Chapter 18 Caught Red-Handed

Chapter 18 Caught Red-Handed
REID

For the rest of the school day, Lyra is nowhere in sight. She doesn’t meet me after classes, or even appear at the gate so I’d drive her home. 

I stand there like an idiot waiting for her, only to realize Lord Magnus’ chauffeur probably picked her up.

Or Dean.

My jaw tightens at that thought. No. Not Dean.

When I get to Lord Magnus’ residence, I fight the urge to go to her room and check on her. In my room, I keep getting up, taking a step toward the door, then stopping myself like a fool.

I shouldn’t interfere, or care. 

But annoyingly, I do.

I pull out my sketchbook to distract myself. My mind drags me straight back to the hallway. How Lyra had been cornered, humiliated, accused of something she didn’t do. And I stood there. I let it happen. I did nothing.

I grit my teeth and curse myself silently. Why did I hesitate just because the aggressor was a girl? I should’ve confronted Roxanna. I should’ve grabbed her throat and forced the truth out of her.

I wonder what Lord Magnus told his daughters when he summoned them to his office. I wonder for the hundredth damn time, if Lyra is okay.

Eventually I give up trying to sketch. The lines blur. My mind won’t shut the hell up.

“Fuck it,” I mutter. I hate that she has settled into my thoughts so comfortably. If checking on her is the only way to get her out of my head, then fine.

I get up, leave my room, and head down the hall to hers. I pause at her door, knock once. There’s no reply. Then I notice it’s unlocked.

Would stepping inside count as trespassing?

I breathe out, give in, and push the door open.

She’s not in the room. But the sound of running water from the bathroom tells me she’s showering.

My eyes travel over the soft pink walls. There’s a study desk beside her bed with an open laptop. She must have been working on an assignment. 

Books fill the shelf near her dresser, and beside them, another shelf lined with perfectly arranged awards.

I step closer to look, and my arm brushes the open laptop. It tips dangerously, but I move fast, dropping to a crouch and catching it before it hits the floor.

“Shit,” I breathe out, placing the laptop back on the table as gently as a newborn. I glance toward the bathroom, my heart pounding like I’ve been caught stealing.

What the hell am I even doing here? I should walk out right now.

I take one step back, but then my eyes land on the screen again.

Curiosity grabs me by the throat.

That is not an essay.

I lean in, frowning, and skim the first lines.

“He kisses me with reverence, fingering me slowly while I moan and cry from the sensation…”

My brows shoot up.

What the actual hell?

My eyes drop to the next paragraph.

“I suck his penis non-stop like it’s the only thing that matters. Unable to take it anymore, the wolf in him growls in hunger and he lays me on the bed, guiding his huge manhood into my entrance…”

A slow, stunned grin spreads across my face.

This isn’t homework. This is a damn erotic blog.

And suddenly, the memory hits me—Lyra that night in the kitchen, flushed and needy, touching herself while typing into her laptop.

So that was what she’d been doing? Writing filth? Scribbling fantasies with that innocent face and those wide doe-eyes?

By the gods.

She’s even more interesting than I thought.

I’m still staring at the screen, still processing how sweet little Lyra hides this kind of heat inside her mind, when the bathroom door clicks open. 

Soft humming spills out, along with steam.

I turn my head in time to see Lyra stepping into the room, towel wrapped around her, drying the ends of her wet hair. 

She lifts her gaze, and freezes as those eyes meet mine. 

In her moment of shock, the towel slips right through her fingers and drops to the floor.

And there she stands. Completely bare. Completely perfect.

Her breasts are full and round, nipples pink and prominent. Her waist is slender enough to grip with one hand. Her pussy is soft, clean and exposed.

My brain stops working at once and so does my lungs. My entire world narrows to the sight of her naked body.

I don’t look away. I can’t.

My cock punches against my jeans, painfully hard.

My wolf stirs instantly, slamming against the inside of my skull, growling and clawing, begging to claim, to bite, to knot.

Lyra gasps sharply, snapping out of her shock. She dives for the towel and wraps it around herself in a frantic blur. Her chest rises and falls like she can’t catch her breath. 

Her shock melts into anger and accusation.

“What are you doing in my room, pervert—”

Her voice cuts off the exact second she sees where I’m standing.

Where my eyes just came from.

The laptop.

Her face drains of color, then floods red. Her eyes widen in absolute horror as realization slams into her.

Slowly, she looks back at me.

I’m already smirking, unable to help it.

“So…” I drag out the word, stepping back from the desk, folding my arms. “This is what you’ve been up to, sweet, innocent Lyra?”