Her eyes widen at the new angle, a strangled moan escaping her lips as I hit deeper than before. I hook her legs over my shoulders, giving me leverage to pound into her.
“I hate you,” she pants, her nails digging into my forearms, breaking skin. “I fucking hate you so much.”
“I know, baby,” I growl, leaning down to bite her neck hard enough to leave a mark. “I hate you too. Now be a good girl and come on my cock.”
I reach between us, finding her clit with my thumb. She arches off the bed when I touch her, a keening sound escaping her throat that makes my balls tighten. I’m getting close, but I refuse to come before she does. That would feel too much like losing.
“Come on,” I demand, rubbing tight circles over her sensitive bud while maintaining my punishing pace. “Let go, Seraphina. Let me feel you fall apart.”
“Fuck you,” she gasps, but her body betrays her, trembling on the edge. “I can’t?—“
“Yes, you can,” I growl, pressing harder on her clit. “And you will. Now.”
As if on command, her body convulses, inner walls clenching me so tighter I swear my vision goes white.
The sight of her—eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream, cheeks flushed with pleasure—pushes me over the edge. My rhythm falters as pressure builds at the base of my spine, coiling tight before snapping.
“Fuck,” I growl, thrusting deep one final time as I explode inside her, filling her.
I collapse forward, catching myself on my forearms to keep from crushing her completely.
For several moments, all I can hear is our ragged breathing as we both come down from the high. Her legs slide from my shoulders, falling limply to the mattress on either side of me. I’m still buried inside her, not quite ready to break the connection.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter against her neck, feeling her pulse hammering beneath my lips.
“Get off me,” she says without any real heat, her hands now resting on my back instead of clawing at it. “You’re heavy.”
I roll to the side, pulling her with me so we’re facing each other. She looks thoroughly fucked—hair a mess, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, my bite mark already darkening on her neck. She’s never looked more beautiful.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice softer than I intended. I reach out to brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
She blinks at me, seemingly surprised by the gentleness. “Yeah. I’m...I’m good.”
“I didn’t hurt you?” I run my thumb over her bottom lip, tracing where she bit it during her orgasm.
“Nothing I didn’t ask for,” she says with a small smile that makes something in my chest tighten.
I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Stay here tonight.”
It’s not a question, but I hold my breath waiting for her answer anyway.
She hesitates for a moment before nodding against my chest. “Okay.”
I stroke her hair, feeling her body relax against mine as her breathing evens out. This thing between us—it’s still complicated as fuck, still dangerous, still probably going to burn us both to the ground. But right now, with her warm and sated in my arms, I can’t bring myself to care about the consequences.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair, not sure if she’s still awake to hear it. “I’ll always have you.”
Chapter 26
Seraphina
Iwake up tangled in sheets that smell like sex and the sharpness of Lucien, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped over my waist and the heat of another body pressed against my back. When the hell did I get naked? My heart hammers against my ribs as memories from last night flood back—his hands gripping my hips, my nails breaking his skin, the way he filled me so completely I thought I might split apart.
Carefully, I shift to look at the man beside me. And holy fuck.
In all the years I’ve known Lucien Devereux, I’ve never really seen him like this—vulnerable, unguarded, asleep. It’s fucking surreal. Even unconscious, he looks like he was carved from marble by some horny Renaissance sculptor with a god complex. His thick, dark lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones; his full lips slightly parted, his usually perfectly styled hair falling across his forehead.
There’s something profoundly unsettling about seeing someone so dangerous look so peaceful. Like watching a lion nap after it’s torn apart its prey.
