Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Olivia
How to Forget Your Name in Less Than Ten Seconds
I’m still shaking.
My thighs feel boneless.
My brain’s a swirl of leftover moans and the slow, deliberate way he fucked me with that spatula like it was his cock.
Like it belonged to him.
God, I didn’t even know I liked that.
I’ve never done anything close to that.
I’ve never even thought about kitchen utensils like that—and now?
I can still feel the way it stretched me.
The way it glided in.
Slow and deep, pushing against nerves I didn’t even know needed to be touched.
It was filthy, surreal and so good I think I forgot my name for a full minute.
And now?
I want more.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Not even slow.
I want Lucian to ruin me again.
“I want your cock,” I whisper, breathless and desperate, still clinging to the edge of the island like my body hasn’t caught up to my need yet.
His eyes flash—sharp heat, jaw tight, body tense.
Then he moves.
Lucian reaches down, curls a strong hand around my thigh, and lifts me off the counter like I’m nothing.
Like he needs me off it.
My legs wrap around his waist automatically, my arms lock around his neck, and then we’re crashing into each other—lips, teeth, tongue.
It’s brutal and hungry and wet.
The kitchen vanishes.
His mouth is all I know.
He walks us toward the hallway like he can’t bear the distance to the bedroom, but I don’t want to make it there either.
I want now. I want him against the wall.
Inside me. Filling me up so deep I feel it for days.
I tear at his shirt while he walks, my fingers yanking it up, desperate to feel his skin under my palms. I need to bite him.
I want him marked.
“Off,” I gasp, pulling the hem up over his abs.
He doesn’t stop moving, just shifts me higher, holding me with one arm while yanking the shirt over his head with the other.
He’s solid heat—shoulders and chest and muscle pressed tight against me—and I dip my head, biting his collarbone, sucking on the warm skin there like I need to taste him to survive.
He growls low, deep in his chest. “Fuck, Liv.”
“You feel so good,” I whisper, grinding against him through his sweatpants, feeling his cock thick and hard and right there.
“You’re going to fuck me now, right? You’re not going to tease me again. I can’t?—”
“God no,” he mutters, voice frayed, raw with want.
“I’ve been hard for you all damn day. If I don’t get inside you in the next ten seconds, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
He doesn’t make it to the bedroom.
Lucian slams me against the hallway wall—gently, somehow, even in the rush.
My back hits the plaster, and his mouth’s on mine again, hands already pushing his sweats down far enough to free his cock.
And when I feel him?
My breath catches.
Thick.
Hot. There.
He presses it against me—right at my slick entrance—and pauses just long enough to look me in the eye.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“I’m so fucking sure.”
He pushes in.
Slow.
Thick stretch.
Delicious pressure. My nails dig into his shoulders, and I gasp as he sinks into me inch by inch.
My body welcomes him.
Gripping, sucking him in like it was made for this.
For him.
“Oh, oh, Lucian,” I moan.
Lucian groans, deep and filthy.
“Fuck, you’re tight. You feel that, baby? How good you’re squeezing my cock already?”
I nod, my head falling back against the wall.
He starts to move.
Not fast. Not yet.
He thrusts slow, long strokes that fill me completely, making me feel every inch of him.
One hand grips my ass, the other cradles my thigh, keeping me wrapped around him like his personal fucking obsession.
“You were dripping for me in the kitchen,” he mutters, mouth at my jaw, voice rough.
“Taking that spatula like my good girl. Now you’re begging to be filled? Huh? That greedy little cunt finally getting what it wants?”
“Yes,” I pant.
“Lucian, yes. Harder. Please?—”
He growls again and slams into me harder, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the hallway.
“You wanted to ruin me?” he snarls.
“Congratulations, baby. You fucking did.”
His hips slam into mine again, deeper this time, and I feel it in my throat.
The hallway disappears.
My name might not even exist anymore.
I’m just body and breath and Lucian.
