Chapter 22 Celeste
Celeste
“Use me,” he whispers.
My breath catches, my pulse stuttering as I get lost in his hungry gaze. This man, who has always been in control, is now offering himself without hesitation.
“For whatever you need,” he adds quietly. “However you want.”
Something in my chest loosens, something sharp and aching turning molten. I thread my fingers into his hair, slow at first, testing the weight of it, the way he leans into my touch like it’s exactly where he belongs.
His hands tighten under my thighs in quiet surrender as he moves them over his shoulders. I cross my ankles and use them and my hands in his hair to guide him where I need him most. I arch off the bed at the sudden warmth from his mouth across my center.
“That’s it,” he growls against my pussy, the vibrations from his voice cause my thighs to tremble.
Every reaction he gives me feels earned, like he’s grounding himself in the simple truth of serving me, of holding still while I take what my body asks for. My grip in his hair firms, my hips finding a rhythm that’s entirely mine, and he lets me take control without resistance.
I’m breathing hard as I use him exactly the way he offered, and I lose myself to the pleasure I’m taking from him. The world narrows to sensation and heat and the quiet devotion of the man beneath me, steady and relentless in his attention.
His lips seal around my clit, and I detonate, my back arching off the bed while my thighs clamp around his head.
When I try to sit up and pull him away, he shakes his head.
“You’ll give me one more,” he growls as he drags his tongue over my sensitive flesh.
The words send a shiver straight through me. I tilt my head, mischief rising through the fog, as I meet his gaze. “If you want it so badly, then take it.”
I see the exact second something in him snaps. Something feral flashes in Lucian’s eyes before he buries his face between my thighs with renewed hunger, all restraint crumbling.
His fingers push inside me as his tongue works relentlessly at a pace that makes it hard not to cry out. He works me like he remembers every response I try and fail to hide, the way I unravel when he uses a come-hither motion and finds the spot that makes me see stars.
My grip in his hair tightens, my hips stutter, my breath fractures into broken sounds I don’t bother containing. He doesn’t slow, he keeps me right there, balanced on sensation and willpower until there’s nothing left but the way he’s pulling me apart piece by piece.
“Please, give me what I need. Come for me,” he practically growls against my skin.
The sharp press of his teeth into my inner thigh sends a wild jolt through me, pain tipping instantly into pleasure until my body can’t separate them.
My vision turns to static as the air is ripped from my lungs from the force of my orgasm.
“Good girl. This was supposed to be about you,” he says, voice rough, almost wrecked. “But I’m feeling greedy. I know I said one more, but two isn’t enough; I need more. Please tell me yes.”
One of his hands tightens. The other lingers—waiting.
My throat works. My body answers before my brain can catch up.
“Yes. Yes, please, yes.” I practically chant.
He rises in one smooth motion, and the change in energy is immediate.
Lucian doesn’t rush as he crowds my space. He braces one hand on the mattress as he leans over me, his body a solid, fully dressed contrast to my mostly bare skin.
I barely have time to breathe before his fingers find the hem of my shirt.
“Arms up,” he murmurs, and I obey without thinking. He peels the fabric away slowly, like this part matters just as much as everything that came before. My bra follows, unhooked with practiced ease, discarded without ceremony.
Lucian exhales when he looks at my bare skin.
“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes dragging over me spread out naked under him. “You’re so beautiful like this. For me.”
Lucian’s mouth descends on my breasts, teeth grazing one nipple before his tongue soothes the sting, before he makes his way back up my body.
“I swear I was gonna take it slow, gonna let you stay in charge,” he murmurs against my throat, the words pressed into my pulse as he trails slow, open-mouthed kisses over my body.
His gaze locks with mine, wild and desperate, his scarred fingers digging into my skin.
He crashes his mouth to mine, swallowing the gasp that rips from my throat as his weight presses me into the mattress.
His kiss is frantic with teeth and hunger, but when his tongue sweeps against mine, there’s that same reverence as before, like he can’t decide whether to devour me or fall at my feet.
“Finally,” he breathes, a low sound that lands between relief and hunger.
He rises up and tugs the hem of his shirt up, catching the fabric between his teeth before unbuckling his belt and ripping it out of his pants in one smooth motion.
He moves with quiet precision at his waistband, fingers working with slow, controlled intent, never breaking the hold of my gaze.
The room narrows to the scrape of fabric, the soft hitch of breath, and the steady, dangerous calm of him watching me.
I’m still trembling when I feel his cock where I’ve been needing him most, my eyes lock on where we’re almost connected, my breath catching at the promise of it.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice strained as he moves with aching slowness.
My eyes fly up and lock with his as my body stretches around him, the fullness stealing the air from my lungs in a sharp gasp. “Please—”
His jaw tightens as he bottoms out, his forehead pressing to mine again, his breath ragged and unsteady, like he’s barely holding himself together.
“Forgive me or not, I’m not letting you go. Not ever again.”
Before I can answer, he moves.
