Page 120 of Her Soul to Own

And I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

She’s trembling beside me, still clutching the edge of the seat like it’s the only thing anchoring her to reality. Her breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, every inhale a battle, every exhale a near-surrender.

“Turns out I don’t need to touch you to make you shiver,” I say slyly, leaning back and resting beside the door. The view is beautiful. Her dress is riding up, and she’s barely keeping herself together.

The remote is warm in my hand, slick with the heat of anticipation. I run my thumb over the dial. I could end her right now by cranking it, and then watch her fall apart like glass on concrete.

But I don’t because this isn’t about chaos. It’s about control.

Her hand rises to her breasts, probably to touch and soothe.

“I want you to keep your hands where they are,” I murmur, my voice low and lethal. “No touching. Not unless I say so.”

Her head jerks slightly, her eyes fluttering. She’s struggling to stay present, to obey. The fight in her is exquisite. I could live a thousand lives and never get tired of watching her break like this, beautiful, poised, and undone without a single fingertip laid on her.

“Okay?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. Wrong choice. I nudge the dial up just a notch.

The sound she makes, guttural and involuntary, is the kind of thing that could literally unmake a man.

“Yes…” she breathes. She writhes in place, her hips shifting, seeking something solid beneath her that won’t give her relief but might at least let her breathe. Her thighs clamp tighter, and she presses back into the seat, with one heel scraping against the floorboard as if anchoring herself to earth.

“You’re doing so well,” I say, letting the words drawl slowly and deeply. “Look at you. Trying so hard not to beg.”

She opens her mouth, maybe to curse me, maybe to cry out, but all that escapes is a broken gasp.

“Shh,” I whisper, leaning closer but still not touching her. “Don’t waste your voice. You’ll need it later.”

I crank the setting higher.

This time, her body jerks. Her head tips back against the leather seat with a soft thud, and her hand flies to her chest, clutching the fabric like it might shield her from the inferno building beneath her skin.

Her legs are shaking now, and her lips are swollen from her biting on them. Her eyes snap to mine, desperate, defiant, and drenched in something darker than lust.

“Touch your breasts now,” I command, my voice like a razor sliding under her skin.

She whimpers but obeys, her hands trembling as she brings them up. One of them cups her breast through the silkwhile the other slides over the curve slowly. Her back arches, pushing herself against her own touch, and my breath catches at the sight.

“Harder,” I growl.

She moans, louder now—a sound she can’t swallow. Her fingers tighten over the fabric, kneading and grasping, her body shifting and twisting, every inch of her screaming for something she can’t have yet.

I notch the remote up again.

This time, she sobs. Just once. A raw sound pulled straight from her lungs. She grips the headrest of the seat in front of her, her knuckles turning white.

“I can’t… I can’t take it anymore, Silas… please…”

We go on for a few more minutes… minutes that must feel like days for Lyra, with the way I’m torturing her. She’s whimpering, gasping, and moaning, her breath hitching in all the right places. Every sound spilling from that pretty little mouth of hers is sinful and obscene, and it’s taking everything in me not to lose control. I’m hard as stone and aching, but I don’t touch myself. Not yet.

And then she breaks. Correction:I let her break.

She comes like she’s been hit by lightning, her hips rising off the seat and her legs trembling so violently that the entire car seems to pulse with it. Her mouth falls open in a silent scream, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands still frozen mid-touch as her whole body locks, then shudders.

Satisfied, I dial it down. All the way.

She collapses into me, boneless and shaking, her skin slick with sweat and release. She’s panting, her eyes wide and wild like she’s forgotten where she is. Like I’ve rewired her.

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