Chapter Forty-Two #3
So that’s what it’s about. Not protection. Not professionalism. Trust. He says it like a boundary, but it sounds a hell of a lot like fear. If that’s the only thing keeping him out of my bed, I can work with it.
“So if I don’t trust you, we can’t fuck?” I ask, I know no one can hear us, but still I keep my voice low. “That’s your rule? Well, it doesn’t look like I’m getting answers from you anytime soon. You really think you can hold out that long?”
I don't wait for a reply, I just move—quick and direct, aiming for his centre of gravity with a drive meant to knock him off-balance.
I don’t get the chance.
He shifts. Grabs.
In one clean, fluid motion, he uses my momentum against me—flipping my legs out from under me, and driving me down.
Hard. And this time, he doesn’t stay standing.
He drops with me. Pins me. One knee between my thighs, palm braced, catching my hands just beside my head, the full press of his body locking mine to the mat.
Controlled. Unyielding. Every inch of him burning through me.
“I know I can.” He holds the position for a beat longer than necessary.“I can want you without taking you, I’m not so easily broken, Lyra.” Then he pushes off—calm, maddeningly in control—and releases me. Cold rushes in where his body was.
I exhale, roll to my side, and push to my feet.
“Didn’t seem like it the other night, when I was calling out your name, coming around your—”
He moves before I can finish. In one fluid step, he’s behind me—arm hooked tight around mine, yanking it up between my shoulder blades. My breath snags. The pressure isn’t enough to hurt, but it’s enough to make damn sure I stop talking. His mouth brushes close to my ear.
“It’s not that I don’t want you,” he murmurs. “I do. That’s the fucking problem.” A pause. “But I’m trying to do you a favour. You’re not ready, and we both know it. You want answers I can’t give. Not yet.”
Then he releases my arm and steps back. I turn, meet his gaze, and the pressure in my chest tightens.
He doesn’t get to decide if I’m ready. He wants this just as much as I do, he just said it.
And if I’m stuck here, waiting for answers on someone else’s timeline?
If I’m supposed to keep playing nice, stay patient, stay quiet?
Then the least he can do is give me something, one goddamn reason to stay sane in this awful place.
I’m not giving up that easily.
“Fine,” I say, light, measured. “Keep your precious trust rule. I won’t ask for more.” My smile curves. “But I never promised not to remind you what you’re missing.”
His eyebrow lifts.
I loosen my Threads. Just a fraction, just enough to let the hum of my magic slip through. It skims over my skin, warm and tingling. Then my gaze drops to his lips, and I start to imagine what they’d feel like between my thighs.
The heat builds fast, doesn’t take much. It’s already there, leftover from the other night. A pulse of want. Hunger. The ache of it curling low, sharp and demanding.
I’ve done this before, by accident. Let things slip through.
But this time, I aim.
I reach for the connection between us, focus on the sensation, on him, and let the feeling rise. Then I push.
Not with force, never that. With precision. Like threading silk through the eye of a needle. I send him a searing drag of arousal—small, but impossible to ignore.
Let’s see how long that control lasts, Nightrose.
I feel our bond catch it, take it and watch it land.
His chest hitches, mouth parts, one hand curls at his side, fast and tight. Then his gaze snaps to mine, eyes wide, he looks almost… startled, and for the first time all match—he hesitates.
That’s all I need. I close the gap fast. Step, pivot, drop. He’s on his back before he can recover, and I’m already over him, one knee pressing into his ribs, hand fisted in his collar. We’re breathing hard now, both of us, his chest rising under mine.
“You’re playing dirty, Bloom…” he growls, voice rougher than before.
He’s all heat beneath me—body tense, restrained, every line of him coiled like he’s one second from snapping.
“But I’m warning you. You’ll lose this game.”
I lean in, breath ghosting his cheek. “Let’s see about that.”
Then I shift, hook my leg up, and drive my knee between his groin.
A harsh rush tears out of him, body folds, instincts taking over. I shove him off, quick and clean, rolling to my feet before he can recover.
I flash him a smile, sweet. “That's three times now.” Then I turn and walk off the mat.
Talen assists for the next month’s sessions.
Each week, I wait, wait for the right moment, until he’s not expecting it, until his guard slips, then I send something.
Not too much—just enough to make his breath hitch, his stance falter.
Just enough for the cadet he’s sparring with to get the upper hand.
I should feel bad, taking pleasure in seeing him become so distracted. But it’s hard not to enjoy watching his usual perfect composure slip and stumble.
He keeps our fake dates public now, though.
Food hall. No silence shield. He eats, he leaves.
Straight lines, no pauses. I tried a few times then, too—threading a flicker of heat into him, just enough to make him choke on his water.
I give him a look, every time. You can end this, just give in.
Trust isn’t a requirement, sex isn’t sacred.
I have to give it to him—he’s tougher to break than I thought.
But luckily I have time. Since Call Week, no one’s come for me.
Ryven, Elijah, Strannt—they’ve all backed off after they saw my magic lock in at Call Week.
No one wants to test that again. It’s just Weasel Senior who still lingers around watching me, yet he hasn't made a move either.
So other than training, the odd propaganda essay and being a good friend, I can mostly put my full focus and attention on Talen.
Today he’s on the mat, giving advice while two cadets train—offering corrections, calling out footwork.
