Page 103 of Over the Edge

“I want to feel only you. Your hands. Your touch.” Her voice dropped lower and her hands slid up my chest to link behind my neck, drawing me closer. “What I need is to feel safe again. And I feel safe with you, Flynn.”

A single sentence, and it leveled me. Trust from Lyric Renard wasn’t given easily—I’d learned that much in the short time I’d known her. The fact that she felt safe with me, that she was choosing to be vulnerable with me, was more significant than any declaration of love could have been.

I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone, tracing the spot where a faint bruise still discolored her skin. “Then I’ll keep you safe.”

This time when our lips met, the kiss deepened. Her body relaxed against mine degree by degree, tension melting away as her mouth opened under mine. My hands stayed carefully in neutral territory, framing her face, until her fingers closed around my wrists, guiding them to her waist.

“Touch me,” she murmured against my lips. “Make me forget.”

“Whatever you need, princess,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. “However you need it.”

CHAPTER32

LYRIC

Flynn’s handstrembled slightly as they framed my face, his touch so gentle it almost undid me. In the shadows of his bedroom, his amber eyes were dark with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. Desire, yes, but also promise. I guided his hands to the buttons of my blouse, my own fingers steady despite the storm of feelings inside me. This wasn’t like our other times together—the frantic, adrenaline-fueled sex after a mission, or the demanding, desperate claiming that happened at Moreau’s estate. This was deliberate, careful, tender. Tonight was all about healing.

“We can stop anytime,” he whispered, his fingers hovering at the top button.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to stop.”

He undid each button with painful slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. When the last one slipped free, he parted the fabric but didn’t push it off my shoulders. Instead, he skimmed his hands down my ribs, cupping my waist and pulling me closer. Such a simple touch, yet it sent shivers across my body that had nothing to do with cold.

But then a flash of memory intruded—Moreau’s fingers on my ribs while I couldn’t move—and I tensed. Of course Flynn noticed and his hands stilled.

“Where did you go?” he asked softly.

“Just a memory.” I swallowed hard. “Keep going. Please.”

Flynn nodded, understanding without needing more explanation. He slid his hands under the open blouse, his palms warm against my shoulders as he eased the fabric down my arms. The air in the apartment was cool against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms.

“You’re beautiful.”

His rough, whispered words helped anchor me to this moment, to him. I dragged my hands down his chest, needing to feel his skin against mine. I paused at the fresh scar slicing across his ribs, then bent to kiss it. “Thank you for staying alive.”

His laugh was more breath than sound. “I’m pretty fond of being alive right now.” He slid a hand around to my back, fingertips grazing the clasp of my bra. “May I?”

I nodded, unable to find my voice as his fingers made quick work of the hooks. The straps slipped down my shoulders, and I let the garment fall between us. Flynn’s eyes darkened, but his touch remained reverent, almost worshipful as his palms skimmed my sides, never rushing, giving me time to adjust to each new sensation.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me.

“Yes,” I breathed, stepping closer until our bodies touched.

Flynn’s lips found my neck, trailing soft kisses down to my collarbone. Where Moreau had taken, Flynn asked. Where Moreau had claimed, Flynn offered.

But then his fingers grazed my ribs again, and suddenly I was back in that room, paralyzed, with unwanted hands on my body. I stiffened, my breath catching.

“Lyric?” Flynn’s voice pulled me back.

“I’m okay.” I placed my hand over his, guiding it to my hip instead. “Just don’t touch me there. Not tonight.”

He nodded, accepting the redirection without question. “You pace, your rules. Tell me what you need.”

I laced our fingers together and led him toward the bed. “Touch me like I matter.”

Something broke open in his expression as I pulled him down on top of me. “You matter more to me than anything in this world, Lyric.”

His hand moved then, caressing every inch of exposed skin—except my ribs—with a tenderness that made my throat tight. When his fingers skimmed the waistband of my pants, he paused, waiting for permission.

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