Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Lyra
His sensual question hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibility and promise and emotional danger.
My mouth goes dry. Every rational thought in my head screams at me to say no. To walk away. To protect what’s left of my carefully constructed life.
But when I look up at him—this man who makes me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling—the word that escapes is barely a whisper. “Yes.”
His expression goes darker, becomes more intense, as if he’s been waiting for this response.
Without warning, he scoops me up, one arm behind my knees, the other supporting my back. I gasp, instinctively gripping his shoulders as he lifts me effortlessly.
“Stryker—”
“I’ve got you.” His voice is rough velvet against my ear as he carries me toward the bedroom. “Trust me.”
The word lodges in my throat. Trust. Such a simple concept that I’ve never been able to master. What would it be like to have been raised normally, to be able to take people at face value.
He sets me down gently beside the bed, and I’m suddenly aware of everything—the way the lamplight casts shadows across his face, the sound of my own rapid breathing, the weight of the locket against my chest.
“Look at me, Allie.”
How can I not when his voice is so compelling?
I meet his gaze. His gorgeous eyes are storm-dark, and he’s focused entirely on me as if I’m the only thing that matters in the world.
“If you want to stop at any point, you tell me. Understood?”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
“Good girl.”
“Good girl?” The praise sends heat spiraling through me, and I feel my cheeks flush. He notices—of course he notices—and his mouth curves in a knowing smile.
“I was so damn tempted to smack that perfect ass of yours harder when I had you over my shoulder.” His voice is low and rough, weakening my knees. “The way you squirmed, the little sounds you made…”
“I didn’t.” My protest is immediate but only half-hearted.
The truth was, nothing I ever experienced had lit me up in that kind of way. Despite the very real threat we’d been facing, I had a total, visceral reaction to his man-handling and the stinging swat.
“Oh, yes, Allie. You certainly did.”
I look down, unable to hold his gaze, but he catches my chin with gentle fingers and tilts my face back up.
“Don’t hide from me. From yourself. Not tonight.”
His hands move to the hem of my shirt, and he pauses, waiting. When I don’t object, he lifts it slowly, giving me time to change my mind. But I don’t want to. Despite everything screaming at me that this is absurd, I want this. Want him.
The fabric slides over my head, and cool mountain air wraps around me, making me shiver.
Or maybe that’s from the way he’s looking at me…
I’m not wearing a bra, and his sharp intake of breath makes my nipples tighten.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.”
His hands skim my sides, barely touching, shooting goose bumps up my arms.
When his thumbs brush against my ribs, just below my breasts, I arch toward him without thinking.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “We have all night.”
All night. The words should terrify me—what happens when morning comes? When this spell breaks and reality crashes back in? But right now, with his hands on me and his eyes drinking me in like I’m something precious, I can’t bring myself to care about tomorrow.
He reaches for the tie at my waistband.
His knuckles brush against my skin as he eases the soft material down my hips, and I bite back a moan.
“Step out of them.”
I do. My socks as well.
Suddenly I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my underwear and the locket. His gaze travels over me slowly, taking in every detail, and I fight the urge to cover myself.
“Perfect.” The reverence in his voice makes my chest tight.
Suddenly I’m feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my lack of clothes. Vulnerable. Like he can see right through all my carefully constructed defenses.
To cover my nerves, I trace the tattoo over his heart, following the elegant script.
His skin is warm and solid beneath my touch, and his breath hitches when I brush over his nipple.
“Allie…”
There’s warning in his voice, and I pull my hand back. But he catches my wrist, bringing my palm back to his chest.
“Don’t stop. Touch me.”
So I do. I explore the planes and angles of his torso, marveling at the way his muscles flex under my hands. There are scars—some old, some more recent—and I wonder what stories they tell. What dangers he’s faced. What battles he’s fought.
He lets me look, lets me touch, his breathing growing heavier as my hands map his skin. But when I reach for his waistband, he captures my wrists.
“Not yet.” His voice is strained. “Lie down on the bed.”
