~Lyra~

He stepped closer, slow and dangerous, until my back hit the counter and his chest was pressed against mine, warm and hard and possessive.

One of his hands curled around my jaw, tilting my face up so I had to look at him. His other hand rested low on my hip, fingers digging in like he wanted to leave bruises there. Ownership marks.

His thumb traced my bottom lip slowly, and his voice dropped to that gravel-dark whisper that always made my toes curl and my thoughts ...