I carefully lift my head to look at him. In sleep, his face loses that sharp, calculating edge. His lips are slightly parted, dark lashes resting against his cheeks, hair falling across his forehead. He looks younger, almost vulnerable. Almost.
The bruise on his jaw is darkening where Richards got in a lucky punch before Lucien took control. His knuckles are scraped raw, dried blood still visible in the creases. He killed a man with these hands, and now they’re wrapped around me, one resting possessively on my hip, the other tangled in my hair.
And I’m just lying here trying to make sense of the fact that this man—this arrogant, controlling, dangerous man who’s made my life hell—came for me when no one else did. He abandoned his game, tracked me down in the middle of nowhere, and then washed my hair with hands that were covered in death an hour earlier.
Who the fuck does that?
I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me reflexively. Even in sleep, he’s possessive.
I stare at him a little longer, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. Something inside me needs to reclaim control after being so fucking helpless yesterday. I need to feel powerful again, to remind myself that I’m not just some victim. And maybe I need to feel something other than the lingering terror that’s still clawing at the back of my mind.
I wait until his breathing evens out completely before I move. Carefully, I untangle myself from his arms and sit up. For a moment, I just look at him—this dangerous, beautiful man who killed for me without hesitation.
Fuck it.
I swing my leg over his body, settling my weight on his thighs. His skin is hot against mine through the thin cotton of his boxers. I can feel him hardening beneath me already, his body responding to mine even in sleep.
With shaky fingers, I grab the hem of his t-shirt and pull it over my head in one fluid motion. The cool air hits my bare skin, making my nipples tighten. I’m completely naked now, exposed, but it feels like armor somehow. Like I’m taking back something.
I roll my hips experimentally, dragging my wetness along the growing bulge in his boxers. The friction feels so fucking good that I do it again, more deliberately this time. I need this. Need to feel him inside me, need to use his body to chase away the shadows in my head.
His breathing changes, quickens. I grind down harder, my hands braced on his chest for leverage. The muscles beneath my palms are taut, defined even in sleep.
Suddenly, his eyes snap open—those piercing green eyes instantly alert, instantly focused on me. His hands shoot to my hips, gripping them hard enough to bruise.
“What are you doing?” he growls, voice rough with sleep but eyes sharp and clear.
I look down at him, tossing my hair back over my shoulder. “I’m gonna ride you,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “You got a problem with that?”
His eyes darken as they sweep over my naked body. For a second, I think he might flip me over, take control like he always does. Instead, his hands loosen slightly on my hips, thumbs tracing small circles on my skin.
“No problem at all, Little Sinner,” he says, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. “Take what you need.”
I reach between us, pushing his boxers down just enough to free his cock. He’s already fully hard, the head glistening withpre-cum. I wrap my fingers around him, giving him a few slow strokes that make his jaw clench.
“Fuck,” he hisses when I position him at my entrance. “You’re already so wet.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, not wanting to analyze why. I sink down onto him slowly, inch by inch, feeling him stretch me open. The fullness is exactly what I need—something real and physical to anchor me to the present.
“God, you’re so fucking big,” I moan as I take him completely. I sit there for a moment, adjusting to his size, watching his face contort with pleasure.
“Move,” he commands, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough that I know I’ll have marks tomorrow.
I start to rock, finding my rhythm. Slow at first, then faster as the need builds inside me.
My hips slam down onto him, taking him as deep as possible with each thrust.
“That’s it,” he groans, his eyes locked on mine. “Use me, baby. Take what you need.”
I lean forward, changing the angle so his cock hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. My hands find his chest, nails digging into his skin as I ride him harder.
“You like that?” I pant, watching his face as I clench around him. “You like me using your cock like this?”
“Fuck yes,” he growls, thrusting up to meet me. “Any time and any way I get to sink into you is enjoyable.”
I don’t want his encouragement or his permission. I want to shut him up, to make him feel as out of control as I’ve been feeling. Without thinking, I lean forward and wrap my hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to feel his pulse hammering against my palm.
His eyes widen for a split second before a fucking maniacal grin spreads across his face. The expression should terrify me—it’s the same look he had right before he killed Father Richards—but instead, it sends a jolt of heat straight to my core.
