Page 194 of Dance of Deception

She whines, her body arching underneath me, her legs scissoring against the mattress as I drive into her. The bed creaks. Our breaths tangle, the sheets twisting beneath us as we move, crashing together over and over.

Faster. Rougher. Deeper.

Her nails dig into the bed, her lace-muffled cries growing louder, breaking apart.

I grip her throat, drowning in her as I feel her pulse pounding against my palm. I want her ruined for anyone but me.

"Tell me you’re mine. Scream it into your fucking panties like a good girl while I fuck you so deep you’ll still feel my cock tomorrow."

Lyra shudders, her walls squeezing me over and over as she moans into her thong.

"You’re so fucking tight, baby. Like you were made to take me and only me.” I lean down and sink my teeth into her shoulder,making her squeal as her pussy clamps down tight around my cock. "The only thing better than fucking you is watching you come for me, over and over."

I keep ramming into her, fucking her into the bed until it’s a savage, frenzied race for both of us. When she finally shatters, her body spasming around me, I immediately follow, a guttural sound tearing from my throat as I bury myself deep, owning her completely.

She goes limp, her breath returning in slow, dreamy gasps after I pull the lace from her mouth and kiss her deeply. She rolls us over, her cheek pressed against my chest, her fingers tracing over my ribs.

I should say something. Tell her what I’m thinking.

That I’ll always be a monster.

That I don’t regret what I did.

And that I’d burn the world again to keep her at my side.

But before I can say shit, she turns her head, looking up at me. There’s no hesitation in her voice, no doubt in her eyes.

“I love you.”

My response is automatic and easy.

“I love you, too.”

And for the first time in my life, I don’t just say it—Ifeelit, raw and unshakable.

More real than anything I’ve ever known.

EPILOGUE

LYRA

Three months later:

There’s stilla hint of winter clinging to the air. But spring is on the way, and you can feel that particular lightness in the air that says the seasons are shifting.

That change is inevitable.

How fitting.

Vera sits next to me on a wooden bench, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. She looks different. The usual bitterness in her face has softened, and there’s something else there too. Reality settling in, maybe. Clarity. Probably regret.

“How’s sobriety going?” I ask, tucking my hands into my coat pockets.

Vera grimaces. “Sucks.”

She shakes her head, looking down at her hands with a wry smile.

“But… I’m happy for it. For the first time in a long time, I’m glad not to be numb all the time, to feel something, even if it’s shit I’d rather not feel.” She exhales slowly, rubbing a thumb over the rim of the mug. “I put every feeling I had into a black box for so long that I forgot what it’s like to actually feel them.”

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