It’s not a request. It’s a command, delivered in an implacable tone. And just like that, my body responds before my brain can object.
I sink onto the mattress, suddenly hyperaware of how the sheets feel against my bare skin. He stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at me with an intensity that makes my pulse race.
“Close your eyes.”
The instruction catches me off guard. “What?”
“Close them. Do it for me.”
He doesn’t ask for much.
I do as he says, and immediately every other sense sharpens. I hear a faint rustling. Him removing his sweatpants?
The bed dips as he joins me, and I tense, waiting.
His hands are gentle when they touch me—one tracing the line of my collarbone, the other skimming along my ribs. I arch into the contact, craving more, but he keeps his touch light. Teasing.
“So responsive,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “I wonder what other sounds I can pull from you.”
His mouth finds the hollow of my throat, and he presses soft kisses there before moving lower. When his lips close around my nipple, I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
“That’s it.” There’s growled approval in his words. “Let me hear you.”
He slides his hand lower, over my stomach, and I hold my breath as he traces the edge of my underwear. But then he moves upward again.
When he brushes over the locket, I freeze.
For a moment, his fingers still. I can feel him studying the pendant, and panic floods through me. What if he recognizes it? What if—
But then he’s moving again, his touch shifting away from the locket to hook his fingers in the waistband of my panties. He draws them down slowly, and I lift my hips to help him.
“Open your eyes,” he says. “I want to see you when I touch you.”
I obey, and the heat in his gaze nearly undoes me. He’s naked now too, and the sight of him—all that powerful muscle and controlled strength—makes my mouth go dry.
He settles between my thighs, his hands spreading them wider, and I feel exposed in a way I’ve never experienced before. Not just physically, but emotionally. Like he’s seeing parts of me I’ve kept hidden from everyone, including myself.
When he touches me—really touches me—I gasp, my hips bucking against his hand. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my inner thigh.
“Easy, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”
And he does. His fingers work magic, finding spots I didn’t know existed, stroking and circling and building pressure until I’m writhing beneath him. When he slides two thick fingers deep inside me, I cry out, my hips bucking against his hand.
“Christ, you’re so fucking wet for me.” His voice is rough with hunger. “So tight. I can feel you clenching around my fingers.”
He pumps them slowly, deliberately, while his thumb finds my clit and begins a maddening rhythm that has me panting.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”
When he curls his fingers inside me, hitting that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids, I nearly come apart completely. But then he adds his mouth, his tongue replacing his thumb, and I’m lost.
“Fuck, Allie. You taste incredible.” His breath is hot against my sensitive flesh. “I could eat you all night.”
He licks me with broad, flat strokes before focusing on my clit, sucking and flicking with his tongue until I’m sobbing with need. His fingers never stop moving inside me, stretching me, preparing me, driving me higher and higher.
“Stryker, please—” I’m begging now, shameless in my desperation.
“Please what? Tell me what you need.”
“I need to come. Please, I’m so close—”
He pulls back, his fingers stilling, and I whimper at the loss. “Not yet. You come when I say you can come.”
The dominance in his voice sends a fresh rush of arousal through me, and I clench around his fingers.
“That’s my good girl. You like it when I control your pleasure, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I breathe, beyond caring how desperate I sound.
He rewards me by adding a third finger, stretching me wider, the slight burn making me gasp. “You’re going to take my cock so perfectly. But first, I want to feel you fall apart on my tongue.”
He dives back in with renewed hunger, his mouth working me with an intensity that steals my breath. His fingers pump faster now, hitting that sweet spot inside me over and over while his tongue does wicked things to my clit.
The orgasm builds like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me in sensation.
“Come for me, Allie. Let go.”
His permission is all I need. I shatter, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash through me, my body convulsing around his fingers while he licks me through every aftershock.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs as I come down. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”
“I need—” I can’t finish the sentence, can’t put into words what I need when my body is still trembling from the intensity of my release.
“Tell me. Tell me what you need, Allie.”