“You wanted to be fucked like this,” he growls, his lips brushing my ear as he pistons into me.
“You begged for my cock, and now you’ve got it.”
I gasp, clutching his shoulders.
“Lucian?—”
“This tight little pussy’s mine right now,” he snarls.
“You feel how it hugs me? Like it fucking knows me.”
I can’t even answer.
I’m gone. I’m melting, stretching around every deep thrust. He knows precisely where to angle his hips—where to drag his cock to make my nerves catch fire.
“You wanted me wrecked?” he pants.
“You wanted to ruin me? Then take it. Fucking take it, Olivia.”
And I do.
God, I do.
I rock against him, matching his rhythm, the wet sound of him sliding into me obscene and perfect.
My body clings to him, all sweat and skin, and that pressure builds in me like something coiled too tight for too long.
His thumb moves between us, circling my clit with quick, practiced flicks.
“You gonna come for me?” he whispers.
“You gonna milk my cock like the good girl you are?”
I shatter.
It rolls through me with no warning—just this punch of pleasure that has me jerking in his arms, moaning so loud I might’ve screamed his name.
My muscles clamp around him, and I feel it—really feel it—the way he keeps fucking me through it, every thrust deeper, rougher, sending aftershocks through my entire body.
“Oh my God—Lucian—fuck?—”
“That’s it,” he groans, voice strained.
“Come on my cock. Fucking soak me. That’s it, baby?—”
And then he goes still.
His hips jerk once, twice—and then I feel it.
Hot. Deep. His cock throbbing inside me as he spills into me with a guttural moan against my neck.
“Fuck, Olivia,” he growls.
“Take it. Take all of it. Let me fill this perfect little cunt.”
My legs tighten around him, greedy.
Needy. Every pulse of him pushes deeper into me, and I swear I can feel it dripping around where we’re still connected.
He holds me like that, breathing hard against my shoulder.
We’re both wrecked—his hands still gripping my ass, my arms wrapped tight around his neck like I’ll die if he lets go.
And then?
He pulls back just an inch.
Looks down.
Still buried inside me.
His cum is already starting to slide out of me and onto his cock.
“Look at that,” he mutters, voice low and dirty and reverent.
“So fucking full of me.”
I whimper.
I whimper.
“I can feel it,” I breathe, stunned at how raw I sound.
“It’s—Lucian, I?—”
He thrusts once.
Just enough to push it back in.
“You’re dripping with me, sweetheart. Creamy and used and so fucking pretty like this. You feel that warmth inside you? That’s mine. All mine.”
My nails dig into his back.
I can’t even pretend I don’t like it.
That I’m not absolutely melting from the idea of him claiming me like this.
Something deep inside me hums. Possessive.
Almost animal.
And I want it again.
I want him to do it again and again until I can’t remember what it feels like not to have his cum inside me.
He leans in and presses a kiss to my throat.
“I should fuck it deeper.”
My whole body shudders.
“Make sure it stays there,” he adds, nipping my skin.
“Make sure when you walk tomorrow, you feel how full you are.”
Oh God.
Oh God.
There’s a pulsing ache building in my chest—not from the orgasm, but from the need curling up behind it.
The way he talks to me.
Like I’m something to be worshipped and fucked in equal measure.
And I love it.
I love the stretch.
The sting. The thick, wet ache between my thighs.
I love that he’s still inside me, half-hard but refusing to pull out, like he’s not done claiming me yet.
His voice softens just a little.
“You took it so well, Liv.”
His hand cups the back of my head.
“You let me fill you up, let me fuck you against a wall like you needed it.”
I nod, dazed.
Ruined.
“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing my cheek.
“My good, dirty girl.”
I let the words sink in.
Because I think—I know—I’ll replay them over and over later when I’m lying in his bed, sore and full and a little too aware of the way I’m already spiraling.
Because something about this feels dangerous.
Addictive.
And way too close to something real.