He came in close again, looming, and I stayed exactly where I was—sinking back into the sofa as if I belonged there, watching him, breathing him in.
“Who did this?” I asked, my fingers finding the scar. I pressed in a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure hefeltit.
Lyric’s breath hitched. He didn’t step back.
His eyes dropped to where my hand touched him, then slid up to meet mine again—dark, defiant, but something flickered there. Not vulnerability. Not exactly. But a crack in the armor.
“Does it matter?” he asked, voice rough.
“It does to me.”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t pull away. My thumb traced the jagged edge of the scar, the raised skin warm beneath my touch. His abs twitched under my hand, and I knew he wasn’t unaffected.
“I don’t remember all the details,” he admitted. “Think it was contract four. Maybe five? He was motivated, had a deadly throw, and he wanted to carve me a little before he took me in. Typical bad guy shit, let his guard down, I turned the knife on him. Heh,” he snorted a laugh. “Almost got caught that time.”
A pulse of heat and fury shot through me. Not the kind that made me want to fight. The kind that made me want toprotect, to wrap myself around him and never let anyone close again. But I didn’t say that. I leaned in instead, brushing my lips to the spot just above the scar. Soft. Deliberate. His whole body tensed as if he was holding himself still by force alone.
“No one lays a fucking hand on you again,” I said, my voice low, every word edged with promise.
He raised a brow, testing. “Ever?”
I met his gaze, deadly fucking serious. “Never.”
Something shifted in his face. Not shock, not even disbelief—just this deep, bone-deep awareness that I meant it. That if someone tried, they’d have to go through me.
He frowned, then smiled.
It wasn’t all hearts and flowers or a declaration of love, but it was loyalty, obsession, devotion—all of it coiled in my chest. The idea of anyone hurting him again made my blood burn.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kiss him or destroy the world for him. Maybe both.
My fingers flexed above the scar, and I let my other hand curl over his stomach and the warmth of him soaked into my skin.
“Ready?” he asked. He nudged my knees apart with his own, slow and sure, never breaking eye contact. I let him. Iwantedhim to.
Then he pushed his sweats down and under his balls, baring himself with a confidence that made my mouth go dry. His cock was thick and flushed, heavy where it curved up from his body—veins ridged along the shaft, the head glossy and pink. It wasbeautiful, in a way that felt dangerous. A challenge.
I couldn’t look away.
Instead, I focused on the scar again, tracing it with my fingers, because if I didn’t hold onto something, I was going to drown in him.
“No touching,” he ordered, voice dark and rough, a sharp command sending heat straight to my gut. He circled his cock, stroking slowly, twisting his wrist with a confidence that made it clear this wasn’t about seduction—it was about control. Aboutclaiming.
He leaned forward, out of reach, the corner of his mouth curling. “Big Man’ll do anything I want, right?”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. My body was already answering for me.
“Thought so,” he said, stroking himself again, slow and filthy. “You sit there, as if you’re the one calling the shots, but I know better. You wantsomeone to take it from you. Peel the layers back and own what’s underneath.”
“Lyric…”
He stepped in, the tip of his cock brushing my chest. “I’m gonna ruin you so fucking good you’ll forget how to breathe without my say-so.”
Then, with the kind of grace that didn’t belong in a body that had been through hell, he straddled my lap. One smooth movement, as if he’d done it a thousand times before, settling his weight over me. His ass rocked against my cock, pressing right on the ache that had been building since the moment he’d locked the door. My legs were still spread, and he fit there perfectly—warm, heavy, grounding.
He didn’t rush. He shifted enough to make me feel every roll of his hips, every teasing grind sending sparks shooting up my spine. It was raw and deliberate, the kind of movement that told me heknewthe power he had and wasn’t afraid to wield it.
“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in close, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You gonna stay still. Be a good boy? Or you gonna beg?”
