Page 135 of Surrender to Me
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Because the moment I said them, everything in me…settled.
There’s no other way to describe the sensation.
It’s as if my bones are finally aligned in the right order. Like I’ve been walking crooked for years without realizing it.
A part of me has always been empty, but Lyra—with her stubborn courage, her reluctant trust, the way she looks at me like she’s waiting for me to disappoint her and hoping I won’t—has filled the void.
She swallows. Once. Twice.
“Stryker…” Her voice is a rasp of disbelief. “You don’t—you can’t?—”
“I do.” My hand is still on her cheek, and I trace her lips. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it. Hell, I fought it harder than I’ve fought anything. But it’s the truth.”
Her lips part, trembling.
“I don’t—no one—No one has ever said that to me.” The words come out small, frayed, broken down the middle.
And it shreds me.
I lean in, our foreheads brushing, and I keep my voice low. “Then I’m glad I get to be your first.”
Just like the mirroring, the unbridled sex. And I want to claim another dozen firsts with her. First engagement. Marriage.
Child.
Fuck.
A child. With her.
A soft exhale quivers against my thumb, and she curls her fingers around my wrists, holding on—not pushing away, not resisting—holding.
“Why?” she whispers again, but it’s different now. Not demanding. Not afraid. Just…stunned.
“I don’t have a good answer,” I admit. “I just know that I want you safe. I want you with me, at my side, arguing with me and pissing me off and making me crazy, and”—I exhale sharply—“and I don’t ever want to picture a future without you in it.”
Her eyes fill instantly.
Damn it all.
That undoing—right there, happening in her face—almost drops me to my knees.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she says, voice cracking. “I don’t know how to… be someone that someone loves.”
“Then I’ll teach you.”
She flinches, like the promise itself is too sharp to touch.
“Stryker…”
I slide my hand into her hair, tilt her head back gently, my lips brushing hers but not quite kissing—my breath mixing with her uneven one.
“You don’t have to love me back yet,” I murmur. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to be anything. Just stay. That’s all I want.”
Her breath catches.
