Page 66 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

Lyla watched all the couples dance, feeling a pang of loneliness. She stood in the middle of a grand party, the likes of which she had never seen, filled with people, some who truly cared about her, and yet, she felt lonely. She imagined what it would be like if he was there with her, standing behind her likethe mountain she called home. She missed him. His voice, his body, his eyes. Hiseverything.

Watching the couples, it was nothing like the dances she'd been forced to do. She had never danced before with a partner. She had never danced withhim.Did he even dance? Did she? She didn't know if she could but with the way his body moved during his workouts, during sex, she did think he would be fluid. God, the hunger in her to find out was so acute.

A well-dressed man walked up to her, a man who had introduced himself to her before but she couldn't remember the name of, extending his hand. "Would you do me the honor?"

She didn't want to. She had already politely declined two other invitations before.

But Zephyr gave her an encouraging look, and Alpha, who apparently knew the guy, gave her a nod, letting her know he was okay. Not wanting to create a scene by refusing again, Lyla put her hand in his, immediately recoiling, her body revolting against the touch of another.

She pulled her hand back but they were too close to the dance floor. Walking away now would only cause a scene, and she didn't want anyone asking her questions, asking her if she was okay. She wasn't. There was a gaping void inside her and she could feel herself falling into it, the loneliness so much different, in some ways so much worse this time. Earlier, her loneliness had been a result of being alone. This time, she was surrounded by people, good people she was beginning to care for and who clearly cared for her, and yet, the loneliness persisted. She would need to talk to Dr. Manson about it tomorrow, find out ways to work around it.

The man stopped on the dance floor and put his hands out, intending to put them on her waist, and she stepped back, keeping a distance between them.

And just as his hands almost reached her, a voice came from behind her.

"Mind if I cut in, Rochester?"

Everything inside her froze for a split second before it came alive at that voice, the voice of death, right behind her. Her senses sizzled, every cell in her body electrified, as if touched by a live wire, responding to the sound in ways she completely recognized. heartbeat racing, nipples pebbling, walls clenching. She was so empty, had been so empty for days, and just his voice, knowing he was there, she felt whole.

"You will never be incomplete with me."

He had promised her and he was right.

She had seen enough of genuine love, deep love around her to know when it was meant to be, it was meant to be. And she and him were. She and him, they were written in the stars. Had been since the moment they had met under them.

"You can take the next one, Blackthorne." The man in front of her, Rochester, had the audacity to say. Didn't he know who he was talking to? Of course, he didn't. Blackthorne was the facade people didn't look under, something that served him just fine. Lyla held her breath, knowing the man beneath the facade, knowing his absolute possession of her, knowing he wouldn't let another man touch her as long as he lived.

Hands, familiar hands in leather gloves, slid around her waist.

Her body melted into him, thriving in the public display of his possession even though no one was looking, their corner of the dance floor a little darkened under the shadow of the trees.

Rochester glared at him when he didn't say another word. She could just imagine him giving the other man a dead stare, his face unflinching and unmoved by the vitriol coming his way.

"You don't get to steal both my deals and my dances, Blackthorne," Rochester spit out.

Ah, a business rival. Lyla pressed back into his chest unconsciously, her body simmering, vibrating with need. After getting used to taking him for so long and so many times every day, the sudden lack had been causing withdrawal in her body, all of that coming back with a vengeance in her system tenfold. If he pressed her against a tree and flipped her dress up, she wouldn't care. Her state almost reminded her of the time she'd been drugged—mindless, guileless, listless, just waiting for him to relieve the ache throbbing everywhere in her body.

"Can't steal what's already mine," he said to the other man, his tone almost lazy, deliberately provocative. But Lyla heard the sharp edge of possession to it, the underside of a blade that cut into her sternum and exposed her bloody heart.

The man finally left with an angry huff, leaving them both alone in the corner of the dance floor.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her whole body throbbing and messy and burning, sweat pooling between her breasts, moisture pooling between her thighs. She stayed the way she was, watching the couples, realizing no one was looking their way, the shadow and her dark dress hiding them in plain sight.

His hand moved from her waist, up her ribs, cupping her breasts, his large hands covering them, squeezing and temporarily relieving the ache in them.

"Dainn," she whispered, saying his name for the first time in days.

"Shh," he spoke in her ear. "You've been a bad girl,flamma."

A kiss to her ear.

"You let another man touch you."

A kiss to the side of her neck.

"Tell me, what should your punishment be?"

Her brain was muddled for a moment before his words sank in. Punishment? A thrill ran down her spine, making her shiver, her nipples hard points under her dress.

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