✨️ His ✨️ Book 3

The metal bites into my wrists, tight enough to make my fingers tingle.

I shift slightly, but the movement only makes the handcuffs dig deeper, pinching against my skin.

My breathing is steady, measured, but the gag in my mouth makes it harder, forcing me to focus on each slow inhale, each quiet exhale against the fabric.

Darkness presses in from all sides. The air is thick, heavy with the familiar scent of metal and gasoline.

Here I am again. The trunk.

I should be afraid. I should be panicking. But instead, heat curls in my stomach, low and aching, twisting tighter with each passing mile.

And then... the car slows he engine cuts off.

A breath catches in my throat. My pulse ticks faster as I brace for what’s coming next.

The lock clicks.

The trunk pops open with a dull thud, flooding my vision with blinding sunlight. I flinch, my lashes fluttering against the sudden brightness as I instinctively try to turn my head—

And then, he’s there.

Framed by the golden light, Tyler leans lazily against the edge of the trunk, forearms resting against the metal as he peers down at me.

His tattoos shift with the movement, dark ink stretched over strong muscle, patterns of shadow and art woven into his skin.

A slow, devastatingly smug smirk curves his lips.

My heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, drinking me in. The way my wrists strain against the cuffs. The uneven rise and fall of my chest. The helpless parting of my lips around the gag.

I don’t miss the flicker of something dark in his expression. Something possessive. Something that makes the warmth in my stomach twist into something deeper, something needier.

He likes this.

He likes the way I look, helpless but not afraid. Bound and waiting.

Entirely his.

The air between us stretches, thick with heat and unspoken tension, until finally, he reaches forward.

His fingers find my jaw, tilting my chin up. His touch is firm but teasing, rough fingertips skimming over my skin, savoring the way I feel beneath his inked hands.

A shiver rolls through me.

Then, slowly, he slips the gag from my mouth, dragging it down with lazy precision.

I inhale sharply, my breath catching as my lips part—

But before I can speak, his thumb brushes across my lower lip, silencing me.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice low, dark, thrillingly amused.

His breath is warm when it ghosts over my skin, so close, but not close enough.

“Did you miss me?”

The words send a delicious shiver down my spine. I swallow, my pulse throbbing against the handcuffs.

Yes. Of course I did.

I nod, but I don’t get the chance to say it.

Because he’s already shifting, reaching into his back pocket, the sharp glint of a key catching the light.

The cuffs fall away with a soft click, and his hands are on me instantly.

A soft gasp escapes me as he pulls me up and out of the trunk with ease. My legs barely have the chance to adjust before his grip tightens, keeping me flush against him, exactly where he wants me.

I wrap my legs around his waist, and his warmth sinks into me instantly.

The scent of cologne and smoke, of worn fabric and something undeniably him fills my senses, and I inhale into it, pressing my face into the crook of his neck. The steady thrum of his heartbeat vibrates against my cheek.

I’m grinning now, a laugh escaping me, unable to hide the rush of excitement racing through my veins.

Tyler pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his hands sliding down slowly, fingertips pressing into my hips like he likes the way I feel against him.

“Was all that really necessary?” I ask breathlessly, my lips parting slightly as I search his face.

Something flickers in his eyes.

Something dark. Amused. Hungry.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me.

The weight of his gaze drops to my mouth, lingering, unreadable, like he’s contemplating something deliciously wicked.

Then, slowly, his eyes find mine again.

And he smirks.

That confident, knowing smirk that makes my stomach flip, that makes my pulse pound just a little harder.

He leans in, his lips barely touching mine, a teasing promise, a calculated non-kiss that leaves me aching for something more.

His breath fans warm against my ear, his voice dipping lower, richer, devastatingly smooth.

“Oh, absolutely.”

A shiver rolls through me.

Before I can process it, before I can decide if I want to argue or beg him to do it again, his fingers brush my jaw, tipping my chin up, his touch featherlight.

“Now,” he murmurs, his lips so close I can feel the curve of his smile. “Close your eyes for me, baby.”

The teasing lilt in his tone sends a slow, sweet thrill through me.

I shudder slightly, adrenaline and anticipation twisting together as I obey without question, my lashes fluttering shut.

