Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
He flipped over without warning and pinned me beneath him, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my wrist next to my head.
“Don’t ever call yourself that again,” he said, his eyes burning into mine.
“You were taken advantage of. You were coerced. That violation belongs to the men who touched you, not to you. You are not disgusting. You are not broken. You’re perfect.
So don’t test me like that, Scarlett. I don’t correct gently. ”
His thumb brushed under my eye, catching the tear before it fell.
“You survived something meant to destroy your will—to keep you from fighting the monsters involved in whatever the hell is going on between that monastery and people like Ciro Delgado and Andrew fucking Hayes,” he continued, his voice filled with righteous fury.
“That doesn’t make you ruined. It makes you strong.
And no one—no one—gets to reduce you to what was done to you. Not even you.”
My throat tightened.
He lowered his mouth to my cheek and pressed a soft kiss there.
“I want to take this slow,” he murmured against my skin.
Another kiss to my temple.
“I want to earn your trust.”
His lips brushed my forehead.
“Don’t mistake that for a lack of desire.”
He placed a kiss on the tip of my nose.
“Because I want every inch of you.”
His mouth hovered just above mine.
“I want to replace every memory of another man’s hands with ones you’ll savor…crave.”
His lips brushed the corner of my mouth.
“I want to show you what it means to be properly worshiped.”
My breath came shallow.
“This isn’t about holding back,” he said quietly. “It’s about us starting from the beginning and learning to give and take the pleasure we’re made for. It’s about building something that burns hot without burning you.”
Tears pooled at my lashes.
“But what I need,” I whispered, my hands gripping his shirt, “is to be wanted like every other woman. Not because there was a transaction. Not because you feel sorry for me. Because you picked me. I need you to want me. To need me like I’m the air you breathe.”
He paused the gentle pecks he’d been placing along my face and searched my eyes.
His chest rumbled against mine with a low growl.
His fingers twisted in my hair.
Then his mouth crashed onto mine.
The first taste of him was mint from his toothpaste, but nothing about the kiss was cool. His lips were hot, urgent, and the softness vanished in seconds. His teeth caught my bottom lip, biting hard enough to sting, sending heat rushing between my legs.
He kissed one corner of my mouth, then the other, before diving back in, his tongue sweeping into mine as our mouths tangled in an erotic dance, something desperate and consuming.
I got lost in it.
The room disappeared.
There was nothing but his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
I’d never been kissed like this.
My fingers latched onto the back of his shirt, holding on as my control dissolved. Every hesitation evaporated beneath the intensity of him.
He was the first man I’d ever let inside, soul deep.
And I wanted to give all of myself to him.
His kisses shifted—gentle, then brutal, then gentle again. The heat between my thighs turned into a throbbing pool of wetness. With no panties on, if he so much as touched me there, he’d know exactly how badly I wanted him.
He pulled back suddenly, lifting onto one elbow, stealing the air from my lungs on a gasp.
I chased his mouth.
He smirked.
“That look of want, Scar,” he said, brushing his thumb over my swollen lip, “is undoing me.”
His mouth hovered over mine. “It’s time I—”
“Please,” I breathed. “Take what I’m freely offering. Be my first. The first man who wants me for no reason other than he desires me.”
Lucian rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, studying me.
I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek, brushing my thumb over the scar I’d left on his lip.
I was seconds from begging.
A deep, possessive rumble rolled out of him.
He gripped my waist and drew me closer, his thigh slipping between my legs and pressing against my center.
“Fucking hell,” he groaned. “No panties and absolutely soaking wet for me. My little bird, I think you’re ready for a test flight.”
That made me giggle. Before I could take another breath, his mouth was claiming mine again.
His hand slid from my waist, moving over my hipbone and down between my legs.
His fingers stroked over my slit, and I knew I was drenched by the way they dipped inside so easily before gliding back up to circle my clit.
The contact pushed me to the edge, and he swallowed my moans as his mouth worked harder against mine.
He sank two fingers inside of me as the heel of his palm pressed against my clit. His mouth pulled away as his fingers worked deeper, curling and grazing my inner wall until all thought dissolved.
I squeezed my eyes shut, white light flashing behind my lids.
“Open those bright green eyes of yours, Scar,” he demanded, his voice rough with restraint. “I want it to be my face you see when you come all over my fingers.”
My lashes fluttered, vision swimming as I forced them open.
His smile—soft, almost reverent—undid me.
Pleasure detonated through me in blinding waves, heat cresting and crashing until my body bowed helplessly beneath him.
My body wasn’t my own. This pleasure was so foreign—blinding, overwhelming, so shockingly good I couldn’t contain it. Words failed me, so I screamed his name instead.
Before the tremors even faded, he shifted, settling between my thighs. His mouth—those lips I could never get enough of—closed around my clit. No man I’d ever been with had cared enough to taste me. Lucian was the first to take me like this.
