Chapter 25 Yes. Please.
TWENTY-FIVE
YES. PLEASE.
LYLA
The silence stretches thin, taut, like a wire ready to snap.
Here’s the moment of truth.
I’ve dreaded this all day.
And it’s not just this. The real truth coils in my gut, rotting—why I joined them, how I’ve been laying breadcrumbs for da Vinci.
I’ve told myself I’ll confess eventually, that I just need the right moment, but every day makes it harder.
And now? With Jacob looking at me like that? It feels impossible.
So I go with something else.
“I don’t produce a lot of lubrication,” I blurt, too loud.
The urge to smack my forehead is so strong I sit on both hands. I’m a coward.
“It’s not that I’m not into it—my body just doesn’t cooperate. And some guys take it personally. Like I must not be attracted to them. Like I don’t want it. And that messes with their ego. Now I’m rambling way too much for a first date, so I should shut up now.”
I clamp my mouth shut, heat crawling up my neck.
“Lyla. Look at me.”
Quiet authority in his tone makes my stomach flip. I hesitate, then force myself to meet his gaze.
“First,” he says, voice brimming with conviction, “there’s nothing wrong with you or your body. You’re gorgeous, Lyla. Those assholes who couldn’t figure that out? That’s on them. Fuck them.”
The words land hard. Like a gavel slamming down, final and absolute.
I blink, caught off guard by the sheer certainty.
“Second,” he continues, leaning forward, forearms on the table, “this doesn’t scare me. Not even a little. Unlike the gems you’ve had the misfortune of dealing with, I care about my partner’s feelings and”—his eyes darken, heat igniting beneath his tone—“pleasure.”
That word drags through the air like a physical touch. My breath hitches.
“And third,” his gaze drops, tracing my torso, lingering, burning, before sliding back up. “I don’t shy away from a challenge, sweetheart.”
My heart kicks into high gear.
He leans in, close enough to make the tiny table between us feel laughable, a barrier that could, and maybe should, be shattered.
Then he smiles, and I feel it everywhere. “So I only have one question for you.”
My pulse stutters. My voice barely escapes. “What’s that?”
“What do you need from me to make you come, comfortably?”
The air crackles. I reach into my bag, pulling out the small bottle of lube. I set it between us. “I need you to use this whenever you want to enter me.”
His expression doesn’t change. “Anything else?”
I let my gaze roam over his chest, lingering, before dragging back up to meet his.
“I like my body to be played with.” I let the words stretch. “Slowly.”
He picks up the bottle, rolling it between his fingers, and gives it a light squeeze. “Is this all you’ve got?”
I narrow my eyes, deadpan. “I’m not the Sahara Desert, Jacob. It’s not that bad.”
His smile turns sinister as he leans back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, gaze locked on to mine like a challenge.
“No, Trouble,” he says, voice rich with promise, “I mean, we’ll need more than this little bottle because I plan to take you many times, for many nights going forward.”
My eyes widen. Oh.
My foot moves on instinct, sliding up his leg, toes skimming over denim, feeling the tightness in his muscles, the sheer power beneath.
His pupils darken, hunger sharpening in his gaze.
He leans in, voice dropping to something rough, dangerous.
“You say the word,” he murmurs, each syllable deliberate, almost a growl.
His fingers ghost over my thigh, just enough to make my breath hitch, “and I’ll make sure you never feel less than again. ”
His words sink into me, threading through the cracks I pretend don’t exist, sealing over old wounds with something hot, undeniable.
And God help me, I’m about to shatter for him.
I should be scared by how easily he gets me. Most men shy away when I push, when I test, when I sharpen my edges to see who’s willing to bleed.
But not Jacob.
He doesn’t just take it, he matches me. Meets me head-on like he sees me, every stubborn, messy, scarred part, and doesn’t blink. He sees everything and still wants me.
And that’s the problem. I want to be one of his people. I want to be part of this strange, stubborn, tenacious family. The thought of losing it, losing him, guts me worse than any bite would. Which makes what I’ve been doing even more unforgivable.
My pulse pounds.
My body burns.
“Yes,” I breathe, the word slipping out.
“Thank fuck.” He stands in one swift motion and pulls me up, crushing his mouth over mine like he’s been ravenous for this, for me.
His hands are everywhere, firm, strong, memorizing every inch of me through touch alone.
My fingers tangle in his shirt, gripping tight as I sink into him, the heat between us burning hotter than the surrounding candles.
The taste of wine and spice lingers on his tongue, blending with the faint smokiness of the air.