Darkness sharpens everything...the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine, the way his fingers flex slightly where they grip me, the slow shift of his muscles as he moves.

And oh, does he take his time.

His steps are unhurried, savoring every second, every shift of my body against his. The gravel crunches beneath his boots in a steady, hypnotic rhythm.

His grip never falters, his hold on me so effortless, so sure, like I belong there, wrapped around him.

And then, there’s the friction.

The slow, intoxicating drag of my body against his, the warmth of him through the layers of fabric between us. It’s subtle, but it’s enough.

Enough to send desire crashing through me, enough to make my breath catch, enough to make my pulse stutter and my fingers tighten where they cling to his shirt.

Then, he stops.

A single, sharp inhale is all I can manage before he lowers me, agonizingly slow, his hands firm, steady, guiding me down like he’s reluctant to let me go.

And when my feet finally touch solid ground, he still doesn’t step away.

Instead, his hands skim upward, a slow, sensual path over my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. My breath falters as his touch glides over my shoulders, up, up…

Until his fingers settle just below my jaw.

A slow, aching stroke of his thumbs against the delicate skin of my throat. Barely there. Maddeningly light.

I exhale shakily, my pulse hammering beneath his touch, a deep, spreading warmth blooming in my stomach.

His voice dips, rough and quiet.

“Ready?”

I nod, helpless, breathless.

“Mhm,” I whisper, the anticipation unbearable.

His breath teases my ear, sending a full-body shiver down my spine.

“Open your eyes.”

My lashes flutter, my vision adjusting in slow, blurry waves. The world sharpens one detail at a time, and just as the excitement reaches its peak, just as my heart soars—

It sinks.

The breath I hadn’t realized I was holding slips out, unsteady. The warmth of anticipation drains from my chest.

And as my vision finally focuses, my heart plummets.

The past week had felt like a fever dream.

From the moment I told Tyler I wasn’t going home, wasn’t returning to my family, he poured every ounce of focus into finding us a safe place to settle.

We drifted between cheap motel rooms, our world reduced to scattered belongings in Walmart bags and the sound of flickering neon lights humming outside dirty windows.

But I didn’t care. I existed blissfully in the space beside him, watching the way his brows furrowed in concentration as he combed through the housing ads in the newspaper each day.

Our rooms always had phones, but Tyler never used them. Instead, he made sure each motel had a payphone nearby, slipping out at odd hours, disappearing across the street to make his calls.

I could only assume he was talking to Vince.

He never looked stressed, exactly. If anything, there was a steadiness to him during these calls, a quiet determination that made it impossible not to watch.

The way he stood, weight shifted slightly. The way his fingers tapped lightly against his thigh like he was calculating something.

And the cigarette.

Always there, but never rushed. A slow inhale, a pause, an exhale through his nose, measured, thoughtful.

His eyes flicked toward the ground as smoke curled around him, his expression unreadable, like he was turning over possibilities, working through logistics.

A few times, he’d nod slightly, his lips parting like he was confirming details. I imagined him discussing numbers, locations, making arrangements I wasn’t privy to.

The way he occasionally rubbed the back of his neck told me there was definitely more to it than just casual conversation.

Once or twice, Id catch the faintest glimpse of something else… a smirk, barely there.

I never knew what was being said.

But whatever it was, it was coming together.

And every time he came back inside, his expression carefully neutral, exhaling one last slow breath before tossing the cigarette and meeting my gaze—

I wanted to ask.

But I didn’t.

Because part of me liked not knowing.

Now, here I stand, my heart lodged in my throat, staring across a stretch of wild grass at what I think is supposed to be a house.

It’s... standing. Mostly. The wood, once a rich brown, has faded to a dull, sun-bleached gray, warped and uneven from years of neglect.

The roof is intact but rusted in places, a few loose panels groaning with every lazy gust of wind. The front door tilts slightly off-center, hanging on by a single, stubborn hinge.

It’s not completely falling apart. But it’s close.

A soft breeze rolls through the overgrown grass, kicking up dust, and I swear the whole thing sways.

My stomach knots.

“Oh…” I breathe, before I can stop myself. The regret is instant.

Behind me, Tyler tenses. His fingers flex slightly against my shoulders, his warmth pressing into me.