The first thrust is deep, measured, but the way he is braced against the mattress gives him leverage, driving him into me with a force that makes my back arch. His other leg presses into the bed, holding me exactly where he wants me.
Every thrust after that is a mix of precision and desperation—strong enough to make the bed creak, slow enough that I feel every inch of him. His mouth finds my neck, sucking bruises into my skin like he’s marking me on purpose.
“God, you’re perfect,” he groans, his lips brushing my jaw as he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head. I whimper against his shoulder as I roll my hips, and he answers with a low, guttural moan as he drives into me with enough force to move me up the bed.
“That’s it,” he praises, voice breaking, one of his hands releases my wrists just to tangle into my hair, tugging gently to tilt my head so he can kiss me again. “You are more beautiful to me than any word could describe; I want to keep proving that to you.”
I whimper, my body already trembling, already overspent, and he feels it. Sees it, and smiles as it ruins him.
“I know,” he says softly, almost apologetic. Then quieter, rougher: “But I need one more.”
My breath stutters. “Lucian—”
“I know,” he repeats, forehead pressing to mine, his voice fraying at the edges. His hand slides around my throat, grounding, possessive. Just the way I need it. “But I need you to give me one more. I have to feel you shatter around me.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, checking in even as he’s barely holding himself together.
“Tell me,” he says, steady despite the hunger in his eyes.
“Yes,” I breathe.
His forehead drops to mine, breath ragged now. Gone is the careful distance. Gone is the patience. “Good.”
My breath comes shallow, my whole body arching into him, into the weight and the heat and the need rolling off him.
His hand at my throat tightens just enough to make my pulse jump and serves as a reminder of how completely he has me.
“Look at you, spread open for me. Taking everything I give you.” His voice drops even lower. “You were made for this.” He groans, hips pressing in like he can’t stop himself anymore, the movement stealing a moan from me as he changes positions, hitting my g-spot and my cervix.
“That’s it,” he growls, devotion and possession tangled tight. “That sound—God, I’ve missed it. I missed the way you fall apart when I touch you.” His grip tightens, steady and sure. “You’re mine again. Every breath. Every orgasm. And I’m not stopping.”
He doesn’t push me past my limit, but right up against it as he watches every reaction, listening to every breath. His body is tense with the effort of holding back while still demanding everything I have left.
“You can let go,” he tells me, reverent and relentless all at once. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
My body is already on the brink, almost undone. I can barely think, barely breathe, my fingers clutch at him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered.
“Come for me,” he whispers, desperate now. “Last one. I promise.”
I shatter with his name on my lips, the aftershocks ripping through me like a storm, leaving me breathless and shaking and utterly empty. Lucian groans as if it ruins him, following me immediately, his control finally snapping as he presses into me, forehead dropping to my shoulder.
He stays pressed to me, our breathing hard, as his forehead is tucked against my neck like he’s afraid the moment will slip through his fingers if he lets go too soon. His hands loosen, and his steady palms smooth over my skin like he’s putting me back together.
He shifts just enough to pull a blanket up around me, wrapping it tight, cocooning me against him. One arm curves around my back, the other cradling the base of my skull, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles at the nape of my neck until the motion becomes a quiet metronome.
“Breathe with me,” he murmurs.
I do. In and out. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek.
My body is still humming, every nerve raw and alive, but he reads the tremor and meets it with a steadiness that steadies me in return.
He doesn’t rush to fill the silence with words; he lets the quiet hold us, and in that silence, there is an apology that doesn’t need to be spoken.
When he speaks again, his voice is low and careful. “Stay there, don’t move. I’ll clean you up.”
My head ticks off the sensible things I should be thinking, but my body has already decided it’s checked out. Warmth pools where his arm curves around me; the blanket tucks us into a small, private space. I feel boneless and light, like gravity forgot to pull me down.
He cleans me with steady hands and the exacting attention of someone who finally understands that repair lives in the small things. I watch him without really seeing.
You should be careful. Keep your guard up. Those thoughts are sensible and sharp, but they are not the ones that win. My body answers in a language older than thought. Each careful pass of the towel presses against the place under my ribs where longing and fear live together.
When he is done, he takes his clothes off and removes his prosthetic quickly and methodically.
He slides back under the blanket and pulls me against his side.
I fold around him the way I used to without thinking, naked and unguarded, my head on his shoulder, my leg thrown over him.
The contact is immediate and whole, as his arms tighten around me, his body a steady heat beneath mine.
He starts to sing, low and rough. A song I don’t know the words to, but I know the shape of the melody. He hums as his thumb traces the line of my collarbone. The sound settles through me like a hand smoothing a crease.
I count my breaths to match his. Inhale, exhale. The racing slows, and the edges blur. The city outside becomes a distant hum. The room narrows to the warmth of him, the soft scrape of fabric, the cadence of his voice.
I let the song carry me toward sleep while the small, careful sounds of him doing the work keep me anchored. The future is still fragile, but in this moment, I am here, and that is enough.