His body all hard lines and ink and power.
And his eyes?
They were f*****g fire.
They didn’t look at my face. Not at first.
They dropped.
To my chest:
To where my robe had fallen open, to my exposed cleavages.
His hand lifted.
And I swear my heart stopped.
I held still. Completely still.
Like if I moved, the moment would break.
Like if I breathed too loud, he’d disappear.
His fingers brushed my collarbone. Just lightly. Just enough to feel like a matchstick dragging across my skin.
Then he went lower.
His whole hand flattened and slowly dragged down the center of my chest. My pulse skipped. My p***y clenched. My throat went dry.
He stopped just above my t**s.
Right in the center.
Right where the fabric dipped and the skin was still warm from where I’d imagined him biting me there earlier. f**k.
Please squeeze it.
Please touch me.
Please make me cry from how good it feels.
But he didn’t.
He just let his hand hover there, his fingers twitching like he wanted to. Like he was thinking about it.
And then his voice dropped.
Rough. Dark. Filthy.
“You’ve grown, Lyra.”
I swear I almost came just from that.
He said my name like a f*****g price. Like it tasted wrong on his tongue but he still wanted to say it again and again and again.
“You’ve f*****g grown,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Look at the size of your breasts now. You’re not a little girl anymore.”
My breath hitched.
My n*****s peaked instantly, hard and aching, pressing against the silk like they wanted him to see. Like they needed his f*****g mouth.
“Oh f**k,” he said under his breath.
“This is turning me on so f*****g good.”
I swallowed again.
Lyras Hunger 19
****Lyra****
My eyes fluttered shut.
And it wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t innocent.
It felt like collapse. Like my body had short-circuited under the pressure of his presence.
Like my mind couldn’t bear the heat that surged through me the second his fingers brushed the top of my chest.
Everything in me clenched.
My p***y.
My stomach.
My throat.
It was like all my nerves had been rewired just for him.
To feel him.
To want him.
To f*****g need him like oxygen I hadn’t earned.
I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until my lips parted and it shuddered out of me like a moan I was too scared to let escape.
Because I wasn’t just standing there anymore.
I was unraveling.
And I could feel a thread of wetness sliding down the inside of my thighs again.
Fresh.
Hot.
Soaking me.
I thought I was empty.
After everything earlier.
After the orgasms. The crying. The drinking.
But no.
He was here now.
And with just a few words and the heat of his breath on my skin, he made my entire body start over.
“You’re so soft,” he murmured, voice like gravel. Like sin.
“Your skin… f**k. I remember when you were just a kid. Flat little chest. Always hiding behind books and oversized shirts like some shy little thing.”
I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
I was frozen with my back to him, my hands gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping me upright. My thighs pressed together, squeezing my swollen clit, and I nearly groaned from how sensitive I already was.
His voice dropped lower.
But the words got filthier. Darker I must say.
“But now?” he breathed.
“Now look at you.”
His fingers moved down again.
So slow.
So agonizing.
They stopped right on my titties. f**k!! f*****g suck them daddy!!!
Not squeezing.
Not groping. Just resting.
Like he was teasing both of us.
Like he wanted to see if I’d beg.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to sob from the restraint.
Because all I could think was…
Please.
Please squeeze and suck my n*****s.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.