“Just oh?”

His voice is unreadable. Calm. Careful. But there’s something beneath it, something sharper...a quiet, creeping edge that sends a flicker of unease crawling up my spine.

I scramble, shaking my head, forcing a smile. “I mean—it’s… great.” The words feel unnatural and heavy.

For a second, he says nothing. The silence stretches. Thickens.

And then, his hands slip from my shoulders.

Before I can react, he steps in front of me. The shift in his energy is subtle, but immediate.

His jaw ticks, eyes dark as he studies me. Not angry. Just… watching. Calculating.

“Great?” he repeats, voice smooth.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Yeah. It...it has character.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but there’s no humor in it. Slowly, he exhales through his nose, his tongue running over his bottom lip as if weighing his options.

And then, he moves.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing along my jaw before gripping it, firm, but not rough, tilting my chin up just enough to trap me in his gaze.

The air shifts. The space between us shrinks.

I forget how to breathe.

For a beat, he says nothing. Just studies me, his thumb pressing lightly into the soft dip beneath my chin. His grip isn’t punishing, but it’s enough to make my stomach flip. Enough to make my knees feel a little unsteady.

His jaw tightens, his chest rising with a slow inhale before he finally speaks, voice low and controlled.

“You really think I’d bring you all the way out here for this piece of shit?”

My lips part, my breath catching in my throat.

His expression shifts then, something smug flickering behind his eyes.

And just like that, his grip loosens. His fingers trail down my throat, slipping lower until his hands settle against my waist.

“I’m fucking with you, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below my ear.

And then...he turns me.

I blink. My breath catches.

A soft gasp. A sharp, dizzying rush of relief.

Behind us, tucked against the trees like a secret, stands the kind of home I never dared to dream of.

The rich, honey-colored wood glows beneath the golden afternoon light, a striking contrast to the deep green of the towering pines behind it. It looks untouched, waiting just for us, like it’s always been meant to be ours.

A wide wraparound porch stretches along the front, its weathered rocking chairs inviting, like they already know we’ll sink into them on lazy mornings. A small porch swing sways gently in the breeze.

The windows are large, framed in deep black trim, catching the sunlight just enough to gleam. To the side, a stone chimney juts up, promising warmth, promising safety. A neatly stacked pile of firewood waits by the steps.

A gravel path winds toward the porch, lined with wildflowers that have reclaimed their space, stubborn and thriving. It’s small. But it’s perfect.

Standing here staring at it, something sharp and electric tugs at my chest.

A quiet realization.

A terrifying, intoxicating truth.

This isn’t just a house.

This is ours.

This is safety. This is permanence. This is the beginning of something thrillingly unknown, something reckless and raw and wildly, achingly right.

Tyler is watching me. I feel it, the weight of his gaze, the quiet satisfaction radiating from him as he takes in my reaction.

His heat presses into me, solid, steadying. His arms anchor around my shoulders, pulling me flush against him in a slow, tender squeeze, a silent promise.

“You like it?”

His voice is quiet, roughened at the edges, but there’s something else beneath it. Something heavier. Something that sends a flutter low in my stomach.

I exhale softly, the weight of the moment pressing into me, settling somewhere deep, somewhere permanent.

Before I can answer, before I can even process the words, his hands slide down, framing my waist.

And then, with a slow, steady pull, he turns me until I’m facing him.

His eyes roam my face, searching, waiting...drinking in every flicker of emotion.

Something tugs at the corner of his mouth, small but certain. Like he knew all along. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

I don’t speak. I don’t think I can.

And before I even have the chance to say anything at all, he kisses me.

A soft gasp slips from my lips as my eyes flutter shut, my body melting into him as his fingers thread through my hair, tilting my head up, deepening the kiss.

His lips are warm, sure, taking his time, savoring. Like he’s claiming something.

Like he’s claiming me.

A slow, intoxicating rush of adrenaline and desire flows through me, stealing the breath from my lungs as I kiss him back.

And then, just as I feel like I might fall completely, he pulls away, but not entirely.

His lips hover just over mine, his breath warm and teasing as his voice dips lower, a whisper against my skin.

“Welcome home, Lila.”