Page 150 of Her Soul to Own

God, the way she carries herself, it’s fucking intoxicating. The power, the control, the fire burning just beneath her skin, it radiates off her in waves. My admiration for her grows with every word she speaks. But under it, something darker twists in me, hot and primal. The kind of raw hunger that makes my blood thrum like it’s trying to punch its way through my skin.

I want her. Badly. Right here, right now. Uninvited, my brain flashes me filthy images of how easily I could pull heragainst me, press my mouth to her throat, strip that power suit from her perfect body, and take her like we’ve both earned it after all this war.

Jesus. Fuck. What am I thinking? I’m not some goddamn pervert.

But it’s there—the edge, the lust, the fucking gravity of her strength. It’s magnetic and dangerous.

And then there’s Elijah. Standing too close and speaking too softly, his eyes lingering on her with a subtle softness that I fucking hate. The longer he stands there breathing her air, the more I want to drive my fist into his goddamn jaw.

When he breathes near her, I want to snap his goddamn neck.

Lyra turns toward me then, catching my anxiety like a sixth sense. She narrows her eyes, reading me.

And then she surprises me.

She shoves my arm lightly, her voice tight but laced with something softer. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

I exhale slowly, fighting the urge to puke. “Thank you for protecting her.”

Elijah acknowledges my thanks with a nod. “Anything for Lyra. I couldn’t tell you the details, but good thing you trusted me.”

“You were protecting me,” she says quietly.

“Every second,” I whisper back.

The jealousy that simmered when Elijah stood too close to her finally started fading into the background. She’s looking at me now. Only me.

And then Elijah takes a step back, his gaze dropping as he nods once, understanding the silent message I’m sending him. He turns toward the door, his shoes echoing through the room. Without another word, he opens the door, steps out, and shuts it quietly behind him.

Now it’s just us. Only us.

My pulse thrums in my ears as I stare at her, this woman who has bled and burned and clawed her way through hell to stand here like a goddamn queen.

I take a slow breath, my control already fraying as the hunger claws up at me. That sharp intelligence in her eyes, that fire… God, it’s dangerous. It’s lethal. And it makes me want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

We’re now sealed inside the gleaming glass boardroom, the silence pulsing with something thick and volatile. The war outside is over, but in here with Lyra, another battle rages, one neither of us has any intention of winning.

She stands before me, radiating power, beauty, and raw, lethal grace. The glow from the city lights bleeds through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden ribbons over her curves. Her tailored suit fits her like armor, precise and sharp, and yet beneath it, I know soft heat simmers, barely contained.

Her eyes lock on mine, lit with the same wicked fire that always threatens to undo me.

“Sit,” she orders, her voice low and lethal.

I should challenge her. I want to, but that gleam in her eyes makes my pulse slam hard against my ribs. The corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk she alone can summon, but I obey, lowering myself onto the heavy leather chair at the head of the long boardroom table, the throne she is about to claim.

She stalks forward with intended grace, her heels clicking on the polished marble like a countdown. With each step, the scent of her warm, expensive perfume laced with the sweeter musk of her skin coils tighter around my senses. She reaches for the buttons of her jacket and slides it from her shoulders, letting it fall in a whispering heap to the floor.

The thin black material of her camisole clings to her breasts, rising and falling with each measured breath. My mouthdries as I follow every curve, every shadow. Her nipples are already hardened, pressing against the sheer fabric like a silent invitation.

I shift slightly, already hard beneath my slacks. My fingers curl tightly around the armrests, my knuckles whitening as I force myself not to reach for her.

She comes to a stop between my legs, standing tall, her chin tilted ever so slightly like a queen surveying her conquest.

“You’ve been in control long enough,” she whispers, her voice a sinful promise.

A growl brews deep in my chest. “You sure you know what you’re doing, baby?”

Her lips curve into something between a smirk and a dare. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

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