Page 72 of Her Soul to Own

I swallow hard, my heart thudding in my chest. My wrists twitch where they rest beside my thighs. It’s not nerves. It’s anticipation, tension, and the slow build of need tightening inside me like a coil.

“We’re not locked in,” I whisper, glancing at the bathroom door.

“No one’s coming in,” he murmurs, stepping in closer, his hand brushing my knee. “And I didn’t ask. I told you.”

That last sentence hits low in my belly, and my thighs press together instinctively.

He tilts his head, watching me, not blinking or breathing.

It’s not a request.

He steps toward me, takes out his gun, and hands it to me.

“Don’t use your finger.” He nods toward the gun. My body is burning with anticipation. I take it from him wordlessly and find that it’s loaded. I should be scared, but instead, I’m intrigued.

My breath shudders as I slide one hand down, my fingertips tracing over my skin. I’m already dripping wet, embarrassingly so, and when I touch myself with the muzzle, I can’t help the soft gasp that escapes my lips.

“That’s it,” Silas growls, his voice rough. “Let me see how badly you want it.”

I look up at him through my lashes. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t touched me, but I feel him everywhere—his presence, his stare, the heat radiating off him like he’s barely holding himself back.

I slide the muzzle onto my clit and circle slowly. The sensation hits hard, too much, yet still not enough. My hips lift slightly off the counter, searching for more friction, more of anything. But Silas doesn’t move. He just watches me like I’m the only thing that exists, a low groan escaping his lips.

“You like following my orders?” he demands, his voice a rasp. “You like me telling you exactly how to fall apart?”

“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to form the word. My thighs tremble. I’m already so close that it’s humiliating.

“Then keep going,” he instructs. “Wider.”

I spread my legs further apart on the counter, baring everything for him. The cold air licks against my soaked skin, but his eyes and the way he looks at me are what sets me on fire.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “Undone. Mine. Fucking yourself with my gun.”

I rub faster, deeper, chasing it, my hips lifting, the slick sound of the muzzle between my legs echoing in the tiled room. The gun’s heavy in my hands, but I don’t care. I want him to hear the sound. I want him to know what he does to me.

My body tightens, my breath coming in sharp bursts as my eyes lock with his. “Silas…”

He steps closer, cups the side of my throat with one firm hand, and lowers his mouth to my ear. “Come for me, Lyra. That’s it,” he growls, his voice barely recognizable, thick with restraint. “Look at me when you come.”

My head snaps up, my eyes glassy and wild, locked onto his. I’m hanging by a thread, and he’s the blade about to cut it. I can feel my cheeks heating up, my lips parted, my breath coming in short, helpless bursts. But Silas’s perfect, furious face is trembling on the edge.

I hate him for this.

Yet I want him more than I can stand.

“Say it,” Silas growls. “Say you’re mine.”

“No,” I gasp, the word tearing out of me like defiance, but it’s cracked and trembling. Even I can hear how thin it sounds. My hips roll despite my best efforts, chasing more friction, more of what I need. The gun’s a blur, my body already slipping past the edge of control.

“Say it, Lyra.”

I shake my head, my jaw clenched and eyes burning, but it’s useless. My body betrays me. My thighs are shaking, my stomach tight with the pull of orgasm. I’m seconds from unraveling, and he knows it. I can see it in his eyes.

I’m shaking, panting, and completely undone, but I still glare at him. I still try to hold on to some sliver of control.

“You come,” he whispers, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip as he steps forward, “and you come knowing it’s for me. No one else.”

And then I break.

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