Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Lyra
I frown. “Mirroring?”
“It’s a BDSM technique.” His voice dips low, that gravel-over-velvet timbre wrapping around me like a restraint, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that pins me in place.
“One that builds total trust through surrender and synchronicity. You become my reflection—mirroring my every command, my every touch, without hesitation.”
A sudden gust seems to whip away all the thoughts from my brain.
“It’s about letting go of control, Allie, about following me so completely that our movements, our breaths, even our desires blend into one.”
What he’s suggesting is impossible.
“No resistance. Just pure, unfiltered submission. It strips away the barriers, makes the connection deeper, more intimate than anything we’ve done so far.
Sensually, it’s profound—heightens every sensation, turns pleasure into something almost spiritual.
But it demands trust. Absolute trust.” He pauses, his gaze on me.
The first snowflakes begin to swirl around us like confetti.
“Are you willing to try? To let me lead you there?”
My heart stutters, a mix of intrigue and nerves coiling tight in my belly. Why haven’t I already said no?
“For this experiment only.” He raises one hand. “I’m not asking for anything else.”
Just the world.
If he only knew my history, what I’ve been through.
But…
Sensually? My body craves this, aches for the depth he’s promising. But still, the word “trust” is a warning bell. He wants something I’ve given no one except my father.
Patiently, without prodding me, he waits.
And I know that if I say no, he won’t push.
That alone is worth everything to me.
Maybe it’s because I’m in a bubble with him, the world blurring around us, I’m tempted.
I’m hyperaware of the clock ticking, adding to my emotional desperation.
As soon as the storm passes, I’m out of here. I’ll never see him again.
Never.
“Tell me yes, Allie. Give us both what we want.”
When he looks at me that way, with smoldering intensity, my resistance melts.
Wind whips around us, sending a chill through me, but shockingly I’m not cold. I’m on fire. From the inside out.
“What do you say?”
That I’ve lost my mind? Finally I whisper, “Yes.” The atmosphere seems to freeze the word between us.
“You’re willing?”
I need to have his hands on me, need to be naked beneath him. Need to forget that this is a life I can never have. “I’m willing.”
His smile turns predatory, approving, and he brushes a snowflake from my cheek with his thumb, his touch lingering like a promise. “Good girl. Let me get you inside.”
He pulls back, adjusting his sweatpants with that casual efficiency that makes my pulse skip.
The snow is falling thicker now, fat flakes swirling in the gusts, clinging to his dark hair and my lashes. The wind picks up, howling through the pines with a ferocity that rattles the branches, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
Stryker moves to the firepit, dousing the flames, the hiss of dying embers mingling with the storm’s moan. Smoke curls up in lazy tendrils, quickly whipped away by the gale. He glances at me, nodding toward the cabin. “After you.”
I lead the way, the porch creaking under our boots, the air biting at my exposed skin. He ushers me inside, his hand firm on the small of my back, and the warmth of the interior hits me like an embrace, chasing away the chill as he locks the door behind us with a decisive click.
“I need to check the security feeds.” His tone shifts. As if he’s flipped a switch, he’s all business now as the protector side of his personality emerges. “Give me a minute.”
I nod, watching as he disappears into that small room off the hallway—the one he’s kept closed since we arrived, a reminder that this sanctuary is still laced with vigilance.
The door shuts with a soft thud, leaving me alone in the living room. The wind’s howl amplifies outside, snow pelting the windows like impatient fingers tapping glass.
My mind races. What’s he seeing? Has Hawkeye uncovered more? The reminder that their agents caught a partial plate twists in my gut.
To distract myself, I shrug off his coat and move to the window and peer out.
In the last few minutes, the wind has basically caused a whiteout. Gusts are driving the snow sideways, blanketing the world in relentless fury. The trees bend under the assault, branches groaning like old bones protesting the weight. It’s beautiful in a wild, unforgiving way—much like Stryker.
The door opens behind me, and he emerges, his expression unreadable, but there’s no new tension in his shoulders. Whatever he’s seen and learned, I know there’s no immediate danger.
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and feral, igniting a spark that races through my veins.
“I want to be sure you’re comfortable enough when I have you naked.”
God. What this man does to me.
He moves to the fireplace, stacking logs with practiced ease, his biceps flexing beneath the flannel, each motion a study in control.
Within seconds, the kindling catches with a spark, and flames curl upward, casting a golden glow. The warmth seeps into my skin, but it’s his gaze—hot, unyielding—that sets my nerves ablaze when he stands and turns to me.
