Page 147 of Dance of Deception

Iwill notlet her slip away from me.

My hand moves to her throat, wrapping around it tight enough to feel the frantic pulse beneath my palm, tight enough to remind her she’s here. That I’m here.

But no.

She’s still somewhere else. Lost.

My grip tightens, but her eyes don’t focus.

Then I shift, dropping my hand lower, over the curve of her chest. My fingers find the puckered peak through her soaked hoodie and shirt. I pinch hard, twisting her nipple.

She gasps out a tiny, fragile sound, but her eyes remain distant—flickering somewhere beyond me.

Fuck.

I push my hand lower, slipping my fingers into the waistband of her drenched yoga pants. Then my hand slips into her panties and cups her pussy as the water begins to turn warmer. My fingers drift between her lips, rubbing in slow, familiar circles.

Nothing at first.

Then there’s a sharp hitch in her breath. A shiver rolls through her.

Better. But not enough.

I sink two fingers inside her, curling them deep, pressing into her heat as my palm grinds against her clit, unrelenting.

Lyra’s entire body jerks and a sharp whimper escapes her lips—hitting me like a live wire, sending dark victory curling through my veins.

That got through.

She’s still blinking slowly, still slipping in and out of whatever fucking void she’s fallen into, but at least she’s reacting now.

I curl my fingers, rubbing her g-spot, my other hand gripping the back of her neck, forcing her forehead to mine.

I won’t stop until she comes back to me.

Until she sees me.

My fingers keep moving, my grip on her tight and possessive, my lips brushing against her temple as I growl against her damp skin.

“You feel that?” I rasp. “That’s me. That’sus.”

Her fingers clutch at my shirt, her breath still shaky and uneven.

I press deeper, forcing her to react, to feel, to remember.

Suddenly, she gasps. Her hand flies up, her nails dig into my arms, and her eyes snap to mine.

Wide. Wild. Finally fucking present.

Her breath stutters against my throat, her fingers clutching my soaking-wet shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. Like she needs something solid to hold on to.

In any other situation, you’d need the armed fucking forces to remove my fingers from her sweet little cunt. But in this case, I slip my hand from her panties, grabbing her hip instead. I grip the back of her neck with my other hand, my fingers anchoring her firmly in place. “It’s me,” I growl. “You’re safe.”

She blinks, her pupils still too dilated, her body trembling. But she hears me now. She’s back.

I exhale slowly, forcing my own pulse to even out. “What the fuck happened?” I murmur.

Her lips part, but no sound comes out.

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