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For once, the sounds filling the estate aren’t harrowing.

They’re lively and boisterous.

“Please,” she begs, and my grin against her sex only grows as a rush of fluid drips down my fingers that press inside of her at her behest.

“Oh, God,” she breathes. “Yes!”

Her hands slide into my hair, giving me pause.

There are scars everywhere, and I know she can feel them.

She can feel the ugliness of what this place did to me.

She doesn’t seem put off.

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop, Lucien.”

Her saying my name reminds me that Sera’s different, and I’m brought back to reality.

My tongue and fingers work in symphony together to make her scream, to give her release.

Her sense of awkwardness melts away, and her hips undulate, driving her pussy against my tongue.

I curl my fingers, trying to keep my tongue aligned with her clit in all her grinding, and the sting in my hair reminds me how desperate she is for me to finish this.

She knows who she’s with and wants it.

“Going to come. Oh, God, I’m going to come,” she begs breathlessly, helplessly.

When she shatters, I swear I hear the walls of the estate house with her, some of the pressure in the air dissipating.

I lick her until she’s giggling, trying to escape because, with the disappearance of her orgasm, her center is sensitive.

I stand, looking her over.

Her eyes are still closed, and for once, I loathe it.

I want to see how blown her pupils are. See her looking back at me.

The idea is nonsense.

I lean into her, breathing her sweet breath.

“That was… I don’t think there are words,” she whispers, tilting so her lips brush over mine. “Scarred, even here.” Tonguing my lower lip, she runs it over a deep, raised scar that splits the soft skin.

“Mangled is the word I’d use.”

“Beautiful is the word I’d use.”

“You haven’t seen me.”

“I don’t have to.”

My eyes shut, my brain forgetting this is dangerous as I’m lured into Seraphine’s web.

Of calamity and chaos.

I mean to tell her to leave. I mean to do a lot of things, but I don’t.