I start to think about the first time he slid his fingers inside me—how they curled just right, coaxing that deep, unbearable pull of heat low in my belly, every muscle tightening around him.
My heart kicks up, and I send it through the bond.
From across the hall, I watch his throat flex—one hard swallow—and then nothing, doesn’t look up, doesn’t flinch. But after class on the way out, his hand catches my arm, unamused, pulling me aside.
“Lyra,” he warns, low and dangerous. “You need to stop.”
“Oh?” I tip my head, playful. “Why? Can’t handle it?”
His eyes narrow just slightly. “I’m serious.”
“You always are.”
A flash of something dark flickers in his gaze. “This isn’t a game.”
“Really? Because it feels like one.” I say, arms folding across my chest. “You fucked me like that, then only afterwards suddenly decided you’ve got a moral compass and need trust?
” I step in closer, voice low. “I’m sitting here, almost a month later since the ball, still waiting patiently for the answers you promised.
The least you could do is distract me.” A pause, my eyes narrowing.
“I’ll keep pushing, Talen. I’m very persistent. ”
Something shifts. His head tilts, just slightly, and there’s a flicker in his gaze. Calculated, not angry, but assessing, like he’s seeing me clearly for the first time. Not a threat but a challenge. And then he leans in, not just with his voice, with his whole body.
“Oh, I know how persistent you can be,” voice military-clear, “but I told you I’m not going to break, Lyra.”
The way he says my name—it hums through me, low and shivering. His hips shift forward, brushing tighter against mine.
“You can push all you want. But I have more control over this than you think. You're playing with fire.” A pause. His gaze drops to my lips. My lungs seize for a beat. “But if you do keep pushing, I will push back. Two can play at this game you’ve started, and you’re not ready for how good I am at it.
” He leans in—closer, closer—until his mouth grazes my ear and I feel the heat of his breath “I promise I'll have you begging me to stop… but praying I never do.”
My skin prickles. I’m suddenly too warm. Too aware of every inch of space between us, and how little of it there is.
Then, without warning, he pushes off me, turns, and starts walking. Over his shoulder: “I’m warning you, Thorn. Let it go.”
And then he’s gone.
Leaving me flushed, unsteady, my heart hammering against my ribs, too fast, too loud. I can’t tell if I’m shaken or just unbelievably turned on.
But either way, there's one thing I’m certain about.
I’m absolutely not letting it go.
It’s not even about the sex anymore, it’s about winning.
Talen’s been gone a few weeks, so yeah, I’m surprised to see him in Offensive Magic today, assisting Professor Quinn. He’s standing off to the side, leaning back, one leg hooked over the other, spinning his talisman hypnotically between his fingers.
Fuck, he looks so good.
His eyes are locked forward on Quinn, who has just called Ezzy down for today's training. He asks who she’d like to be paired against, and when she says Finn, I almost spit the water I just sipped all over him.
Finn’s face goes white. They still haven’t spoken since the ball, almost seven weeks ago.
I guess Ezzy’s decided she’s ready. Now?
Ezzy pushes him hard, strike after strike, Thread after Thread, but Finn doesn’t even fight back.
Just stands there and takes it like he thinks he deserves every hit.
She snaps, furious, her voice cracking as she throws one final burst of power and turns away, wiping her face.
Then she storms off across the stage and out of the lecture theatre.
Finn hesitates, just for a second, then goes after her.
I wish one of them would just say what they really want, wish love wasn’t so damn complicated for them.
Quinn claps once, awkwardly. “Well. I guess that wraps up that one. Let’s have another pair.”
Two more cadets take the stage. But I'm not even paying attention anymore. None of it bothers me, because I'm only focused on one thing. To finally break Talen.
The plan was to keep my head down, be patient, and wait for answers.
But it’s been over six weeks since we slept together, and so far I’ve had as many answers as I’ve had orgasms. None.
I'm getting impatient and frustrated, and at this point, I need at least one of them—or I’m going to do something stupid.
But I know he’ll break. I just need to push him—
a little.
Bit.
More.
I slide down into my seat, close my eyes, and let the memory of his weight over me settle like a pressure across my chest.
Then I start to send it—slow, careful—threading it down the connection between us. It begins soft, innocent enough, but then I let it build. The feel of his mouth, his hands, the drag of skin on skin.
By the time I’m halfway through, I can’t stop the smile that curls across my face. Heat blooming low.
When I finally open my eyes. He’s still spinning the talisman, but his gaze is already locked on mine. Eyes narrow, like a dragon sighting its prey. The air between us tightens, charged, breathless and there is a hint of surprise. Like I touched something raw beneath that polished calm of his.
I bite down on my lip. Got you. For a moment, I revel in it. He looks caught, exposed, maybe even a little rattled. But then, something changes, his expression stills. The surprise narrows into something more like focus and suddenly—
The room goes silent.
Not quiet—silent.
My ears strain for the rustle of robes, the whisper of voices, the scrape of chairs. But there’s nothing. And yet, no one else notices. At the front, Quinn still talks, chairs are moving, but I don't hear a thing.
This silence is only meant for me.
The hairs on my arms lift. There’s a flicker in his eyes, not warmth. Not anger. Just planning as the left side of his mouth curls—and then it hits.
Not a pulse.
A flood.