Chapter 22
Seraphina
I’ve never felt so powerful in my life as I do watching Lucien’s eyes darken at my little performance.
The custard glistens on the spoon, a drop threatening to fall onto the pristine tablecloth.
I’m not even sure why I’m doing this—teasing him like this when we’ve spent two weeks willfully avoiding each other.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline from confronting Vincent.
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe I just want to see how far I can push.
Lucien stares at the offered spoon, then at me. The look in his eyes makes my thighs clench involuntarily. Fuck, he’s even gorgeous when he’s struggling for control.
“You’re playing with fire, Little Sinner,” he warns, his voice rough and low.
I raise an eyebrow, keeping the spoon steady. “Are you scared of some sugar?”
Something shifts in his expression—a flash of something almost playful beneath the hunger.
It’s so unexpected that I almost drop the spoon.
For a brief moment, he doesn’t look like the dangerous heir to a secret society or the man who’s been tormenting me for weeks, no years. He looks…young. Almost carefree.
“Never,” he says, pushing his chair back from the table.
My heart rate kicks up as he stands and walks to my side. I expect him to take the spoon, maybe make some crude comment about what else I could put in my mouth. Instead, he surprises me by dropping to his knees between my legs, pushing my chair back to make room.
My breath catches in my throat as he looks up at me from his position on the floor. It’s so fucking surreal—Lucien Devereux on his knees before me, his broad shoulders between my thighs, his hands resting casually on my bare legs.
He leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine, and takes the bite from my spoon. His lips close around it, and I swear I can feel the phantom sensation on my skin.
“Yeah, it’s good,” he says after swallowing, his thumb drawing lazy circles on my inner thigh, “but that’s not what I want a taste of.”
My entire body flushes hot at his words, at the raw hunger in his eyes. He pushes my legs further apart.
“What are you doing?” I manage to ask, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
“Exactly what I’ve been wanting to do since you walked downstairs in my fucking jersey,” he says, his hands sliding up my thighs.
His touch sends goosebumps through my entire body, his fingertips barely grazing my skin as they move up and down, teasing me.
I should push him away. This is dangerous territory—but my body betrays me, my legs falling open wider.
“This,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the hem where it’s ridden up my thighs. “Seeing my name across your back does things to me.”
“It was just to piss off your father,” I lie, my voice catching as his hands move higher.
He smirks, clearly not believing me. “Was it, though?”
His fingers hook under the edge of the dress, slowly pushing the material higher until it’s bunched around my waist. His eyes darken when he sees the bright red lace of my panties, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Well, look at this,” he says, tracing a finger over the damp patch at the center. “Someone’s excited.”
I try to close my legs but his damn shoulders are too broad, keeping me spread open for him. My face burns with embarrassment—and something else I don’t want to give name to.
“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
He looks up at me through those ridiculously long lashes, his eyes practically glowing with hunger. “If I taste you, are you going to claw my eyes out?”
My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t want this. But fuck, I do. How many people can say they’ve had Lucien Devereux on his knees for them? Not many, if any.
I try to go for playful, to hide how much I actually want this. “I thought you liked my claws and being scratched by me.”
A wicked grin spreads across his face. “I fucking love it when you leave marks on me,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that makes my insides turn to liquid. “Makes me feel owned.”
Before I can process what he’s said, he hooks his fingers into the sides of my panties and drags them down my legs. I lift my hips automatically to help him, and he slides them off completely, wrapping them around his wrist like a trophy.
“I’m keeping these,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
I should protest, should demand he give them back, but all I can do is watch as he leans forward, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses up my inner thigh. Each touch of his lips burns like a brand on my skin, making me squirm in the chair.
“So fucking wet already,” he murmurs against my skin. “Is this for me? Or was it the thrill of putting Vincent in his place?”
“Does it matter?” I gasp as he nips at the skin. “Just do it already.”
“So impatient,” he chuckles, his hot breath fanning against my wetness. “I want to savor this.”
I’m about to tell him to go fuck himself when he finally drags his tongue through my folds in one long, slow lick. The sensation is so intense I nearly jump out of the chair, my hand flying to his hair, gripping the dark strands between my fingers.
“Holy fuck,” I gasp as he does it again, this time stopping to circle my clit with the tip of his tongue.
He groans against me, the vibration sending shivers up my spine. “You taste so fucking good,” he says, his voice muffled against my flesh. “Better than I imagined.”
The thought of him fantasizing about this sends a fresh wave of heat through my body. His tongue is relentless, lapping at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. My hips buck against his face, chasing the feeling.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, gripping my thighs harder to hold me open. “I wanna hear you.”
I bite my lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction, but then he sucks my clit between his lips and I can’t hold back the moan that tears from my throat.
