The room was quiet… far too quiet.
Only the faint hiss of the fire in the grate and the uneven sound of Dominic's breathing filled the space.
Lyra sat across from him, her expression unreadable, her fingertips lazily trailing along the arm of her chair as if she could command the air itself. Dominic's hands were bound—not with rope, not with chains—but with that invisible, cruel energy that made his muscles heavy and his body obey her will without thought.
He hated it. He needed it.
Her eyes locked onto his, and he felt it again—that pull, like she was not just looking at him but into him, down into the parts of himself he'd spent years burying.
"You've been lying to me, Dominic," she said, her voice like silk with a blade hidden inside.
His jaw clenched. "I haven't—"
She stood slowly, the firelight catching the curve of her lips as she smirked. "Your body betrays you."
He didn't have time to argue before she was in front of him, her scent curling around him like a drug. He had been fighting her control for days, ever since the last encounter where she had made him beg—and the memory of that humiliation still burned him. But now… now the heat in her presence was burning something else entirely.
Her fingers brushed his chin, lifting it just enough to force him to meet her gaze. "Do you know what I despise most, Dominic? Half-truths. They're so much dirtier than lies."
The words sank into him, but so did the faint scrape of her nails along his jawline. He should have looked away. He didn't.
"I've given you chances to speak freely," she continued, circling him the way a predator circles prey that's already bleeding. "But you don't want freedom, do you?"
His lips parted to protest, but she was behind him now, her hands sliding across his shoulders, kneading the tension there in a touch that felt far too intimate for an interrogation.
"You want to pretend you hate me," she murmured into his ear. "But your heartbeat tells another story."
And damn her, she was right—he could hear it in his own ears, that frantic rhythm.
"That's not—"
Her nails dug in, sharp enough to make him flinch. "Don't lie to me. Not tonight."
When she moved in front of him again, she carried something in her hand—a narrow silver blade, glinting in the firelight. He stiffened, but she didn't touch him with it. Instead, she ran it slowly over her own palm, the flat edge caressing her skin in a motion that was both threatening and mesmerizing.
"You know," she said softly, "there are more ways to own someone than chains or collars. Some bonds… are written in the body."
She stepped closer, until the tip of the blade hovered under his chin, forcing him to keep his head tilted up. "You've let me touch you. You've let me kiss you. And every time you've told yourself it was just survival. But I wonder…" Her smile turned cruel. "…what would happen if I touched you now, knowing you couldn't stop me?"
Dominic's throat tightened. This wasn't the first time she'd toyed with him, but something about tonight felt different—more dangerous. She wasn't just asserting power. She was testing something.
"You want me to fight you," he said, his voice low.
"I want you to admit yourself," she corrected.
Her free hand trailed down his chest, over the lines of muscle, until it stopped just above the waistband of his trousers. The heat from her skin burned through the thin fabric of his shirt, and his breath caught before he could stop it. That single sound made her eyes glitter with triumph.
"There it is," she whispered. "That little betrayal."
Her thumb brushed in a slow, deliberate circle, just enough pressure to make his body react against his will. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, but it didn't help. His body was already leaning into her touch, craving more.
She chuckled darkly. "You see? You don't need permission to betray yourself. Your body does it for you."
Dominic's hands flexed uselessly against the invisible restraints. "You're—"
"Cruel?" she offered, tilting her head. "Yes. But only because you need me to be."
She withdrew her hand suddenly, and the absence of her touch hit harder than the touch itself. Before he could process the relief—or the ache—she straddled his lap, one knee pressing between his legs in a position that made his pulse spike. The blade was still in her hand, and she rested the flat of it against his throat.
"You think you can still lie to me like this?" she asked.
His breath came faster. He tried to keep his voice steady. "I can survive you."
Her lips curved. "Oh, you'll survive me. But you'll never escape me."
Then she leaned forward, her mouth brushing his ear, her voice a low murmur that sent a shiver straight through him. "Tell me who you belong to."
He stayed silent.
Her hips shifted, pressing into him just enough to draw an involuntary reaction from his body, and she caught it instantly.
"You think silence will save you," she murmured, dragging the tip of the blade down the side of his neck, slow enough that he could feel every cold inch of it. "But your body speaks louder than your tongue ever could."
Dominic shut his eyes, but that only made her scent stronger, her heat more consuming. She didn't give him a chance to retreat—her mouth found the corner of his jaw, trailing a slow, deliberate kiss toward his ear.
"Tell me," she breathed. "Or I'll make you."
His control broke with a harsh exhale. "You."
She smiled against his skin, and it wasn't the smile of someone who had simply won—it was the smile of someone who had always known she would.
"Good boy."
The invisible bonds around his wrists loosened, but she didn't move away. She stayed there, straddling him, her eyes locked on his.
"Remember this moment," she said. "The first time you told the truth to me with your whole body."
And deep down, Dominic knew—he would remember. Because no matter how hard he fought, no matter what came next, a part of him had already crossed the line tonight.
A part of him already belonged to her.