His lips seal around my clit, and I detonate, my back arching off the bed while my thighs clamp around his head.
When I try to sit up and pull him away, he shakes his head.
“You’ll give me one more,” he growls as he drags his tongue over my sensitive flesh.
The words send a shiver straight through me. I tilt my head, mischief rising through the fog, as I meet his gaze. “If you want it so badly, then take it.”
I see the exact second something in him snaps. Something feral flashes in Lucian’s eyes before he buries his face between my thighs with renewed hunger, all restraint crumbling.
His fingers push inside me as his tongue works relentlessly at a pace that makes it hard not to cry out. He works me like he remembers every response I try and fail to hide, the way I unravel when he uses a come-hither motion and finds the spot that makes me see stars.
My grip in his hair tightens, my hips stutter, my breath fractures into broken sounds I don’t bother containing. He doesn’t slow, he keeps me right there, balanced on sensation and willpower until there’s nothing left but the way he’s pulling me apart piece by piece.
“Please, give me what I need. Come for me,” he practically growls against my skin. The sharp press of his teeth into my inner thigh sends a wild jolt through me, pain tipping instantly into pleasure until my body can’t separate them. My vision turns to static as the air is ripped from my lungs from the force of my orgasm.
“Good girl. This was supposed to be about you,” he says, voice rough, almost wrecked. “But I’m feeling greedy. I know I said one more, but two isn’t enough; I need more. Please tell me yes.”
One of his hands tightens. The other lingers—waiting.
My throat works. My body answers before my brain can catch up.
“Yes. Yes, please, yes.” I practically chant.
He rises in one smooth motion, and the change in energy is immediate.
Lucian doesn’t rush as he crowds my space. He braces one hand on the mattress as he leans over me, his body a solid, fully dressed contrast to my mostly bare skin.
I barely have time to breathe before his fingers find the hem of my shirt.
“Arms up,” he murmurs, and I obey without thinking. He peels the fabric away slowly, like this part matters just as much as everything that came before. My bra follows, unhooked with practiced ease, discarded without ceremony.
Lucian exhales when he looks at my bare skin.
“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes dragging over me spread out naked under him. “You’re so beautiful like this. For me.”
Lucian’s mouth descends on my breasts, teeth grazing one nipple before his tongue soothes the sting, before he makes his way back up my body.
“I swear I was gonna take it slow, gonna let you stay in charge,” he murmurs against my throat, the words pressed into my pulse as he trails slow, open-mouthed kisses over my body.
His gaze locks with mine, wild and desperate, his scarred fingers digging into my skin. He crashes his mouth to mine, swallowing the gasp that rips from my throat as his weight presses me into the mattress. His kiss is frantic with teeth and hunger, but when his tongue sweeps against mine, there’s that same reverence as before, like he can’t decide whether to devour me or fall at my feet.
“Finally,” he breathes, a low sound that lands between relief and hunger. He rises up and tugs the hem of his shirt up, catching the fabric between his teeth before unbuckling his belt and ripping it out of his pants in one smooth motion. He moves with quiet precision at his waistband, fingers working with slow, controlled intent, never breaking the hold of my gaze. The room narrows to the scrape of fabric, the soft hitch of breath, and the steady, dangerous calm of him watching me.
I’m still trembling when I feel his cock where I’ve been needing him most, my eyes lock on where we’re almost connected, my breath catching at the promise of it.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice strained as he moves with aching slowness.
My eyes fly up and lock with his as my body stretches around him, the fullness stealing the air from my lungs in a sharp gasp. “Please—”
His jaw tightens as he bottoms out, his forehead pressing to mine again, his breath ragged and unsteady, like he’s barely holding himself together.
“Forgive me or not, I’m not letting you go. Not ever again.”
Before I can answer, he moves.
The first thrust is deep, measured, but the way he is braced against the mattress gives him leverage, driving him into mewith a force that makes my back arch. His other leg presses into the bed, holding me exactly where he wants me.
Every thrust after that is a mix of precision and desperation—strong enough to make the bed creak, slow enough that I feel every inch of him. His mouth finds my neck, sucking bruises into my skin like he’s marking me on purpose.