Before I could sink into that realization, he drove his fingers back into me and bit the sensitive bundle, sharp enough to make me gasp. I moaned and slapped the mattress, the sensation ricocheting through me.
Lucian chuckled against me, the vibration pushing me closer to the edge again.
My fingers tangled in his hair, gripping hard, needing something solid to hold on to while everything inside me unraveled.
His tongue flicked in a relentless rhythm with his fingers driving in and out of me.
“Oh, my God—yes. Yes!” I cried.
He pulled back just enough to murmur, “I’m not your God, Scar…but you are my holy grail. My chalice to drink from for the rest of my days.”
And with that, I shattered again.
I shook so hard I couldn’t breathe, gasping and whining from the glory of it all.
I hadn’t noticed he’d risen to his knees until my lungs finally dragged in air and my eyes fluttered open. His lips glistened, wet from my release. His gaze traveled slowly from my pussy to my eyes and back again.
“Mine,” he growled.
He didn’t look away from my pussy as he slowly undid the buttons of his shirt and shrugged it off. With an agility that belied his size, he unfastened his trousers and pushed them down, stripping off his boxer briefs in one smooth motion.
He moved closer between my thighs, and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly.
“Take your shirt off, Scar,” he said, his gaze still locked on me. “Let me see all of you.”
I sat up, slipped it over my head, tossed it to the floor, and lay back against the pillows.
His head tilted to the side, his brows drawing together slightly.
“May I?” he asked.
That simple act of asking—of not just taking—made me tremble.
I nodded. “Please. Please erase all the past.”
Lucian didn’t thrust into me. Instead, he positioned the tip of his cock at my entrance and slid it slowly up to my clit and back down, watching every flicker of my reaction.
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Are you sure, we—”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Please don’t stop.”
He reached down, took my hand, and guided my fingers to his shaft.
“Take your time, my little bird,” he said. “Watch me as I enter you. Guide my cock inside at your own pace.”
I pushed myself higher against the pillows so I could see, dragging in a ragged breath and blinking away the tears.
His cock pulsed under my fingers. He was big, but I wasn’t afraid of that. I was afraid I wouldn’t please him, as the ghosts of my past whispered in my ear.
But I wanted to show him I trusted him. I wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made me feel.
So I stroked him slowly, once… twice… then guided the head of his cock to my entrance. It slid inside without pain, and my walls opened for him, stretching to take him in.
Pressing my heels into the mattress, I lifted my hips, and he eased deeper. The stretch burned faintly, sharp but bearable.
I let my legs fall open and reached up, gripping his hips and drawing him down to me.
He dropped to his elbows and carefully slid all the way into me, pausing once he was fully seated, giving me time to adjust. My walls fluttered around him.
There was no pain, only fullness. A deep, anchoring sensation that made something inside me settle, as if a missing piece had finally clicked into place.
He brushed my hair from my face and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “That’s it. Such a good girl.” His lips trailed to the sensitive spot behind my ear. “Trusting me with the most sacred part of you.”
His hips began to rock, matching the pace of the kisses he pressed along my neck, my cheek, then back to my mouth. A low sound of approval vibrated against my lips. “Mmm.”
As his thrusts deepened, his kiss lost its restraint. I slipped my tongue into his mouth, teasing, tasting. He no longer tasted of mint—he tasted of me.
And that realization sent my pulse racing.
He pulled out further, then began pounding into me, finding the rhythm he needed.
On instinct, my hips lifted to meet him, chasing every thrust as they grew harder, faster.
He broke our kiss and pushed up onto his hands, bracing on either side of me. I gripped his forearms, holding on as I matched his rhythm, memorizing every line of his brutally handsome face.
“That’s it, Lucian—come inside me.”
A groan tore from his lungs, loud enough to echo off the walls.
His movements turned rough, almost frantic, as he thrust into me again and again. Heat flooded me as he spilled inside.
When it was over, he lowered himself slowly over my body and buried his face in my hair, breathing hard.
“You’re perfect, Scar,” he murmured. “The perfect fit for the piece I didn’t know I was missing.”
His hand tightened in my hair, lips brushing my temple as he slid out of me. Then he flipped us, dragging me with him, so that I ended up sprawled across his chest.
Nestled against him, my cheek resting over his heart, I understood that being held by a man who cared enough to make sure I was satisfied was something entirely new.
No wonder women actually liked sex, and I intended to savor every second of it.
I traced idle circles over the tattoo next to my cheek while his fingers stroked lazily along my back.
Curiosity flickered about what it said, but that question would have to wait because my eyelids were too heavy to keep open.
I was happy and sated in a way I had never experienced before—calm, grounded, safe. The care he’d taken with me had mended a piece of me, and gratitude settled warm in my chest.