Lyra's POV
His fingers didn’t move away. They curled around my thigh.
And neither of us said anything.
The silence was louder than anything either of us could have spoken.
And then his thumb stroked the inside of my thighs, slow, almost somnolent, but it ignited a fire in my chest. I knew that touch. Knew what it meant. Knew where it could lead.
And I didn't do anything to stop him.
I wanted it and more.
His fingers slipped free of my thighs, rode up, stroking along the length of my arm, brushing against my shoulder. Prickles radiated under his touch. I leaned my head, eyes meeting his in the gloom of the lantern.
His did not move. Neither mine did.
There was a hunger in his eyes, something caged and desperate. And inside me… there was something uncontrolled. Something giving way.
