Page 26 of Her Soul to Own

She leans across the table, and their lips meet again. This one lasts longer. Her hand goes to the back of his neck, her fingers curling. His hand slides along her side before slipping beneath the edge of that damn dress. I can see the shift in her body language—how her knee brushes his under the table and how she tilts her head just enough to let him deepen the kiss.

And all I can think is… that should be me.

I should be the one making her gasp against my mouth and dragging my hands over her skin, mapping every inch like it belongs to me.

Because itdoes. She’s mine. Even if she doesn't know it yet. Even if she fights it. Especiallybecauseshe fights it.

Jake leans in again, whispering something against her neck that makes her laugh. It’s that sultry, teasing kind of laugh that stings more than it should. Then, he pulls back slightly and mutters, “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Lyra doesn’t answer right away. She takes one last sip of her wine, sets the glass down, and glances over her shoulder. But not toward him. Toward me.

Or at least toward the space where sheknowsI am.

Then she smiles, slow and wicked, and nods.

They slide out of the booth like a scene from some indie romance that should piss me off, but only fuels the fire. Her dress rides up as she walks ahead of him, the curve of her thigh catching the low diner light. His hand hovers at her back, then lands there, casually, like he’s claiming her.

And I want to break it.

They walk toward the parking lot. I follow, slipping out of my car, silent and shadowed, every step a barely leashed growl in my throat.

Jake opens the passenger door to his sporty little Audi, trying way too hard. Lyra slides in, crossing her legs intentionally so the slit in her dress creeps up to expose those milky thighs of hers.Fuck.

The door shuts.

He rounds the car and gets in.

I move swiftly, blending into the shadows like a ghost with unfinished business. They think they’re alone, laughing and whispering, but they don’t see me. Not yet.

From behind a stack of crates near the edge of the lot, I have the perfect view. They’re parked in the far corner, half-shrouded by overgrown trees and the dim glimmer of a dying streetlamp. I crouch low, hidden but wired with tension. Every breath is a razor.

Lyra leans into Jake before he even turns off the ignition. Her laugh, a low and breathy sound, is just audible over the breeze rustling through the leaves. She’s half in his lap before he’s managed to undo his seatbelt.

Jake’s hand slides along her thigh, tentative at first. Testing. Then it becomes bolder, his fingers splaying wide over the dark fabric of her dress. His other hand cups the back of her neck, drawing her in slowly. Their lips meet in a soft, searching kiss.

Lyra leans in, pressing herself closer, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt. The kiss deepens, needier and hotter. Her mouth opens beneath his, inviting him in, and he answers with a hunger that matches her own. It’s a collision now as slow gave way to starving. Her breath hitches as his hands find her thigh again and slide over the soft fabric, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

I grip the edge of the crate until my knuckles go white.

Her fingers clutch at his collar. She drags him closer, moaning softly. He’s all over her now, his hands up her thigh and mouth trailing toward her jaw. She throws her head back, her hair cascading over the seat like a curtain of darkness. Then, all of a sudden, before I can duck, Lyra’s eyes lock with mine for just a second. There’s no mistaking it. She sees me. And instead of freezing, instead of pulling away from Jake like any sane person would when they spot their personal warden, she leans in closer. Her lips find Jake’s again, slow and teasing.

Then it deepens, her mouth claiming his with a hunger that screams performance. She grinds her hips into his lap, the movement slow and intentional, and the bastard leans back, letting her straddle him like they’re in a goddamn movie theater. Lyra’s hands slide over his chest, then up to her shoulders. In one swift tug, she pulls the straps of her dress down. Her eyes don’t leave me for a second, and Jake doesn’t even notice that this act isn’t for him. It’s for me.

The black fabric slips off her shoulders like it was never meant to stay on, gliding down her arms and settling around her waist in the dim interior of the car. She’s straddling him, the useless jerk whose hands are already gripping her hips like she belongs to him.

But she doesn’t look at him. She’s looking atme.

Through the heat twisting in my gut, her eyes stay on mine like she knew exactly when and where I’d be watching. And she holds that gaze—steady, unwavering, and dangerous.

Her bare skin glows under the dashboard lights, a soft sheen of sweat already beginning to form along the curve of her stomach. Her breasts sway as she moves, full and flawless, her nipples peaked and tight and flushed with arousal, or maybe just performance. The shadows play along her body like they’ve memorized every dip and line, and I can’t look away. Not even when I want to.

And for a moment, just a beat, it’s like the entire fucking world goes silent.

Rage coils in my chest, humming with territorial madness. I want to tear the door off that car. I want to rip her away from him and throw fists until the fury stops clawing at my throat.

But my body betrays me.

I’m already hard. Already aching and rooted to the spot like I’ve been carved from granite. Because it’s not just lust. It’s punishment. She’spunishingme, and she wants me to see it. She wants me tofeelit.

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