted like he had somethin’ to say even as he watched my chest rise and fall. But I’d be damned if I let him watch me crumble.

I jutted my chin toward him and squared my shoulders as much as I could. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

That did it.

Carver flipped instantly and smirked as he lifted my hips and removed my shorts, leaving me in only a cotton thong. I became transfixed as the terror and anger subsided into something worse. Well, almost worse.

Another growl escaped his lips, the familiar scent of oak and leather soothing me further while I looked back at him. Two vibrant blue eyes glossed over as he stared down between my legs, my arousal clear on my panties.

“You haven’t fucked him yet,” he said like he knew I hadn’t. I shook my head, letting my legs go limp in his hold. “Good.” He shoved his finger into my mouth, pushing down on my tongue. His eyes darkened as I sucked, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

“Fuck, Ly.” He pulled his finger free and hooked my panties to the side, that wet digit sliding over my clit. I tossed my head back and moaned, but he quickly covered my mouth with his other hand, his face a mere inch from mine.

“You don’t deserve the things I’m about to do to you.

” His finger pushed inside, then another, and my hips writhed in response.

“You can tell yourself whatever you want. You can say you don’t want this and that you aren’t playin’ games with my roommate.

Shit, you can even say you haven’t thought ’bout me doing this to you every night since you’ve been gone, and we both know you’d just be lying like you always do.

But your body won’t lie to me, will it?”

The veins along his forearm popped as he thrust in hard, teasing my clit with the heel of his palm. Carver chuckled darkly, his eyes heavy as they locked on mine. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

“Carver, please,” I murmured his name again like a prayer even as fury danced in my blood.

“No other man will ever be enough for you.” Thrust . “And I want you to remember that.” Thrust. “Remember that you had the best, and now you’re stuck searchin’ the rest of your life for this”—I gasped as he pushed in so deep, I saw stars—“right here.”

Warm breath assaulted my skin as I moaned into his hand. I was so close. He knew all the right spots to keep me a mess and purposely refused to stroke that spot that’d send me sputtering. I opened my eyes as his hand left my core, only to be replaced by his slick tongue as his knees hit the ground.

“Oh, fuck.” My lips parted with a gasp, his dark brown hair moving between my legs while his fingers dug into my ass and lifted me to his face.

I should have pulled back, should have known better in the first place than to come around this town at all.

I murmured another curse and anchored my hands back on the mirror, trying to keep my head from banging on it repeatedly as he devoured me whole.

The small bathroom was becoming damp, making every surface steamy and coated in a layer of us—the familiar us.

I ground my hips shamelessly, eliciting a deep groan from him as his stubble scraped against my thighs. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers through his thick hair, but I didn’t know what would trigger him to stop. And I didn’t want him to stop.

Carver had been the only man to leave a mark on my heart.

Ever since I crossed over the county line, memories of him and me together hadn’t stopped flooding my brain.

Yet, here he was, on his knees, making sure all I wanted was him.

He wanted me to suffer more than my daily life already put me through.

I’d be angrier about his words if it weren’t for the other intense heat pooling low in my belly.

I couldn't think clearly as he pushed on my lower abdomen, keeping me still while his tongue lashed across my clit.

My orgasm came fast, my legs trembling over his shoulders. He kept going, sucking and licking along my center until I was wriggling and sliding down the glass, unable to hold myself up anymore.

He stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the lines of his face hard as his jaw worked.

In seconds, he was towering over me, pressing his hands to the glass as if trying to keep himself anchored.

For several long seconds, possibly minutes, our breaths were heavy as we just…

stared. Then, without a single word, he pushed away and left, slamming the door behind him.

I looked down at my crumpled shorts on the floor and felt the air return to the room, cooling my exposed center.

Leaning back against the mirror, I tried collecting myself as something flashed in the corner of my eye.

Written in the still-steamy glass was a singular word: bitch .

I smiled weakly and drew a tiny heart next to it, hoping he showered in this bathroom bright and early.

Carver Roland had always had a way with words, but I’d always had a way with men, and I wouldn’t let myself be fooled into thinking he was any different.

Not again.

TEN YEARS AGO

There was something settling about a butterfly’s wings.

Not many people knew that butterflies actually had four wings, not two.

Two on each side that blended together, working as one, appearing as one.

I started collecting butterflies when I was young, even though my mama tried to throw them away at first. And when Chet came into the picture—all the peace of collecting them started to die.

At one point, I wished I were a butterfly, wished I could trade places with them, especially when my body started turning into what it was now.

Mama called it good genes, I called it lack of food and the inability to clothe myself properly with the few dollars I could scrounge up.

She used to tell me I was coming out of my shell, just like my butterflies, yet all I wanted to do was crawl back inside.

