Chapter 25
Lucien
Practice was absolute hell today. Coach ran us ragged with suicide drills because Matthews couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut about the referee calls from last week’s game.
My legs are burning, sweat still clinging to my skin despite the shower.
All I want is to collapse on my bed and not move for the next twelve hours.
I step out of my room in nothing but low-slung basketball shorts, rubbing a towel over my damp hair when I hear the front door slam downstairs. Then comes the sound of muttering—angry, feminine muttering—followed by shoes being kicked off with enough force to probably dent my fucking wall.
“Fucking assholes think they can just...unbelievable...who the fuck does he think he is...”
I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face as I move to the top of the stairs. Aww, she’s talking about me. How fucking cute.
I lean against the banister, crossing my arms over my bare chest as I watch her stomp around the foyer.
She’s still in her St. Augustine uniform—black pleated skirt that’s riding up just enough to make my dick twitch, white button-up with the red and black tie at her throat.
Her hair is pulled up in those pigtail bubble braids I’ve learned the name of only because I’ve fantasized about using them as fucking handlebars while she’s on her knees.
Each one is tied with a red “Sinners” bow that makes her look deceptively innocent.
There’s nothing innocent about the way she’s cursing under her breath, though.
She’s halfway to the kitchen when she finally notices me watching her. Her head snaps up, those hazel eyes narrowing when they lock with mine.
“I need to talk to you,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction.
I raise an eyebrow and spread my hands out in a welcoming gesture. “By all means, talk. I love to hear you berate me for whatever I’ve possibly done now.” I place a hand over my heart in mock offense. “As if I haven’t been on my best behavior.”
“Best behavior?” she snarls, storming up the stairs toward me. “Is that what you call going behind my back to a council meeting where my entire life was being discussed without me?”
Ah, so that’s what this is about. I keep my face carefully neutral even as my mind races through how she could have found out. Only one real possibility—her father. The quiet bastard always knows more than he lets on.
“You’re upset,” I observe, which only makes her eyes flash dangerously.
“No shit I’m upset!” She reaches the top of the stairs, standing toe to toe with me now.
“Vincent tried to formally dissolve our choosing bond by claiming we’re siblings, and you didn’t think that was something I should know about?
Not that I care about being free from this, but for him to say that to the council opens up a whole slew of other problems.”
I shrug, enjoying the way her chest heaves with each angry breath.
“What would telling you have accomplished?” I ask, watching her fury build with each word.
“You would’ve stormed into a sacred meeting space you don’t have clearance to enter, confronted thirteen of the most powerful men in Black Crown, and gotten yourself blacklisted for the next decade or worse.
All while I handled it perfectly fine without your interference. ”
“Handled it?” She steps even closer, jabbing a finger into my bare chest. “This isn’t just your fight, Lucien. This is my life, too. My reputation, my family, my fucking identity that’s being questioned.”
I catch her wrist before she can poke me again, holding it firmly between us. “And I defended all of that. Successfully, I might add. You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t ask you to defend me!” She tries to yank her hand away, but I tighten my grip. “I’m not some damsel who needs saving.”
“No, you’re my Chosen,” I growl, pulling her closer until I can feel the heat radiating from her body. “Which means your battles are my battles, whether you fucking like it or not.”
She’s so close now that I can see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, count every freckle scattered across her nose. Her cheeks are flushed with anger; her lips part as she breathes heavily.
“Fuck you,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m not your possession.”
“No?” I slide my hand from her wrist to her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my fingers. “Then why are you living in my house? Why did you come to me when you were scared? Why do you keep looking at my mouth like you want me to shut you up with it?”
Her eyes widen, and for a split second, I see uncertainty flicker across her face. It’s quickly replaced by that stubborn defiance that makes my cock throb.
“I don’t—“
“Liar,” I murmur, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “You’re so fucking transparent, Little Sinner. All fire and fury on the outside, but inside? You’re dying for me to take control.”
She makes a sound—half protest, half whimper—that shoots straight to my dick. Her body betrays her, leaning into my touch even as her mind fights against it.
