10. Lily
— ? —
Lily
Victoria has us cornered.
The security guards block our exit, two men in dark suits who look like they bench press small cars for fun. Victoria’s phone is probably recording everything. We’ve underestimated her, both of us have. She’s been playing this game longer than either of us has been alive.
But when I look at Victoria’s eyes, I see something I didn’t expect.
Fear.
“What did you tell your security?” I keep my voice calm, conversational. “That you found intruders? Or that your stepson is standing here?”
Victoria’s jaw tightens.
“I read faster than you think.” I hold up the envelope - still sealed, his mother’s handwriting visible in the harsh overhead light. “I know what’s in here. Margot’s death. The abuse. The cover-up. How you tormented her for years until she couldn’t take it anymore.”
“You know nothing-”
“You call off your security and give us ten minutes to leave, or I open this envelope right now and read it out loud. Then I release it to every outlet that covered Lily’s press conference.
” I smile, and it’s not a nice smile. “Let’s see how your carefully curated reputation holds up when people learn what you did to Margot Burton. ”
The silence stretches like a wire about to snap.
I can feel Lucas trembling beside me - not with fear, but with decades of suppressed rage finally threatening to break free. His mother’s final words are pressed against his heart.
Victoria’s face cycles through fury, calculation, fear.
“This isn’t over,” she says finally.
“No. But tonight, it is.”
She steps aside. The security guards part.
We walk out the front door.
***
Lucas drives us to a hotel outside the city - somewhere anonymous, somewhere safe. By the time we check in, the adrenaline is fading and the shaking is starting.
One room. One bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I sink onto the mattress, my muscles suddenly refusing to hold me upright. “We’re adults.”
But we both know that’s not the issue.
We’ve done this once already, in his apartment with the city outside the windows, and somehow that makes the wanting worse, not better.
Now I know exactly what I’m missing when he’s across a room instead of against me. In the way my skin heats when he gets too close. In the way every accidental touch sends electricity crackling through my nerve endings.
It starts when I reach for the minibar and he reaches at the same time.
Our hands brush. I turn. He’s right there.
“We should talk about this,” he says.
“We really should.”
“About how this is complicated-”
“I don’t care about complicated.” The words burst out of me. “I spent three years being good. Being appropriate and being manageable.” The word tastes like poison. “I’m done being managed. I want something real. I want something that’s mine.”
His breath catches.
“I’m not asking this time,” I say. “I spent three years asking permission to want things. Not anymore.”
“You don’t have to ask, I want this.” His voice is rough, raw. “I’ve wanted this since the first moment I saw you smile. But-”
“No buts.” I step closer. “I want you. I want you to want me. I want to feel alive for the first time in three years.”
His control snaps.
***
He walks me backward toward the bed, his grip firm on my waist, guiding me with a purpose that feels like he’s been planning this in his head for years. Maybe he has.
I pull at his shirt, my fingers clumsy and shaking with want. He doesn’t let me struggle; he reaches down, yanking the fabric over his head in one fluid motion. As the shirt hits the floor, the ink on his ribs catches the light.
The ink on his ribs - my initials, the ones that stopped my heart the first time I found them - catches the light, and I press my mouth to them like I’m allowed to now. Because I am.
His mouth crashes into mine, and the questions vanish. The kiss is nothing like what I experienced with Edward - those perfunctory touches, those dutiful pecks that felt like checkboxes on a list.
This is consuming. Devouring. Lucas tastes like hunger, like he’s been starving for me and has finally been allowed to feast.
He pushes me back, my shoulders hitting the mattress with a soft thud. He looms over me, his eyes dark and predatory, yet his touch remains impossibly tender. He doesn’t rush. He slides down my body, his weight pressing me into the sheets.
“Can I kiss you here?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the skin of my knees.
“Yes,” I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He presses a slow, wet kiss to my kneecap, then moves upward. His mouth finds the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his tongue tracing a searing line that makes my hips arch instinctively. He moves higher, his breath hot against the silk of my panties.
