Lyra's POV
Thehotel room was a blur of shadows and expensive fabric, but I only had eyes for Jake. He locked the door behind us, the heavy click signaling the end of my life as a "good daughter." The professional mask he wore at the hospital was gone. In its place was a man who had been starving for five years, and I was the feast.
He didn't waste time with sweet words. He grabbed my waist and lifted me, my legs instinctively hooking around his powerful hips. He carried me to the bed, dropping me onto the silk coverlet. Before I could catch my breath, he was over me, his hands pinning my wrists above my head.
"I’ve spent five years imagining what you’d look like under me, Lyra," he rasped. His voice was a low grate of pure hunger. "Every check-up, every family dinner. It was torture."