The familiar predatory gleam is back in his eyes—the one that promises more than just warmth from the fire. “If you’re still willing…?”
His question hangs between us, heavy with intent. My heart stutters as a mix of anticipation and nerves flood me.
We’ve danced around this since last night, his hints at deeper surrender, at trust that goes beyond the physical.
I swallow, my throat dry. “Yes.” Or at least I think so.
His gaze holds mine, assessing. Then he nods once, satisfied.
He moves in, close enough that his scent—pine, sweat, raw desire—floods my senses.
“As I said outside, this is about letting go, Allie. About trusting me to lead, and you following exactly.” Gently he takes my shoulders. “Total, unfiltered trust. You mirror my every move, my every touch, exactly as I do it. No thinking. No hesitation. No hiding.”
Stryker’s voice is soft and coaxing.
“The act is sensual, intimate. Builds that connection deeper.”
His words hit like a blade, slicing through my defenses.
The silence stretches between us, with the fire’s crackle and the storm’s roar seeming to amplify my thoughts.
Trust like this, with my history of fumbling, lights-out sex, makes me feel as if I’m baring my soul under a spotlight.
His gaze continues to hold mine in a steady, unflinching way.
Total trust, at least sensually. I can give him that here, in this cabin, with the storm raging outside. It’s a bubble, separate from the lies and secrets clawing at the edges of my mind.
“Your safe words still apply. Red to stop, yellow to slow. Say them if you need to. I will honor them no matter what.”
The reassurance is what I need, and heat begins to build inside me.
He gives a single nod—sharp, deliberate, a gesture that etches itself into my memory, a silent vow of his control, his encouragement. “Thank you.”
His words stun me. I don’t know what I expected, but that wasn’t it.
“Stay where you are for me.”
With that, he heads down the hall to the security room and returns with a duffel that he places on the coffee table.
My tummy lurches as anticipation and desire twist together.
Stryker doesn’t speak. Instead, he walks to the center of the room and stands standing on the thick rug by the fire and beckons me. “I want you to kneel for me, Allie.”
The fake name jars me.
Allie.
Here he is, asking for trust, and I haven’t even told him my real name.
Just once, I’d like to hear him utter it. Lyra. Not my alias.
“Allie?” He draws his eyebrows together. “Everything okay?”
He’s not demanding, just curious, and his tone says I can take as long as I want. His patience won’t run out. “I… Yes.”
After removing his shoes and socks, he lowers himself to his knees.
Maybe because he took the first step, I find the courage I need, and I remove my own shoes and socks.
When he offers a hand to steady me on the way down, I accept.
The rug is plush beneath me, and we’re facing each other, our knees scant inches from touching.
His eyes never leave mine. He gives a slight smile, one that says I’ve got you.
He opens his hands on his thighs, fingers relaxed.
Drawing a steadying breath, I copy him.
Then the silence stretches, thick and deliberate, and as a minute or two passes, my pulse slows to match the rhythm of his breathing.
“You’re doing great.”
Then his fingers brush the hem of his shirt.
When I don’t respond, he lifts an eyebrow.
Jolted, I mimic him.
“That’s it.” Then, inch by inch, he drags the fabric up, over his abs and chest. When it’s off, he places it on the floor.
The firelight dances, casting him in tantalizing shadows. He lets me look—really look—before his gaze drops to my shirt. “Your turn, Allie.”
I lift my shirt just as he did.
The cool air rushes over my breasts, making my nipples tighten.
Stryker doesn’t rush me. He watches intently, and the weight of his attention is a caress I feel everywhere.
For a moment, he stands to remove his pants.
Not surprisingly, he isn’t wearing any underwear. And his enormous dick is already hard, making my mouth water.
I can’t look away, and I slowly take him in.
The man is a beast. All hard flat planes, hard muscles, and tight sinew.
He clears his throat.
I’m supposed to be doing what he does. But it’s not my fault that he’s so damn delicious and temping.
Shaking my head to clear it, I remove my pants. Then he indicates I should remove my undergarments.
Within seconds, I’m in front of him, totally bare.
Silently he instructs me to pull back my shoulders, and that thrusts my breasts out a little. But I understand. He wants me proud, to see myself the way he sees me.
When he lowers himself to the rug again, I immediately do the same. Even though we’ve only been at this a short time, I’m understanding what he wants.