Chapter Forty-Four
Talen doesn't move. Not at first. Just stands there, staring at me like I’ve torn something open in him.
Then slowly, god, slowly he steps in.
One hand lifts, fingers brushing a line from my jaw to the edge of my cheek, featherlight, tilting my head back. My next inhale cuts off sharp.
The air between us humming, thick with every word we haven’t said and every one we just did. My eyes lost in his, and as his thumb skims the corner of my mouth, I swear the world narrows to that one single point of contact. Just him. My lips part on instinct, not begging, but close.
Then his other hand tightens on my hip, not pulling me closer, but holding me back. His voice breaks, forehead dropping to mine.
“I can’t.”
The words shatter through me and although he’s still touching me, still here, somehow it feels like he’s already a million miles away.
“I want to,” he murmurs. “Fuck, Lyra, I want to.”
My chest aches. “Then why—”
“Because if I kiss you right now.” He pulls back further, lifting his head from mine, voice lower, rougher, and too damn honest. “I won’t want to let you go... And I have to, because people like me?” He shakes his head. “We don’t get to keep good things. We ruin them or we lose them. Usually both.”
His hand drops from my skin, and the way he looks at me, it’s like he’s already decided something I’m not part of.
But I don’t move.
I don’t let him go. Instead, I step forward—closing the distance he tried to create—and press my palm to his chest. Then I lift my chin, make sure he’s looking at me when I say it.
“You don’t get to decide who I give my heart to. Or how I risk it.” My voice is steady. The rhythm in my chest isn’t. “That’s my choice. Not yours.”
Something flickers in his eyes, hope or pain, I can't tell.
“I know what this is,” I press on. “You’re scared. So am I. But I’m done pretending it’s not real just because it might hurt.”
His throat works, but no sound comes out. Still, I can feel the tension rolling off him, desperate, as his heart pounds beneath my hand, like he’s one breath away from breaking or bolting.
But I know he wants this; he said it, he's just scared, trying to be admirable. Scared of hurting me. But I’m willing to take that risk, I want this, I want him, all of him. And if he’s too deep in his own head to reach for it, then fine—I’ll do it for both of us.
I step back toward the bed, fingers finding the knot at my robe. For a moment, my heart hitches, not doubt, just reality settling in—this is real now. This is me, choosing him fully, despite everything. I inhale, steadying myself, and slowly I tug it loose.
Talen goes still.
His eyes track every movement as I slip it from my shoulders, letting it drop, fabric pooling at my feet. The cool night air bites across my bare skin, but I don’t flinch. I just reach up, unfasten my hair, it falls in waves—messy, wet, catching at the tops of my breasts.
His eyes narrow, chest rising heavy. “Lyra,” his voice hoarse. “I told you before, I’m not myself beyond the Innerland Veils. Out here, I have less… self-control. If you push, I will break.”
“Good.” I step back until the mattress catches behind my knees, then sink down. My bare thighs shift over the soft cotton sheets, hands bracing behind me as I let my knees fall open, lazy and unapologetic. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
Across from me, Talen’s still fixed in place at the dresser.
Arms behind him, braced on the wood like it's the only thing holding him up. Knuckles white, shoulders rigid, every inch of him wired. But his eyes? God. They stay locked between my thighs like he’s starving for something he doesn’t believe he’s allowed to want.
He’s holding the line.
So I decide to cross it.
Carefully, I let my fingertips drift over the edge of my hip, then lower, slower, until I find the soft skin of my inner thigh. A small tremor rolls through me, like my body’s already bracing for what’s coming next.
“Lyra.” He whispers my name like a warning. Or a plea. “What are you doing?"
“What does it look like?” I keep it casual, but a breathless ache gathers low, sparking between my thighs. Right where I want him, right where I’m headed.
Talen’s hands flex against the dresser, thighs tense, lips part like breathing suddenly costs too much. But he doesn’t move.
So I go higher. A soft stroke. Then another. Higher again. Until my fingers slip inside, brushing against the heat I’ve been aching for. The first full stroke sends a sharp jolt up my spine. My hips twitch, chasing it. Everything inside me pulls tighter—pulsing, wanting.
“You can’t, Lyra, please—.” His voice breaks on my name. Half pain. Half something that sounds like worship.
“Please, what?” I murmur as my fingers circle slower, deeper, every nerve thrumming. “Tell me to stop? Tell me you don’t want this?”
His tongue drags over his bottom lip, teeth grazing the surface on the way back, biting down like it’s the only thing keeping him from coming undone.
