I run my hand over a silky black dress, imagining how it would cling to her curves. How easy it would be to push up over her hips when I bend her over.
This is getting pathetic. Breaking into her room, stealing her underwear, fantasizing about her clothes. I'm acting like some lovesick teenager instead of the man who's about to take over The Sinners.
But I can't help it. Three years without her, and now she's back within my reach. It's like a fucking addiction. One taste was never going to be enough.
I turn away from the closet and move toward her bed. The sheets are pulled tightly and everything perfectly in its place. So controlled, just like she always was on the surface. I remember how that control would shatter when I had my fingers inside her, when she'd bite down on her fist to keep from screaming.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, I run my hand over the comforter. I wonder if my hand is tracing the same path as hers, each thread has been touched by the both of us.
A quick glance at my watch tells me her Advanced Ethics class ended five minutes ago. She should be heading back now.
I lean back on her bed, making myself comfortable. The mattress barely gives under my weight. I cross my ankles, fold my hands behind my head, and wait. This moment has been years in the making. I want to savor every second of it.
A key slides into the lock. The handle turns and then the door is swinging open.
She walks in, her back to me as she closes the door behind her.
“You really should pay more attention to your surroundings, Little Sinner.”
She whirls around, a gasp caught in her throat. Her books tumble from her arms, hitting the floor with a series of thuds that echo in the sudden silence.
“Lucien,” she whispers, and hearing my name on her lips again is like a fucking shot of heroin straight to my veins.
“In the flesh.” I don't move from my position on her bed, letting her take in the sight of me sprawled across her space, claiming it like I've claimed everything else in life.
Her shock quickly morphs into anger, those hazel eyes darkening to the color of a forest before a storm. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
Smirk, I twirl my key around my finger. “I have my ways.”
“Get out.” Her voice is steel, but I can hear the slight tremor beneath it.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” I sit up slowly, never taking my eyes off her. She's still in her uniform—white button-up shirt tucked into a black pleated skirt that hits mid-thigh, exposing those legs I used to mark with my fingertips. Her red hair is pulled back in a tight braided ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
“Get out,” she repeats, her voice stronger this time. She bends to gather her fallen books, keeping her eyes on me like I'm a predator that might pounce. She's not wrong.
“Not even a hello? After all this time?” I click my tongue in disapproval. “Your manners have gone to shit, Seraphina.”
She straightens up, clutching her books to her chest like a shield. Then she fucking growls at me. An actual growl, low in her throat, lips pulled back to show her teeth.
I almost laugh. She looks like an angry kitten trying to intimidate a wolf. It's so fucking cute I almost smile, which would ruin the whole vibe. The sound goes straight to my cock, though, reminding me of other times she made that noise. Usually when my hand was between her legs.
“I don't owe you shit, Lucien,” she spits, tossing her books onto her desk with enough force to make her lamp wobble. “Especially not after you broke into my fucking room like some psycho stalker. What's next? Going through my underwear drawer?”
If she only knew. The thong in my pocket feels like it's burning a hole through the fabric.
“Such a mouth on you,” I say, standing up to my full height, watching as she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. I tower over her, using every inch of my six-foot-five frame to remind her how easily I could overpower her. “You're like a feral little feline, all hiss and claws.”
Her cheeks flush with anger. “Fuck you.”
“But I know exactly how to tame cats, Seraphina. How to make them arch their backs and beg for more. How to make them purr.”
“Don't,” she whispers, but she doesn't step back.
My cock throbs painfully against my zipper. I want to grab her, throw her on that pristine bed, and remind her body whothe fuck it belongs to. I want to rip those prim clothes off and mark every inch of her skin until there's no doubt who owns her.
But I can't. The thought of my father and her mother makes bile rise in my throat even as my dick stays hard as fucking steel.
“What's wrong, Little Sinner? Afraid you'll like it too much?” I trace one finger along her jawline, not quite touching her skin but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off her.