He doesn’t use his hands. He leans in, his teeth catching the waistband of my underwear, tugging them slowly, inch by inch, down my legs until I’m completely bare beneath him.
“You smell so sweet,” he groans, his voice a low vibration against my skin. “So fucking sweet.”
He doesn’t dive in immediately. He teases me, his lips grazing my clit, breathing against the wetness without quite touching it. I whimper, my thighs trembling. Then, he sinks his tongue into me. He licks slowly at first, long, sweeping strokes that build a fire in my gut.
He reaches up, his large hands gripping my ass cheeks, pulling them wide to expose every inch of me.
He eats me thoroughly, his tongue flicking rapidly against my nub while he sucks the sensitive folds of my pussy.
I’m sobbing now, my head tossing back against the pillows.
He slides a single finger deep inside me, stretching me, while his thumb continues to grind against my clit.
“Please,” I moan, my voice breaking. “I want to taste you. Please, Lucas.”
He pulls back, a smirk playing on his lips. He reaches up, his fingers winding gently but firmly into my hair, tilting my head back. He leans down and kisses me deeply, and as our tongues clash, I taste myself on him - the salty, musk scent of my own arousal.
I slide down his body, my lips grazing his stomach, my tongue tracing the hard ridges of his abs. I reach for him, my hand wrapping around his thick, pulsing cock. It’s hot and heavy in my grip. I take him into my mouth, my lips sealing tight around the head.
I suck him deep, swirling my tongue around the rim before sliding my throat down his length. He lets out a guttural moan, his hips twitching.
“Fuck, you’re so good at that,” he rasps, his voice strained. “Take it all, baby. Just like that.”
I pick up the pace, using my hand to stroke the base while my mouth works the top, listening to his breath hitch and his moans grow louder until he can’t take it anymore. He pulls me up, his eyes desperate.
He moves over me, his chest heaving. When he enters me, I gasp - not just from the sensation of him filling me completely, but from something deeper. Something that feels like coming home. He sinks into me slowly, his weight pinning me down, his eyes locked on mine.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do. His eyes are dark, devastated.
“You’re not his. You were never his. Say it.”
“I was never his,” I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Now prove it.”
He proves it. He drives into me with a relentless, rhythmic force, each thrust hitting my depths and sending sparks behind my eyelids. He is dominant, controlling the pace, but every time I gasp, he kisses my forehead or whispers praise into my ear, telling me how perfect I feel around him.
I can’t get enough. I push him back, sliding upward until I’m sitting atop him. I sink down onto his cock, feeling the stretch and the heat. I begin to move, grinding my hips in a slow, agonizing circle, watching the way his expression fractures as I ride him.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips to drive me down harder.
I accelerate, my breasts bouncing, my breath coming in short, jagged sobs.
The tension builds, a coil tightening in my lower belly until it finally snaps.
I shatter in his arms, my internal muscles clamping tight around him, triggering his own release.
He lets out a loud, raw shout, his body stiffening as he pumps his warm cum deep inside me.
I collapse against his chest, listening to the frantic beat of his heart, forgetting every cold touch and lonely night. I am finally where I belong.
***
Afterward, tangled together in the hotel sheets.
I trace the tattoo on his ribs. My initials. Stylized. Hidden. “You never told me when you got this.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “The night Edward announced your engagement.”
My breath catches.
“You’ve been carrying me for years.”
“I couldn’t carry you any other way.” His arms tighten around me. “I told myself I was being noble. Staying away. Letting you live your life. But really I was just a coward.”
“You’re here now.”
“I should have been here sooner.”
“You’re here now,” I repeat, and kiss him until he stops arguing.
His phone lights up on the nightstand.
A text from Elena: I know where you are. I know what you just did. And by morning, so will everyone else. You wanted a scandal? I’ll give you one.