Page 27 of Her Soul to Own

She rolls her hips again, slow and torturous, never breaking eye contact. Never looking away.

It’s not just a show. It’s a war declaration.

And I hate her for it.

Almost as much as I still want her.

Almost.

I can’t breathe because I’mfurious.

I’ve had enough.

I stride out from the shadows, my boots hitting the pavement like gunshots. Oh, hell no. No man is seeing her like this. Not when she’s undressed like sin and smirking like the devil handed her a personal invitation. My jaw clenches, rage simmering hot and wild.

Lyra sees me instantly. She jerks her straps up, but I can see it’s not because she’s ashamed or panicked. It’s with that same damn smirk that’s been etched into my brain like a curse, like she planned this and wanted me to come unhinged.

Jake looks confused. “Uh… what the hell…”

“Out,” I growl.

Lyra’s eyes flash with fury. “Oh, fuck you, Creed.”

“Get. Out.”

Jake blinks. “Wait, man… what’s going…?”

But I’m already yanking the door open. My hand closes around Lyra’s arm with all the restrained force of a man who’s one second from losing it. I make sure not to grab too hard because, despite my fury, I don’t want to hurt her. Not like this, at least. Not without her consent.

She rips her arm away. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” I snarl. “You wanted me to see.”

She glares at me, her cheeks flushed, her breathing hard. “So what? You think you can just drag me away like you own me?”

“No,” I bite out, leaning close enough that she can feel the fury rolling off me in waves. “But I’ll make sure the next time you pull this shit, it won’t end with me watching. It’ll end with him in a hospital bed.”

Jake shifts beside her, looking like he might say something dumb. So I shoot him a look—a very specific look. One that says,Open your mouth again and I’ll leave a mark you’ll see every time you shave.

He shuts up fast.

But it doesn’t stop me from looking him over like I’m mentally filing away pressure points.

Jake is still fumbling for words, his cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide, and sporting a hard-on that makes me want to reach in and snap his damn dick in two.

The fucker looks like he just walked off the set of some Abercrombie ad with a golden boy glow and tousled hair that probably costs more than my entire black-ops wardrobe to maintain. And now he’s sitting there, breathless, hard, and completely oblivious to the fact that he’s about five seconds away from losing his ability to reproduce.

His fingers are still half-curled on the seat beside Lyra’s bare thigh. He hasn’t moved them as he’s either too stunned or too stupid. His chest is rising and falling fast, like he just ran a marathon. Wait, no, not a marathon. Like he just won the fucking jackpot.

And yeah, he did. Until now. Because here’s the thing about men like Jake. They think they’re untouchable. They think charm, cologne, and privilege can buy them anything, including girls who like to burn.

But Lyra’s not a girl you buy. She’s a goddamn natural disaster, and this idiot had the audacity to think he was her match, especially with me always at her side.

Looking at him now, I want to drag him out of the car by his collar and remind him that some things aren’t his to touch. Some things are wired with landmines, and if he gets too close, he deserves the explosion.

And that bulge pressing against his khakis is enough to make me fucking see red. No man gets hard over her while I’m breathing the same air. Not unless he wants to lose that privilege permanently.

Lyra laughs, low and sharp. “You’re fucking insane.”

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