Chapter Forty-Six
Rhea
T he moment his mouth hits mine, I swear the world splits in half.
We don’t kiss - we devour.
His kiss is sharp, aggressive, full of too much tongue and not enough oxygen.
There’s no finesse. No tenderness. Just open mouths, clashing teeth, too much tongue, and the kind of feral energy that says someone’s going to break something.
I bite his bottom lip. He growls like an animal that’s been poked one too many times at the zoo. Then his hand fists in my hair, yanks my head back, and my brain short-circuits -
Because apparently I’m into being handled like a misbehaving prophecy.
I should tell him to get off me, but unfortunately, I’ve been possessed by every poor decision I’ve ever made; so instead, I claw at his shirt like I’m personally offended it still exists.
Buttons pop. Fabric tears.
Somewhere in the house, one of his silent maids probably gasps.
He spins me and slams me into the wall like I owe him money.
“ Ow ,” I grunt, very dignified, as a framed abstract painting rattles above my head. “This house is gonna need structural reinforcements if we keep this up.”
Lucian's in full alpha meltdown mode. Shirt rumpled. Eyes wild. Hands dragging up my thighs like he’s cataloging every inch of me for evidence.
“Fucking -” I hiss, gasping as his hand slides up my thigh, dragging the hem of my sleep shirt - his shirt - with it.
“Panties off,” he orders.
He hooks two fingers under my panties and yanks them down.
“I - okay.”
I kick them off mid-turn and lunge at him again, grabbing the front of his shirt.
“If we’re gonna ruin the décor, at least make it symmetrical.”
He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy dragging me into the dresser like I’m a life raft in a sea of emotional repression.
A lamp topples to the floor and shatters . Neither of us looks.
His mouth is everywhere - jaw, collarbone, the curve of my breast. Teeth scrape, tongue soothes, breath pants. His belt buckle hits the floor with a clang , his pants dropped in seconds.
My shirt’s next - torn over my head so fast I yelp - then we’re skin to skin, slick and seething.
Naked, breathless, and wrestling for dominance even though he’s clearly winning.
“You’re mine,” he growls, grabbing me under the thighs and lifting me like I weigh absolutely nothing.
“Then prove it. ”
He snarls - a sound, not a word - and slams me onto the closest surface.
The dresser.
It creaks. Then it groans.
Then it makes a sound that suggests we owe someone a replacement.
His hand grips my throat while his other cups my pussy - rough, unrelenting, marking me all over again, exactly the way I want it.
“You dripped for them,” he growls, pressing two thick fingers into my soaked cunt without mercy. “You cried out for them. You let them knot you .”
“And you ,” I pant, clutching his biceps. “You just ghosted me like a heat-ridden coward.”
“Not anymore.”
He shoves his fingers deeper. I cry out with pleasure.
“You wanted it,” he growls. “And now? You’ll beg. For me. ”
I push at his chest, and he grabs my wrist and pins it over my head, dragging me back against the dresser until I feel the edge dig into my spine.
His cock is out ; all thick and wet and twitching against my skin.
He’s rock hard and already leaking. I feel the heat radiating off him - pure animal.
The Alpha.
He rips my head back by the hair. “You’ll beg for it.”
“I will throw this dresser at you.”
“Do it after I’m inside.”
I buck my hips instinctively into the air as he presses himself up and over me, hard and hot and ready to split me in two.
I grab him by the hair with my free hand and yank.
“Then fucking take me.”
He does .
In one brutal thrust.
“ Fuck -”
I see God. Or maybe I black out.
Hard to say.
The dresser cracks. Something splinters under us.
I don’t care.
Lucian fucks me like he wants to ruin every memory of the others. Like each brutal snap of his hips is a claim he never got to make.
“Mine,” he growls. “Mine. Mine. Mine. ”
I cry out again - not from pain, but from relief.
From finally.
He grabs my hips and drives me down onto him over and over, the pace savage. It’s everything I’ve wanted, everything I’ve needed, and so much more.
“Say it,” he orders me. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“I won’t -”
He grabs my jaw. Forces me to look at him.
His eyes are unhinged . Glowing. Possessive.
“You will. ”
He flips me like a pancake and bends me over the edge of the dresser, face against the wood, hands bracing, legs wide.
He pounds into me again. And again. And again.
The sound is obscene - wet, slick, skin slapping skin - and I sob from the overload.
He pulls my hair, yanks my head back to growl in my ear.
“Try again.”
I try sass.
He answers with thrusts so deep I almost forget the alphabet.
“Look at you,” he pants. “Taking me. Loving it.”
“Technically, I tolerate you,” I tell him.
