Dance of Deception

Chapter 33

33

LYRA

Carmine leads me through the bedroom, guiding me toward the full-length mirror against the far wall.

My brow furrows in confusion as he makes me face it, standing behind me.

Then I see our reflection.

And I realize where this is going.

I stiffen slightly, my pulse jumping, the old fears stirring awake and creeping in.

“Carmine, what—” My voice catches as his hands move, fingers skimming over my shoulders, tracing my spine, making a shiver cascade down my back.

His gaze in the mirror is intense, unyielding. “Watch.”

I try to twist away, but his hands tighten on my hips, keeping me in place.

The silk of my camisole whispers against my skin as he slides his fingers beneath the hem. Slowly, deliberately, he pulls it up, inch by inch revealing my body to me.

I inhale sharply, watching his fingers drag over my stomach, his knuckles brush the underside of my ribs as he lifts the camisole higher, past my breasts.

I let out a barely-there whimper when the fabric catches for a moment at my collarbone, but he tugs again, freeing me completely.

The silk slips over my head and off my body, leaving me bare from the waist up, my skin flushed.

I try to cover myself. It’s not embarrassment or shame, not with him. But we’re facing a mirror. I’m being forced to watch this, to see it , and that has my pulse thudding.

But before I can, Carmine slides his hands down my arms to my hands, lacing his fingers through mine and pressing my palms to the mirror in front of me.

“ Carmine …”

“Watch,” he murmurs.

His hands glide back down, over my shoulders, my ribs, his touch exploring, memorizing. His hands trail lower, skimming the waistband of my silk shorts, fingers dipping inside, teasing the fabric.

I try to press my thighs together, but he nudges them apart with his knee, shaking his head.

His fingers hook into the waistband, and slowly, unhurriedly, he slides the shorts down, letting the silk glide over my hips, my thighs, my legs. They whisper to the floor, leaving me in nothing but the last thin scrap of lace between us.

I suck in a breath, watching myself in the mirror, watching the way his hands roam my newly bared skin, possessive and unyielding. His muscled arms wrap around me, and I shiver when I see one hand grip my breast and the other slide down to cup my pussy through my panties.

Anxiety roars loud in my ears. Panic begins to claw at the edges of my sanity.

I can’t watch this.

Carmine just holds me close, his lips ghosting over my shoulder, my neck, my ear.

“No running,” he murmurs quietly. “No hiding. Look at yourself, Lyra.”

I shiver, trapped between his body and my own reflection, struggling to see myself the way he does. I swallow hard, staring at myself, at him standing behind me, fully dressed, while I’m so vulnerable.

His lips graze the shell of my ear, his breath warm, steady. “ Keep your fucking eyes open ,” he growls. “You need to see how beautiful you are, and not be afraid to look at that beauty.”

I shake slightly, my fingers twitching against the mirror’s surface.

I don’t know if I can do this.

He doesn’t give me a choice.

His hand twists, fingers sliding into the waist of my panties before he grabs them in a fist and drags them down my thighs. He leaves them bunched at my knees, then his hand slips up between my legs again and cups my bare pussy.

“Wait, let me turn around?—”

“ No .”

With a choked gasp, I cry out as he drags two fingers up my lips and rolls them over my clit. The electric pleasure and heat that instantly bloom in my core have my pulse skipping.

But still, I’m looking at it while it happens. Staring it in the face like a fucking nightmare.

I flinch, my eyes squeezing shut as the memories of that horrible day filter back in. The chains. The cages. The rack of dresses. The sound of flesh slapping flesh?—

“ Open your eyes , little dancer,” Carmine rasps into my ear. His hand slides up my body, pinching and rolling a nipple so hard I cry out before that same hand slips up to cup my jaw. “You will not be held captive by the past anymore,” he growls.