His fingers dig into my thighs, leaving marks I know I’ll see tomorrow. The thought makes me wetter, which is so fucked up I can’t even process it right now. Not with his mouth doing what it’s doing.
“Fuck, Lucien,” I pant, grinding against his face shamelessly now. “Don’t stop—“
He pulls back just as I’m getting close, his lips glistening with my arousal. “Nope, not yet,” he says, his voice husky. “I want to make this last.”
“You fucking asshole,” I growl, trying to yank his head back to where I need it.
He laughs, the sound dark and rich. “Patience, Little Sinner.”
Instead of returning to my clit, he moves lower, his tongue pushing inside me. The sensation makes me cry out, my nails digging into his forearms where they’re wrapped around my thighs. I don’t even realize I’m breaking skin until I feel the warm wetness under my fingertips.
He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the pain spurs him on. He fucks me with his tongue, in and out, before sliding back up playing with me like he’s trying to knot a cherry stem.
Just as I’m about to come, he pulls back again.
“I swear to God, if you don’t let me finish—“ I snarl, my nails digging deeper into his arms.
“Try me,” he taunts, blowing a cool stream of air right over my throbbing clit. “What exactly will you do to me if I don’t let you come?”
I grab his hair harder, yanking his face back to look at me. “I will fucking end you.”
He smirks, that goddamn infuriating smirk that makes me want to slap it off his face. “Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty girl.”
Before I can respond, he dives back in, but this time he slides two fingers inside me while his tongue works my clit in tight circles. The dual sensation is so intense I arch my back, nearly coming off the chair.
“Oh god—fuck—yes,” I gasp, riding his face shamelessly now.
He curls his fingers, finding the spot inside me that makes my vision blur at the edges. He’s always been so good at finding it which just pissed me off. My thighs start to shake, pressure building low in my belly. I’m right there, right on the fucking edge—
And then he stops. Again.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snarl, actually pulling his hair hard enough that he winces.
“Not yet,” he says, his voice raspy and thick with arousal. “I want you desperate for it.”
“I am desperate, you sadistic fuck!” I’m practically sobbing with need, my body trembling. “Just let me come!”
He chuckles against my inner thigh, biting down hard enough to leave marks. “Beg me.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s not begging.” He slides his fingers back inside me, pumping slowly, too slowly. “Come on, Little Sinner. Let me hear how badly you want it.”
I clench around his fingers, trying to get more friction, but he keeps the pace torturously slow. “Please,” I finally whisper, hating myself a little.
“Louder,” he demands, twisting his fingers inside me.
“Please!” I cry out, beyond caring about my pride now. “Please make me come. I need it. I need you to make me come.”
That seems to satisfy him as his tongue works me over as two digits pump in and out of me almost at a brutal pace. The pleasure is almost painful, building and building until I’m right at the edge. I swear if he doesn’t let me jump off this cliff finally I’m going to cut his dick off in his sleep.
This time when I hit the edge, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he doubles down, sucking harder.
The orgasm crashes through me like a fucking tidal wave, my back arching as I scream his name. My thighs clamp around his head, but he doesn’t stop—he keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing out every last tremor as I shake apart.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” I babble, my body convulsing as he drinks me down like I’m the last water in a desert. My legs tremble uncontrollably, but he holds me firmly in place, not letting me escape the overwhelming pleasure.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore, when I’m about to beg him to stop, he moves lower. His tongue slides down, circling my entrance where his fingers have been, then dipping even lower.
“What are you—“ My question cuts off in a gasp when I feel his tongue trace the tight ring of muscle between my ass cheeks. “Holy shit!”
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider as his tongue circles the forbidden area. The sensation is so foreign, so filthy, and so fucking good that I can’t even process it properly. I feel his moan vibrate against my sensitive flesh as he pushes his tongue against the tight pucker.
“You fucking freak,” I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair, not sure if I’m trying to pull him away or push him closer. “That’s so unholy!”
He pulls back then, sitting on his haunches between my spread legs. His chin glistens with my wetness, his hair a mess from my fingers. He looks absolutely wrecked and so fucking hot it makes my insides clench. Like girl, control yourself.
“Just call me your unholy sinner, baby,” he says with that goddamn smirk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I’m still trying to catch my breath, my body boneless in the dining room chair. “You’re disgusting,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it.
“And you fucking loved it,” he counters, rising to his feet. The massive bulge in his pants is impossible to miss, straining against the expensive fabric. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
“Where did you even learn to do that?”
He laughs, adjusting himself through his pants. “Let’s just say I know how good it feels.”
I close my legs, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. “Give me back my underwear.”
He holds up his wrist and brings it to his face and inhales deeply, “No.”
I quite literally can’t stand him. The only thing his mouth is good for is orgasms.