Page 59 of Her Soul to Own

It’s possibly the most visceral thing I’ve ever done, and that says something. I’ve lived a life of excess, of heat and hunger, ofwomen with red lips and sharp nails, but none of them have ever undone me like Lyra does now.

Lyra, with her wrists bound above her, her breath hitching against the warmth of my chest. All soft gasps and sin. Her body knows mine like it’s been waiting for this moment, this contact, this weight. She’s soaked. Hungry. Trembling under my touch.

“I want to feel you come around me,” I murmur, my forehead pressed to hers, both of us looking down to where I’m barely inside her, just the tip, a teasing breach. It’s obscene how much I want to bury myself to the hilt and stay there.

Her breath catches. “That won’t take long,” she says, laughing softly, and God, that sound. That laugh is a promise and a challenge at the same time. Her body clenches around me involuntarily, and I groan, grabbing the edge of the nearby table to keep from losing control. “Sorry,” she whispers.

My hand slides between her thighs, stroking her with slow, deliberate pressure. “Stay still,” I remind her in a rough voice.

She nods, but her hips twitch again. She’s trying, I know she is, but she’s too worked up to be still for long. My hand moves faster, and her breath turns ragged.

“You like this?” I whisper against her jaw. “Being opened like this… taken like this?”

A shudder tears through her. She nods. “I like it when you talk like that,” she breathes. “I want it. I want all of it.”

My grip tightens. “You’re mine right now,” I growl. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

She comes with a cry, her body tightening around me, her thighs trembling, her bound hands tugging at the restraint. I hold her through it, letting her fall apart in my arms.

And when she slumps against me, boneless and radiant, she whispers, “Your turn.”

She looks up at me, her eyes dark and shining. “I want to feel it. All of it. Don’t pull out.”

I hesitate, but only for a breath. Then I nod, my jaw tight, pulse thundering.

She pulls me closer with her legs, drawing me deeper inside. I sink into her slowly and deliberately, feeling every inch, and it’s nearly too much. Her body wraps around me like a vice, like heat and heaven and all the damnation I’ve earned.

She touches herself again, bringing herself right back to the edge. And it undoes me.

My release crashes into me like a wave, violent and consuming. I groan into her neck, my body tensing as I give in completely, spilling into her as I ground myself in the feel of her, the scent of her, and the sound of her soft, satisfied sigh.

Spent, she lays her head against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence, moonlight, and her heartbeat against mine.

Chapter 13 – Lyra – The Distraction

My heels click like thunder and sharp, unapologetic declarations as I step out of the sleek black town car. The night air hits my bare shoulders and slides over the open back of my velvet gown like a second set of hands. It’s deep emerald, clinging in all the right places, daring in the others, with a neckline that whisperssinnerand a slit up the thigh that damn near shouts it.

I catch my reflection in the boutique bar window. My lipstick is wine-red, and my hair is curled into that just-fucked looseness that says effort without begging.God, last night wrecked me.In the best possible way. I still feel him on my skin. Silas’s mouth, his hands, the goddamn way he tied me up like a gift he planned to open slowly… I can’t stop thinking about it. Abouthim. About how maybe all I needed to shake the rust off my shine was to be fucked like someone finally knew what to do with me.

Of course, I got another letter this morning because the universe loves to keep me on edge. I found it in the estate mailbox while I was jogging the perimeter. The gates are still locked. I’d almost convinced myself they’d stopped. But now I’msureSilas’s been intercepting them. The timing is too clean. There have been no notes since he was hired. And now this one, bold as anything, sitting right where I’d find it.

Waiting for the right moment.That’s all it said. No name. No flourish. Just that.

It should chill me to the core. It should have me sleeping with a knife again. But I don’t feel fear tonight. Instead, I feel free.

Inside the wine bar, the influencer mixer is already a kaleidoscope of curated perfection: champagne towers that glint like glass daggers, designer bags nestled beside designer lapdogs, and conversations so sharp that they draw blood if you get too close. The air smells like ambition and floral notes too expensive to pronounce. The lighting is dim enough to feel exclusive, but bright enough to catch every highlighter sparkle and every designer logo. Every head turns the second I step in. I know the look—half awe, half thinly veiled resentment.

Phones rise like a tech salute. Flashbulbs burst. Theyhatehow much they want to be me, how even their followers want a piece of my chaos. Every woman in here has tried to imitate me at some point, and every one of them wants a selfie the moment I arrive. I don’t mind. Let them capture the illusion. I give them the angle they crave, the smile that’s worth ten thousand likes, then move on, my heels clicking through the velvet-soaked maze of curated perfection.

I pose with a couple of them—airbrushed women in pastel jumpsuits and too-white teeth who laugh a little too loud and cling to me like we’re best friends. I smile, toss a wink, and sip my champagne. All part of the show. All part of the mask.

It’s been forever since I showed my face at an influencer event.

I used to live for these camera flashes, curated chaos, and the unspoken competition of who could look the most effortlessly flawless. But somewhere along the way, I lost the drive. The sparkle dimmed, and the hunger that once pushed me to chase the spotlight just… flickered out. I told myself I was tired, over it, andevolving, but the truth was uglier. I wasn’t moving on. I was fading.

But last night? Last nightlit a matchin me.

It cracked me open, raw, wild, and starving. For the first time in what felt like forever, I feltawake. Satiated. Powerful.Like the version of me that I thought was long gone had clawed her way back through the moans and orgasms, reminding me of exactly who I am.

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