“You’re torturing me.” He says, jaw tight, as his eyes drag up my body like gravity’s working against him. But when they hit mine, there’s no fight left in them anymore. Just need. Just hunger.
He’s one second away from breaking. One flick and he’d fall. And I know just how to push him over.
I close my eyes again, just for a second, and reach.
I reach for that bond between our Threads, magic flaring like static against my skin. And then, when I feel it catch, when I know he’ll feel everything—
I send it.
The hunger. The ache. The slick slide of my fingers and the way my body arches into it, strung tight with want, for him. Only him.
All of it.
It slams into him like a punch.
He staggers, choking. “Fuck—” It tears out of him, raw and wrecked.
I don’t stop.
Can’t.
I press in deeper, a soft moan curling out of my throat, breathless and desperate, and I feel it—
That precise moment he snaps.
His gaze darkens, all hesitation gone. Whatever restraint he had fractures in silence.
He moves, fast and brutal—and suddenly his hands are on me. Lifting, gripping and dragging me back across the bed. I gasp, legs scrambling to catch up, but he’s already there, already between them.
Before I can even catch my breath, he reaches down, grabs my wrist, pushes my hand aside and pauses.
The high shatters, splintering into something cold and tight in my chest.
Is he about to stop me? Tell me I crossed a line? That I took it too far?
I brace for it. For the disappointment, the rejection. For the words that will ruin all of this before it even begins.
But he doesn’t pull away. Just holds there, body heavy over mine, lungs straining
“This is your last chance, Bloom.” His eyes find mine, molten and unflinching.
“Do you want this? Do you really want this?” A beat.
“And I’m not just talking about tonight.
” My heart kicks up. He leans in closer, breath dragging against my skin.
“I’m talking about all of it. Because if I have you now, I won’t want to let you go.
And I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you everything you want down the line. ..”
His words hang there. Heavy. I search his face—eyes dark, torn wide open—and something twists low in my gut. Not fear. Not doubt. Just truth. The kind that doesn’t flinch. The kind you feel in your bones.
“You think I care about things you can’t promise?” I shake my head, swallow hard. “I don’t. I care about you. That’s the risk I’m taking. That’s the choice I’ve already made.”
My hand finds his cheek, fingers skimming the stubble there. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move... Like he’s still not sure. Like he might push off the bed and walk out. The silence stretches. My chest hurts with it.
“Talen, I want this. I want you. Not just tonight but every damn day after.”
Something flickers in his eyes, then snaps. Gone is the hesitation. The fear. What’s left is hunger. Feral and focused, like my words just tore the leash off. He exhales, shaky and rough, then he moves.
Not forward.
Down.
I gasp as his hands lock firm around my thighs, spreading me open. Then his mouth, fuck, his mouth is on me. Hot and devouring.
There’s no hesitation, no teasing. Just a brutal, dragging lick sliding over the place I need him most, ripping a sound from my throat I couldn’t hide if I tried.
“Talen—” I cry out, fingers clawing at the edge of the bed, thighs trembling.
My lungs forget how to work, my hips buck, but his hands are already there, one arm wrapped under my thigh, the other splayed wide across my stomach, holding me down, anchoring me to the bed as his tongue works me, relentless, with devastating precision.
Another gasp tears out of me—loud, broken.
He keeps moving, muscles flexing with every shift, and the black scales of his tattoo ripple with him—curling across his back, catching the low light like they’re alive.
And the sight of him there—Talen Veirmont, head between my thighs—fuck, it hits harder than the pleasure. Something snaps low in my belly, like fire licking under my skin. My back arches, head drops back.
God, I used to loathe that name. Now just the sound of it makes me melt.
“Is this what you wanted?” His voice a low groan against my clit. “Is this what you think about when you’re alone?”
Fuck, if I had been thinking about this I wouldn't have survived the last two months. Each stroke of his tongue is maddening, just enough pressure to make me chase it, not enough to break me.
My thighs clamp down around him, fingers in his hair now, nails digging deep—just to hold on as his mouth rips pleasure out of me like a secret he’s hell-bent on uncovering.
“Tell me, Lyra,” he murmurs again, voice rough with heat, breath hot against me. “Is this how you want it? Me, touching you like this, making you lose yourself. Is this what you need?”
His lips seal around my clit and suck, the shock of it rips through me like a snap of magic. My toes curl, pleasure shivering lashing through me—sharp and unstoppable.