“You don’t know what I want,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
“I know exactly what you want,” I counter, moving my hand to cup her face. “You want me to make the decision for you. To take away the guilt, the shame, the fucking indecision that’s eating you alive.”
She swallows hard, her eyes never leaving mine. “That’s not—“
“Isn’t it?” I slide my other hand to her face, framing it between my palms. Her skin is so soft, so warm. “You want me to be the villain so you can pretend you’re not just as rotten as me.”
Her eyes flash with rage, but there’s something else there too—a vulnerability that makes my cock twitch despite my exhaustion. I can see the battle raging inside her, the way she wants to both slap me and climb me like a fucking tree.
I drop my hands from her face and step back. “I once told you I wouldn’t touch you until you asked me to.”
I turn away from her, suddenly tired of this endless dance we’re doing. My muscles ache, my head is pounding, and I’m sick of waiting for her to admit what we both already know.
I’ve taken three steps toward my bedroom when I feel her grab my arm, spinning me around with surprising strength. My back hits the wall with a dull thud that knocks my head back.
“Don’t walk away from me,” she hisses, pressing her body against mine. “Don’t walk away from what you make me feel.” Her hands grip the front of my bare chest, nails digging into my skin. “I hate you, and I want you to touch me.”
A slow smile spreads across my face as I look down at her, this beautiful, furious creature who can’t decide if she wants to fuck me or kill me. It’s probably both.
“Okay, beautiful,” I murmur, reversing our positions in one fluid motion so she’s the one pinned against the wall. “I’ll touch you.”
I lean down until my lips brush against her ear, inhaling her rage. “But I want you to keep that hate fresh in your mind, ‘cause I’m bout to fuck you like I hate you too.”
Her breath hitches, pupils dilating until there’s barely any hazel left. I drag my teeth along her neck, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. My hand slides under her skirt, fingers tracing the edge of her panties.
“Last chance to back out,” I growl against her throat. “Tell me to stop now, or I’m going to ruin you.”
“Just shut up and do it,” she snaps, her hands already fumbling with the waistband of my shorts.
“Bossy little bitch.”
“I don’t know if I can hate you any more,” she breathes, her hands already moving to my bare chest, nails dragging down my skin.
“Try harder,” I growl, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head with one hand. “Because I’ve been hating how much I want you for years.”
Her breath hitches when my fingers brush against the lace of her underwear. She’s already wet, the fabric damp beneath my touch. I press harder, rubbing slow circles through the thin material.
Yanking my hand away from her heat, I grab her waist and hoist her up in one fluid motion, throwing her over my shoulder like she weighs nothing. She gasps, her body tensing as I secure her with an arm around her thighs.
“Put me down!” she shrieks, pounding her fists against my back.
I ignore her protests, my hand finding her ass cheek and gripping it hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh like it might try to escape if I don’t hold it firmly in place. The feel of her pressed against me, squirming and cursing, makes my dick throb painfully.
“Stop fucking squirming,” I command, squeezing her ass harder as I stride toward my bedroom.
“You absolute caveman!” She’s still hitting my back, but her voice betrays her. She’s not nearly as outraged as she’s pretending to be.
Shoving my bedroom door open with my foot, I walk us to the bed and toss her down. She bounces once.
Before she can scramble away, I flip her over onto her stomach, grabbing her hips and dragging her up to her hands and knees. She tries to collapse forward, but I hold her in position, one hand pressed between her shoulder blades.
“Stay,” I order, my voice rough with need.
“I’m not your fucking dog,” she spits, but she stays on her hands and knees, her ass raised perfectly in the air.
I run my hand up the back of her thigh, pushing her skirt up to her waist. The sight of her bent over like this, her ass framed by those tiny black panties, makes me groan. I hook my fingers into the waistband and yank them down to her knees in one harsh movement.
“Look at you,” I murmur, running my palm over the curve of her ass. “So fucking wet you’re dripping down your thighs. All this for me? And here I thought you hated me.”
“I do hate you,” she pants, her hips pushing back against my hand. “Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy your hands and tongue. I love orgasms, Lucien.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you love,” I snarl, landing a sharp smack across her ass cheek. The sound echoes through my bedroom, followed immediately by her shocked gasp. A perfect pink handprint blooms on her pale skin.