That’s what had brought me to the field after school one day.

I sat down with my bag, facing the edge of the woods where several wildflowers and bushes dotted the trees, waiting for the yellow wings of the orange-barred sulfur to flutter on by.

The sun grew tired overhead, but the noises behind me were steady.

Most sports or clubs used the field in one way or another, and as it turned out, I picked a day when a majority of them filed out and filled almost every spot available.

Glancing up at the clouds, I sighed deeply, then narrowed my eyes as they fell back to the senna plants, hoping I’d see a flash of yellow. But there was nothing there. Making to stand, the weight of my bag sent me teetering as I tried to find my balance.

“Woah!” Sun-kissed and strong arms jutted out, hooking under my arms from behind. I blinked down at them, then scowled and pushed whoever it was away. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I groaned, brushing grass from my legs.

A southern twang, stronger than my own, coated his next words. “Normally, people say thank you after being saved.”

I rolled my eyes and rubbed my fingertips along my forehead as I turned. He was lanky in the way most boys my age were, with small ripples of muscle poking out through his JROTC t-shirt. But what caught my immediate attention was the way his blue eyes were looking at me—not like most ever did.

He almost looked…intrigued.

“I’m fine,” I repeated.

His hand made circles in the air, and when I didn’t continue, he did. “And you’re welcome.”

I peered over his shoulder—or tried to, anyway.

He was much taller than I was, and had he not been a respectable distance, I might even fear the way he was now grinning at me.

“Shouldn’t your eyes be”—I flopped my hand out, gesturing toward the rest of the guys and girls not too far from us—“over there?”

“What if I want my eyes right here?” He cocked his head, slicking back his slightly overgrown brown hair. I didn’t know much about the army program, but I thought they were supposed to keep their hair short and well-kempt.

I shook my head, swiping the grass free from my skin one more time. “You don’t want your eyes anywhere near me, Army Boy.”

He chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Army Boy, huh?” He rubbed his hand along the faint hint of stubble that protruded evenly along his jaw. “I kinda like that. What can I call you, then? Field Girl?”

I huffed and bent down, retying my laces while glaring at him. “I don’t care what you call me. Won’t matter in a few months, now will it?”

He let out a low whistle. “Senior?” I nodded.

“Me too. Might want to watch how you’re tying those laces.

Looks like you’re—” My fingers pulled the laces tight, catching onto my middle finger, trapping it.

I cursed, then refocused on the laces and tied them again while Army Boy remained staring down at me. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

I righted myself and glanced past him again, noticing a few lingering eyes falling on us. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Maybe if we’re lucky, you won’t see me ever again.”

His thumb toyed with his bottom lip, smirking when it drew my attention. He had nice lips, but I only looked because it was movement. He seemed to take it as an invitation. “Don’t go anywhere, Field Girl.”

“I won’t.” The second he turned and walked away, so did I. Not more than two minutes later, he was running up behind me, bag thrown over his shoulder.

“I told you not to go anywhere,” he said, catching his breath beside me.

“Why, so you could bother me more?”

He smirked again. “Am I botherin’ you?”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, and nodded, then shook my head once confusion hit my gut.

I didn’t have friends. Everyone avoided me like the plague.

Having Army Boy ask me questions was kind of nice, even though I was being anything but.

He helped me from falling, too. But even boys—men—his age had their minds set in the wrong places.

“So, which one is it?”

“Both,” I replied honestly.

“Huh. You told me back there you wouldn’t leave.” He swung out in front of me and stopped walking, making me freeze in place. “What were you doin’ out there in the field all by yourself?” His brow cocked, waiting for me to reply.

I rolled my eyes. “Watching the eye candy, of course,” I answered, looking him over like he was that eye candy.

He laughed. “What's your name?”

My shoulders lifted. “Don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a name. I won’t stop asking ’til you tell me.”

“Persistent.”

“About some things, yes.”

I rolled my lips in. “Fine. It’s Lyra,” I finally relented.

“Lyra.” He smiled, flashing his brilliantly white teeth. “Pretty name.”

I focused on the shredded tips of my sneakers, trying to hide the blush on my cheeks from his compliment. “That's subjective, I suppose.”

I tried to step around him, but he blocked me again. “You lie a lot, don’t you?”

I raised my brow in annoyance. “Also, subjective.”

“I see.” He nodded once, then moved to stand beside me and followed my steps. “Aren't you gonna ask what my name is?”

Clutching onto my shoulder straps, I rubbed my thumb along the inner seam. “Are you just gonna tell me if I don’t ask?”

His chuckle was warm. Inviting. My stomach twisted as he leaned in close near the shell of my ear. “Carver. But you can call me whatever you like, Ly.”