Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
Lillien is utterly wrecked.
Her body trembles, limp and glowing with overstimulation, cradled in Bastion’s lap like a prize the gods might kill to possess.
His arms wrap around her with surprising tenderness, anchoring her to the now.
Blood drips slowly from the fresh mark etched above her heart—a crimson seal where his teeth claimed her, branding her as his.
As theirs. As ours. The scent of her power hangs heavy in the air, heady and decadent, spiced with lust and blood and smoke.
She should be spent. Broken open. Hollowed out.
But she isn’t.
Even like this—used, filled, trembling—she still pulses with hunger. Still wants more.
Deimos crouches behind her, the planes of his body sharp with tension, his violet gaze lit with something feral.
He doesn’t rush. He trails his fingers down her spine like he’s tracing constellations into her flesh, memorizing her with every slow drag of his hands.
She arches under his touch, breath catching, hips shifting in offering.
He spreads her, slow and deliberate, his cock already slick from earlier.
"You think you can take more, Lustling?" His voice is low, rasping against her skin. “Even now?”
She doesn’t answer with words—only a breathless moan and a shiver as she presses her hips back, presenting herself like a creature born to be devoured.
He takes her in one rough thrust.
Her gasp splits the silence, sharp and raw. Her body tightens between them, the stretch brutal, relentless. Deimos groans, burying himself to the hilt as Bastion hisses through his teeth, her slick heat clenching tighter around him.
They find a rhythm—two predators feeding from the same kill, their movements mirrored in the savage poetry of desire. Her body rocks between them, a perfect vessel for their need. And she gives in to it. To them. Completely.
I watch from the shadows.
I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. But I can't look away.
She is transcendence and temptation wrapped in sin.
Her skin glows with power, her throat releasing those soft, choked sounds that have haunted my dreams. I ache to touch her.
To sink to my knees and beg for a place between them.
My cock throbs, rigid and aching, trapped in the prison of my pants, but I don’t move to ease it.
Because I don’t deserve her. Not after what I did. What I almost did.
The memory burns hot—Zepharion’s voice, her pain, my silence. I almost let her be taken. Almost lost her. I would’ve handed her over to a monster if not for the others. If not for her.
Even now, forgiveness from her feels like a gift I haven’t earned.
But then—she sees me.
Even amidst the frenzy of pleasure, her gaze lifts. Finds mine.
And just like that—I unravel.
Her hand reaches out, trembling. Blood on her thighs. Sweat on her skin. Her lips parted in a gasp. She is divine and unholy and utterly real.
“Cassiel,” she says, voice wrecked and raw. “Come here.”
My heart stutters.
Deimos glances over her shoulder, amusement flickering behind his smug smirk. Bastion doesn’t react, too lost in the moment to care. But she’s watching me. Only me.
“I don’t want to force you,” she whispers. “But I will if I have to.”
And fuck, part of me wants her to.
Wants to be commanded. Owned. Ruined by her will. But more than that, I want to choose this. I want to give myself freely.
I step forward slowly, caught in the gravity of her pull.
Her lips curve in satisfaction. Fingers flex. She grips me through my pants—tight and certain—and I choke on a groan. She frees me with a few sharp movements, then drags me closer until I’m standing right beside Bastion, my cock now in her hand, aching and exposed.
She leans forward. Her lips part. And then she devours me.
The first flick of her tongue nearly steals my breath. The wet heat of her mouth wraps around me, and I swear the world tilts. My fingers find her hair, trembling as they sink into the tangled silk. But I don’t pull. I don’t fuck her mouth. I just feel.
Because gods, she’s holy like this.
Not gentle. Not soft. But sacred in her ruin.
Her horns curl back from her forehead, black and gleaming.
Her eyes burn—gold and violet and endless.
Her claws rest against Bastion’s chest as her body rides the rhythm of both him and Deimos.
She is split wide. Full. Worshipped. Her power coils tighter, pulling at all of us, wrapping around our spines like smoke.
Deimos thrusts harder. Bastion moans her name.
She moans around me, and the vibration wracks through me like lightning.
My wings flare behind me, reacting instinctively. Pleasure spirals up from the base of my spine, white-hot and unstoppable. I try to hold back—try to savor—but I can’t. Not like this. Not with her.
I come with a shudder, spilling my cum into her mouth as I groan her name, broken and reverent. She drinks it down like the sacrament it is.
Moments later, Deimos and Bastion reach their peaks, groaning into her skin, their movements rough and frantic. She takes them both. All of us.
And in that moment, she feeds. Not just on our bodies—but our loyalty, our devotion, our damnation.
She owns us.
And I know, even as I pant through the aftershocks, even as my soul trembles from the inside out—
I am hers now. In every broken piece of what’s left of me.