Oliver
In my twenty-two years on this earth, I’ve lived in a narrow range of emotions. Rage, sure. Boredom, constantly. But love? Envy? Calm?
Never.
Until now.
In the span of four hours, I’ve felt more than I’ve known was possible.
Watching Blaine say he loved Lyra didn’t just spark anger.
It detonated something primal. Not because I feared she loved him back.
No. I saw the truth in her eyes. I see it every day.
But the knowledge he’s touched her—fucked her, tasted her, still pines for her—makes me sick.
I wanted to cut his throat just to erase the memory from her skin. What I felt wasn’t anger. It was envy. Violent, bone-deep envy. Then Molly touched her. Slapped her. If Lyra hadn’t looked at me the way she did with those soft, begging green eyes. Molly wouldn’t be standing.
Now, she’s lying before me, and the chaos inside me is still. I feel quiet. Content. Lyra is both my salvation and damnation. The way her body reacts to mine. I’m possessed. Obsessed. Fucking addicted. I’ll work every day to deserve her. To be worthy of breathing the same air she does.
I give her three seconds to breathe, then cross to the nightstand I stocked days ago.
Her pupils are blown, chest rising with anticipation, as her gaze follows me.
Our bodies are connected by an invisible tether.
She said she was ready. No holding back this time.
So I’m not just going to give her everything. I’m going to give her more.
I shouldn’t be surprised she chose me, even knowing what I've done. Lyra is goodness, even if she likes the darkness; she’s sunshine. I won’t take her love for granted. I just hope I'm enough for her.
I stayed downstairs last night, going back and forth between my car and standing, making sure she stayed in her room. Callan came and kept me company for a while. I filled him in on everything that had gone on. I think he was surprised I said so many words at once.
I take the navy silk sash from the drawer and smooth it between my fingers. Then the matching blindfold. I see her throat work as she swallows.
“What about your arm?”
I look down, forgetting about the slice. It isn’t deep, just enough for the blood to well, but it will heal in no time. Her concern for me is touching. “Not a concern. Now—” I approach slowly. “Hands above your head. Cross your wrists.”
I move to the foot of the canopy bed and unfasten the sheer curtains. They drift closed around us, cloaking the space in shadows. I climb back onto the bed, kneel over her, and wrap the silk tight around her wrists, securing her to the top rail. Then I slide the blindfold over her eyes.
“It won’t stay on long,” I murmur. “But for now, I want you to feel everything. No distractions. Just sound. Touch. Me.”
“I want to see you,” she whispers back.
In answer, I lean down and suck one of her nipples into my mouth. Her breath stutters into a moan, high and sweet…until I bite. I run one finger down her chest, featherlight over each breast, across her stomach. I trace the scar that shows her resilience before peppering it with kisses.
“I love you,” I whisper into her flesh.
It will take time to fully understand those words, but I’m willing to say them to her if she needs them.
“You made me love you, too…and that is the most irritating thing you’ve ever done.”