“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 Iwanthim, 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. Justneed. Justhunger.
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 feeleverything?—
Isendit.
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 youreallywant 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 aboutall 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 youcan’tpromise?” I shake my head, swallow hard. “I don’t. I care aboutyou. That’s the risk I’m taking. That’s the choice I’ve already made.”
