Page 56 of Her Soul to Own

I crack my neck, stretch my fingers, and head toward the hall.

Time to clean up. And maybe… watch her smile again. Yeah, that’s worth a little blood.

The bathroom door swings open, the steam curling around me like smoke. The heat clings to my skin, which is still flushed from the shower. My muscles are loose yet tight with the memory of her, of Lyra.

I step into the hallway, towel off the back of my neck, and stop dead in my tracks.

She’s there. Waiting for me.

Bathed in soft pools of moonlight filtering through the hallway window, Lyra stands in front of me like something out of a dream I’ve never dared voice. Her back is to me at first, and then she turns slowly. My breath stalls in my chest.

She looks radiant. She’s not wearing a bra, just a pale rose-colored robe so light that it looks like it would melt under a breath. It clings to her body in the most dangerous places—her waist, the curve of her hips, and the tops of her breasts, which are barely held inside the lapels. The sash is tied with the kind of knot that begs to come undone.

She’s barefoot. There’s something intimate andintendedin that small detail. Like every part of her has been curated for this exact moment. For me.

Her eyes find mine, and a subtle, knowing smile tugs at her lips.

Lyra starts walking toward me, each step unhurried, her hips swaying just enough to pull my gaze lower, where the robe shifts and parts slightly with each movement. She stops when there’s just enough space between us for me to see everything and touch nothing.

And then she reaches for the knot.

Her fingers toy with the sash for a breathless second, and then, slowly, like she wants to etch the moment into my bones, she unties it.

The robe slips open. No hesitation. No shame. It slides down her shoulders, falling in a whisper to the floor.

She stands before me, bare, radiant, and unapologetic.

My gaze drags over her, helpless to resist. Full, perfect breasts, peaked and flushed from lingering arousal, a waist that begs to be gripped, hips that flare out into legs that go onfor days, and between them, slick and glistening, the place I’ve tasted and claimed but will never get enough of.

She doesn’t speak at first. She just holds my gaze as if daring me to make the next move. My pulse hammers. I’ve never been this hard in my life. I can barely think, let alone breathe.

Then she leans in just enough to whisper against my ear. “I’ll be waiting for you in the sunroom.”

And just like that, she turns and walks away.

The sway of her hips, the smooth slide of her bare feet over the hardwood, the quiet echo of her footsteps, it all sets my blood on fire. I’m left standing there with my towel loose in my hands, trying to remember how to walk.

My cock is aching. Every part of me feels too big for my skin. I stumble forward, half-dressed, my heart pounding like a war drum.

Then I move.

The thin sash lies forgotten on the floor like an invitation. I bend to pick it up, the cool fabric sliding through my fingers. I don’t even think about why I grab it… It just feels right. Necessary. Like it belongs in my hand. Likeshedoes.

The hallway feels longer than usual as I head toward the sunroom, my every step getting heavier with need. My cock is hard enough to ache, pressing against the towel still draped around my waist, and my heart pounds with a rhythm that matches the throb between my legs.

As I walk, I wind the tie around my knuckles, my grip tight.

Lyra asked me to follow her. She’s waiting.

And I’m bringing the rope.

The door to the sunroom creaks open, and moonlight spills across the tiled floor in silver ribbons. The air is thick with the scent of night jasmine and something deeper—anticipation, maybe. Or surrender.

Lyra stands at the far end, bathed in the soft glow that filters through the glass panels above. She’s waiting, completely bare, her skin glowing like starlight. Her chest rises and falls in a shallow rhythm, but she doesn’t speak.

I close the door behind me and let the robe’s tie unwind from my fingers.

“Come here,” I say softly.

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