Slowly, his fingers start to rub my clit. I whimper, my teeth clamping down on my lower lip as my knees shake. I start to close my eyes again. Instantly, his long, powerful fingers are wrapping tight around my throat, sending a dark, vicious bolt throbbing through my core and making my eyes snap open.

“ Don’t you dare close your eyes ,” Carmine murmurs.

He suddenly pushes two fingers into me. A moan tumbles from my lips as my gaze drops between my legs, my mouth hanging open as I watch his thick fingers sink into me, stretching me open, stroking in and out. I watch my stomach muscles tighten and my nipples tighten to two aching pink peaks as Carmine fingers me and forces me to watch it all unfold.

There's no escape from his presence, his control, his heat.

Or from myself.

He presses against me, his hands moving deliberately, forcing me to feel every touch, to watch exactly what he's doing to me.

“ Look at yourself like this, little dancer. ”

I shudder, nails dragging against the glass. But then I truly see myself. I see us.

And it doesn’t look like fear.

Carmine’s hand roams from my throat to my breast, cupping it possessively and pinching the nipple between his thumb and finger. He rolls the throbbing point, bringing another ragged moan to my lips as his thick fingers thrust into me.

He leans closer, his teeth scraping my throat. “Such a good girl. You're doing so well. Keep your palms on the mirror. Don’t look away.”

He works me up slowly, teasingly, his fingers dragging me toward something inevitable that I can’t fight. The pleasure builds, his fingers curling inside me and stroking me toward my explosion. I whimper, my eyes flickering.

“Eyes open.” His teeth press into my neck, branding me. “I want you to watch yourself come.”

I cry out, my body shaking, my head tilted back against his shoulder. His fingers ram into me, harder, faster, scissoring deep as his palm grinds against my throbbing clit. His fingers roll my nipples, pinching them as his teeth sink into my neck.

My eyes snap to my own in the mirror. And suddenly, I don’t see shame or fear, or anxiety, or anything to be run from.

I see me , breaking apart at the seams.

…And I shatter without warning.

The orgasm crashes over me like a shockwave, my hands pressed desperately to the mirror, my breath ragged and gasping.

Carmine doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let me go.

He holds me there, keeping me anchored, keeping me in the moment, forcing me to watch myself come. Forcing me to watch my flushed skin, wild eyes. A body that doesn’t look afraid anymore.

I barely have time to process it all before suddenly he’s inside me, stretching and filling me.

I gasp as his thick, swollen cock pushes into me from behind, my fingers clenched into fists against the mirror.

Carmine groans, his lips brushing my ear. “That’s it, baby. Watch how perfectly you take me.”

Suddenly, I can’t look away.

I don’t want to.

He starts tortuously slow, dragging it out, making me feel every inch of him.

Then, he snaps his hips forward and drives into me harder, deeper, rougher.

I cry out, my forehead pressing to the mirror, my breath fogging the surface as we move together.

Our rhythm becomes frantic, manic, all hungry need. Carmine’s hands roam: claiming, possessing, gripping my hips tight enough to leave bruises, his lips dragging over my throat, my shoulder, my spine.

He watches me and my reflection, watches every flicker of pleasure and surrender as I give him everything.

I shatter again, my body clenching around him, a scream tearing from my throat. Carmine’s grip is unrelenting, his groan low and raw, his head thrown back as he gives in completely.

The orgasm explodes through me, shaking me to my very core as my walls clamp down around his cock. My knees tremble, straining against the panties still wrapped around them, my gaze locked on our bodies in the mirror as Carmine slams into me.

I feel his muscles tighten, his grip on me squeezing mercilessly as his cock swells. I moan when I feel his hot cum spill into me as he drives me forward, pinning me to the glass with my hair in his fist and his cock buried deep inside me.

“ I’ll light the fucking world on fire for you, little dancer, ” he groans into my ear as we grind together.

He was right.

It is beautiful. We’re beautiful.

It's a fucked-up, dark, broken and twisted beauty.

…But it’s beauty nonetheless.