He chuckles against my inner thigh, biting down hard enough to leave marks. “Beg me.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s not begging.” He slides his fingers back inside me, pumping slowly, too slowly. “Come on, Little Sinner. Let me hear how badly you want it.”
I clench around his fingers, trying to get more friction, but he keeps the pace torturously slow. “Please,” I finally whisper, hating myself a little.
“Louder,” he demands, twisting his fingers inside me.
“Please!” I cry out, beyond caring about my pride now. “Please make me come. I need it. I need you to make me come.”
That seems to satisfy him as his tongue works me over as two digits pump in and out of me almost at a brutal pace. The pleasure is almost painful, building and building until I’m right at the edge. I swear if he doesn’t let me jump off this cliff finally I’m going to cut his dick off in his sleep.
This time when I hit the edge, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he doubles down, sucking harder.
The orgasm crashes through me like a fucking tidal wave, my back arching as I scream his name. My thighs clamp around his head, but he doesn’t stop—he keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing out every last tremor as I shake apart.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” I babble, my body convulsing as he drinks me down like I’m the last water in a desert. My legs tremble uncontrollably, but he holds me firmly in place, not letting me escape the overwhelming pleasure.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore, when I’m about to beg him to stop, he moves lower. His tongue slides down, circling my entrance where his fingers have been, then dipping even lower.
“What are you—“ My question cuts off in a gasp when I feel his tongue trace the tight ring of muscle between my ass cheeks. “Holy shit!”
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider as his tongue circles the forbidden area. The sensation is so foreign, so filthy, and so fucking good that I can’t even process it properly. I feel his moan vibrate against my sensitive flesh as he pushes his tongue against the tight pucker.
“You fucking freak,” I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair, not sure if I’m trying to pull him away or push him closer. “That’s so unholy!”
He pulls back then, sitting on his haunches between my spread legs. His chin glistens with my wetness, his hair a mess from my fingers. He looks absolutely wrecked and so fucking hot it makes my insides clench. Like girl, control yourself.
“Just call me your unholy sinner, baby,” he says with that goddamn smirk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I’m still trying to catch my breath, my body boneless in the dining room chair. “You’re disgusting,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it.
“And you fucking loved it,” he counters, rising to his feet. The massive bulge in his pants is impossible to miss, straining against the expensive fabric. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
“Where did you even learn to do that?”
He laughs, adjusting himself through his pants. “Let’s just say I know how good it feels.”
I close my legs, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. “Give me back my underwear.”
He holds up his wrist and brings it to his face and inhales deeply, “No.”
I quite literally can’t stand him. The only thing his mouth is good for is orgasms.
Chapter 23
Lucien
The Black Crown summons arrives like a death sentence—black envelope, gold wax seal, delivered by hand. I knew before I even broke the seal who was behind it.
The council chamber feels like a fucking tomb as I stride in, each footstep echoing against marble floors that have witnessed more than a century of Black Crown power plays. I’m fifteen minutes early because punctuality is just another form of dominance—arrive before your enemies can prepare.
My custom Tom Ford suit is a statement in itself: black on black with subtle emerald threading that catches the light when I move. The Black Crown crest sits proudly on my breast pocket, my family signet ring gleaming on my right hand. I’m dressed like the heir I am, not the accused they want me to be.
I can smell my father’s bullshit before I even see him. Vincent sits at the far end of the mahogany table, his face an emotionless mask that doesn’t quite hide the satisfaction in his eyes. The other twelve council members are already seated, their expressions ranging from distaste to morbid curiosity. Fucking vultures, all of them.
“Lucien,” LaFontaine rises, his voice carrying a particular tone reserved for disappointments. “Thank you for joining us promptly.”
