Page 54 of The Bronze Garza

“What with ‘Madame Universe’ trying to eject you from her womb and all?” she asks wryly.

“Exactly.”

I trek back to the house, bracing for a run-in with Torin in the basement.

Thankfully, he isn’t there when I walk in.

We’ve not spoken to each other since last night, even though we stood side-by-side in the kitchen this morning. Him making a protein shake, me blending a smoothie. When we were done, he went one way and I went the other. I didn’t even sit on the counter to piss him off. I’m too mad at him to have fun annoying him.

The house is quiet, and I wonder if he’s even still here. I’d pretty much told him I no longer needed his services last night, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gone out without telling me.

I jog upstairs to my room and grab my purse. As I’m about to head back downstairs, I pause and look to the opposite end of the hall where Torin’s room is, gnawing at my lip, contemplating. Eventually, I choose to be a creep, like always, and tiptoe toward his room. He’s not my favorite person today—or ever—but creeping outside his bedroom door and pressing my ear to the wood has become like a ritual to me.

I brake to a halt when I realize the door is ajar.

It’sneverajar. Never open. Never even a crack.

Today is my lucky day. If he’s not here, then I’m about to snoop like it’s nobody’s business.

But a low groan stops me from taking another step.He’s here.

Stepping back, I peek through the sliver of space between the doorframe and the door.

And I see him.

Sitting on the side of his bed.

I inhale a sharp breath, releasing it slowly as tiny flickers of flame licks greedily at me.

His eyes are closed. His jeans are undone. His fingers are fisted around his very erect, very hard cock. The feelings of lust and untamed desire that are coasting through me right now have no right to be there. But he’s...beautiful.

So...freaking...beautiful.

His fist runs up and down his shaft, his neck arching.

Another low groan leaves him. And his expression looks almost pained as he squeezes the bulbous head.

I’m feeling things. Urges. Things I’ve not felt since being with my college boyfriend during our heavy make-out sessions. That maddening, resistless point where I’d want to rip my clothes off and go all the way, but always somehow managed to stop myself.

Now, I’m fightingso hardto hold back. Using every bit of restraint in me to stop from pushing this damn door open, walk up to him, drop to my knees, and beg him to do whatever he wants with me.

“Lyra...”

I stiffen at the breathy groan of my name.

Shit.I’ve been caught.

But…no. His eyes are still closed. He doesn’t even seem aware of anything, as if he’s in another world.

I don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t blink.

“Your mouth...always...” He strokes himself so hard there’s no way it isn’t painful. “...fucking talking.”

His sounds are deep. His garbles intelligible.

But I think...I think wherever he is right now,I’mthere with him.

He’s masturbating while thinking ofme.