The wool of his shirt brushes my skin, familiar yet new, every sensation heightened, amplified.
My back collides with the kitchenette counter, rattling a spoon, but I barely notice.
I only register the press of Jacob’s body, the way he holds me like I’m something worth worshipping. Like I’m whole.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gaze molten, pupils blown wide with need. But there’s no rush in his touch, no desperate urgency to claim.
There’s just intention.
His lips brush the curve of my jaw, slow, reverent. A gentle press at the hollow of my throat. A careful, lingering kiss just below my ear.
Every touch is controlled, sending a shiver rolling through me, coiling low and tight.
He’s unraveling me with patience.
I close my eyes, drowning in him—the scent of clean soap, faint spice, and something undeniably, dangerously Jacob.
A low hum of pleasure builds in my chest. My body melts beneath him, surrendering to the aching way his fingers roam, unhurried, claiming every inch.
When his lips return to mine, his tongue sweeps in, coaxing, teasing, tasting, like he has all the time in the world.
“Lyla,” he breathes against my mouth, his voice a quiet whisper that flips my stomach. “We take our time, okay? Whatever you need, we do that.”
The softness in his words, the lack of expectation, makes something deep in my chest tighten—raw, unfamiliar.
I slide my hands into his hair, nails grazing his scalp, pulling him closer, anchoring myself in the solid weight of him.
“I trust you,” I whisper.
The words land heavy. I do trust him. Too much. But the truth wedged between my ribs makes them sharp edged. It’s a lie wrapped in truth, and the guilt slides in right behind the warmth.
His lips curve into a grin against mine. “Good,” he murmurs before his arms tighten, lifting me onto the counter like I weigh nothing.
He steps between my legs, body flush to mine, heat radiating, consuming. His hand grips my neck, firm, possessive, tilting my head before he takes my mouth.
The kisses are raw, devouring, pulling me deeper into something unhinged.
Hands roam, squeeze, explore. His hard length through denim presses against my center, tormenting, sending a molten ache through me. I grind against him, chasing friction, reveling in the hitch of his breath, the way his grip tightens like he’s barely holding on.
He yanks me closer, fingers digging into my hips with a bruising grip that sets me on fire. His hips roll—slow, precise—and the sound that tears from my throat is pure need. His groan rumbles low and dark, vibrating against my lips.
One hand grips my ass, lifting me, the other locking across my back, keeping me pressed to him as he carries me toward the bed. He lowers me onto the mattress, and the blankets are softer than I expect, a careful detail I hadn’t noticed before.
He stands between my legs, palms on my thighs, thumbs tracing hypnotic circles that light my skin.
Then—he stops and just looks. The admiration in his eyes is raw, unfiltered.
My chest tightens. I want to hoard this moment, keep it, live in it. Before the truth strips it from me.
“I want to see all of you,” he says. “Please.”
A teasing smirk tugs at my lips. “I could get used to you begging.”
His eyes darken, candlelight sparking in them. “Darlin’, I’ll get on my knees right now if that’s what you want.”
My breath stutters. Fuck. I lean in, my voice a smoky promise. “Soon, Gorgeous. Since you’re being such a good boy, I’ll give you what you want soon enough.”
His groan is low, rough, vibrating against my skin. His hand fists the front of my dress, pulling it down just enough to reveal more of my breasts. His grin is destructive and pure Jacob.
He sinks to his knees between my legs, lips pressing to my shoulder where the strap of my dress has slipped down, heat lingering in his wake.
His fingers ghost up my calf, tracing higher, over my knee, beneath the hem of my dress. I let out a breath, my mind silencing the voices that whisper doubts.
His fingers move with exquisite care, a slow discovery that makes my breath hitch. Each brush of his knuckles, each press of his lips behind my ear, layers sensation until my body hums with an ache that feels as natural as breathing.
This is Jacob.
Focused. Unshaken. So attuned to me that for the first time, I don’t feel like something to fix.
I just feel.
The bottle of lubrication waits on the table, but my body already responds—softening, opening to him in a way I didn’t think possible.
He’s here, with me, for me. That realization sends a shiver down my spine.
And the guilt comes with it, whispering that he doesn’t know everything.
That he’s letting someone into his bed who’s been leading danger straight to his door.
I shake my head, as if I can scatter the thoughts loose.
I can’t keep risking them for my plan.
No more clues. No more notes.
Just this.
Jacob pauses. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing along my jaw. His brown eyes search mine, soft. “You okay?”