Page 71 of Her Soul to Own

He steps back a pace, just enough to look.Really look.

“Wider,” he says.

I hesitate, half out of modesty, half out of defiance. But his gaze is like a magnet, his control a net. He has control over me with only his gaze, and anticipation tugs at me as I part my legs. I know it’s not enough, but I can’t help enjoying his attention on me.

“More,” he commands.

I obey.

My knees open wider, my feet dangling from the edge of the counter. There’s nothing between me and his eyes now. I’m spread open under the soft glow of the vanity lights, every inch of me exposed to him.

He doesn’t move for a moment.

He just stares intently like he’s trying to etch the image of me—open, wet, waiting—into his memory.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, his voice low and reverent.

All I can do is breathe. And ache. And burn under his gaze like I’ve been set on fire just by the way he’s looking at me.

A low sound escapes him, half-groan, half-growl. It makes my core clench.

He steps toward me and reaches out. His hands trail down from my waist to my thighs. He goes up and down a few times, making me wetter with anticipation until his fingers finally press into my pussy. I gasp, my hips jerking forward instinctively.

“Filthy little thing,” he murmurs, the words rasping against my skin like lace dipped in embers. His fingers slide into me, and he moves his thumb in slow, agonizing circles over my clit. “Already dripping. We haven’t even begun.”

I moan, clutching his shoulders for balance, for sanity. My nails dig into the fabric of his shirt.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice husky with hunger.

I open my mouth, then hesitate. The words knot in my throat.

“What do you want, Lyra?” he asks again, this time with a dark edge. With his other hand, he grips my breast, tightening it just enough to sting.

“You,” I breathe, my voice almost broken with need.

His lips quirk, but he isn’t done. “What part of me?”

I swallow. Hard. He rolls my nipple between his finger and thumb while his other hand slowly moves into me. I gasp,holding his arm that’s working my pussy because I don’t want him to stop. I whimper. “Your mouth. Your cock. Anything you’ll give me.”

“Anything?” he repeats, his grin slow and wicked, like he already knows the answer and wants to hear me say it anyway.

And I do. Without shame. Without hesitation. “Yes. Anything.”

He gives me a wicked smile, which should scare me. I know it should. But instead, it turns me on even more.

The marble countertop is cold against my bare thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the endless heat burning just beneath my skin.

The lights above cast a soft glow, catching every edge of Silas’s expression—hungry, wild, but in complete control.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps.

I blink, unsure I heard him right. My breath hitches.

For a moment, I laugh, or almost do. I search his face for a smirk, a trace of teasing. But there’s none. His jaw is tight, his eyes dark, serious in a way that makes my stomach flip and heat crawl up my neck.

He steps closer, coming between my knees. “You heard me, Lyra. Make yourself come.”

His voice is a command. There’s no hesitation, no doubt. Just the heavy truth of what he wants and what he already knows I’ll do.

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