He kicks a chair out of the way. Just - boot to upholstery. I don’t even ask. I’m too far gone to care.
He lifts me from behind, legs jelly, arms shaking, and we make our final chaotic migration to the bed.
He drops me.
I bounce. He follows.
Thighs pinned open with his knees. Chest heaving. Cock harder than my life choices.
Lucian Vale is absolutely ruining me, and I am having the time of my damn life.
I’ve spent so long running from who I am - dodging instinct, dodging heat, dodging the whole alpha/omega bite me and ruin my life pipeline - and now, with Lucian pinning me to this bed like a man possessed, I genuinely cannot remember why I thought this wasn’t something I wanted.
He thrusts deep, brutal, like he’s trying to etch himself into my literal cervix.
“F-fuck - Lucian - ”
It’s not sex. It’s a siege. The kind where you don’t get out unless something’s broken. Possibly your soul. Probably the headboard.
He fucks me like he’s branding it into my memory. Every thrust deeper. Harder. More.
I call out his name like it’s salvation, and he groans like it hurts to want me this much - even while buried to the hilt inside me.
“Louder,” he commands.
Oh, cool. I didn’t know I was in an opera.
Either way, I oblige.
I scream his name like it’s my job and I’m trying to hit my sales quota. The headboard crashes into the wall as I wrap my legs tighter around his waist like a koala possessed.
My heels dig into his back, and I just about register that he’s going to have bruises -
And I’m not sorry.
Then, he stops. Pulls out. Just - gone.
Like my will to live after opening any of my social media.
I whine, full feral, halfway to biting him; but before I can protest fully, he flips me, shoving me face-down.
His hand presses hard against the small of my back until I arch.
“Open for me,” he snarls.
Yeah, okay - just let me detach my spine real quick.
He thrusts back inside, and I moan so hard my soul leaves my body and files for unemployment. The bed creaks like it’s considering early retirement.
“I hate you,” I gasp.
Lie . Big fat sweaty lie.
He knows it. I know it. The house knows it.
He bends over me, mouth at my ear. “No, you crave me.”
The worst part? He’s right.
And he sounds smug about it. Typical.
We somehow end up on the floor. Naked. Sweaty. Covered in bruises and regret-adjacent euphoria.
He drags me onto his lap like I’m his new favorite possession, guides me down on his cock again like the world is ending and he’s determined to die inside me.
His fingers wrap around my throat - not choking, just… anchoring me.
A reminder he’s still the alpha and I’m still the omega who sai d fuck off with her whole chest and then still climbed him like a tree.
I drop my hands to his chest and rock my hips hard , dragging his cock deep inside me, over and over again, chasing that spot that makes me want to scream.
“Fuck,” I gasp. “ Lucian -”
His free hand clamps around my hip, guiding me down onto him, harder, rougher, hungrier.
“You want to ride me?” he growls.
I mean, not anymore, but I guess we’re committed now.
“Then do it right .”
So I do.
Knees shaking, thighs screaming, I bounce on his cock like I’m trying to win a rodeo I did not sign up for.
He falls back, his head thud ding against the floor. And when his eyes meet mine?
It’s devastation.
Heat. Bond. Instinct.
Claim.
But also… something quieter.
No fury. No fire. Just a raw, aching tenderness that hurts worse than any knot, that I know he hates himself for.
And I feel it.
The bond surges . It thrums like a drumbeat in my ribs - every thrust sending shockwaves through it, every moan from his lips tied to the core of me.
I ride him harder.
He stares up at me like I’m divine wrath in omega form, and I ride him harder. Own it.
I don’t feel small. I feel powerful. I feel worshipped. I feel seen.
His cock drives up into me, perfectly timed with every slam of my hips. He grits his teeth, growls through them - the sound low, guttural, and raw.
“You’re so tight like this,” he pants, sweat glistening down his chest. “Like you were made to fuck me like this. Look at you -”
I hold his gaze, and it shatters me.
His storm-grey eyes aren’t cold now - they’re burning - and I burn with him.
“Lucian,” I breathe - not a curse, not an insult this time. Just his name.
Just us.
His hips jerk up, and with that, I shatter.
I moan. Loud. Undignified. Like a person possessed by seven horny ghosts.
He grabs my ass. His cock twitches as my entire being combusts. There's slick everywhere - and I mean everywhere. Carpet. Floor. Probably emotional damage.
And then he follows, filling me with heat and fury and all the alpha nonsense I’ve been dodging since I was seventeen. One hand tight on my ass, the other still at my throat, as he pumps deep inside me, cock twitching as he fills me again.
And through it all, our eyes stay locked.
Even when my brain short-circuits.
Even when his knot swells.