36. Lilian
Chapter 36
Lilian
T he door creaks open.
Warmth spills out to meet our skin like a sigh—thick and dry and steady. It’s not cozy, but it’s safe. Moonlight spills through the high windows and pools across the concrete floor, bathing the room in pale silver.
And right in the center of it all?—
“Oley!”
I gasp and fall to our knees like it’s instinct.
He’s sitting front and center, like a tiny sentry. Tail twitching. Eyes locked on the door like he’s been guarding it this whole time. The second I see him, I’m gone.
I scoop him up and bury my face in his fur. He smells like adventure and determination and just the faintest hint of old motor oil.
“Oh my god, Oley. I was so scared. You have no idea how worried I was—what if they had you, what if something happened, what if?—”
He chirps once, right in my ear. Stern little sound .
“He’s telling you to chill,” Neri says, chuckling in our head.
“Yeah, yeah,” I whisper into his fur. “I know.”
Neri smushes him into the hug too, cackling when he sounds offended.
“You better have been judging the shit out of Wraith,” she mutters, low and rough but not mean. “He needs it, you know.”
Oley yowls—once. Sharp. Likely in agreement.
I laugh, and it shakes something loose in my chest. Like my ribs finally remember how to breathe.
Dominic steps closer. Leans against one of the metal beams, arms folded, something tight and unreadable in his expression.
“He showed up here. Found the door. Just sat there staring at the camera like he knew I’d open it,” he says.
I look up. Eyes shining. “He found you?”
He nods once. “I think he came to get help.”
I dissolve again. Kiss Oley’s head. My voice cracks.
“You brave, brilliant little man.” I sniff. “You’re a hero.”
He chirps like he knows. Like he absolutely knows.
I turn to Dominic.
“Thank you.”
It’s soft. Small. But I mean every inch of it.
Not just for opening the door.
For everything.
He shrugs. But it’s not casual. His eyes are still on me—unmoving, unreadable.
“He knew where to go.”
“You’re a little beast, you know that?” Neri asks, scratching behind Oley’s ear .
“Good fucking job.”
Oley purrs like he owns the damn place.
I set him down gently. He hops from our arms like he’s got things to do. Kingdoms to rule.
“I’ll grab you something to wear,” Dominic says, voice low.
He disappears into the back room, footsteps fading into the darkness.
Silence blooms.
Not empty—just… alert. Like the room is paying attention.
I glance up, eyes catching on the skylights. Moonlight spills in across the rafters and falls in wide, silvery strips on the concrete.
“They’re beautiful,” I murmur. “Skylights. If this were mine, I’d fill the space beneath them with plants. Let them stretch up toward the light.”
“I swear I can feel your houseplants whispering,” Neri teases. “I’ve known you all of five minutes and I already know you’re a nature dork.”
I smile. “Plants are alive. They reach. They try. They beat the odds. That’s not dorky.”
She doesn’t reply right away.
I keep walking. Past the bank of monitors. Past the shelves.
“Those are barely filled,” I say, pausing at the bookcases. “He has all that space, but there’s only a handful of books. I wonder what he’s waiting for.”
“Or like he’s been waiting for someone to fill them for him,” Neri says, quieter now.
I blink.
“When I first came here,” Neri says, “I didn’t care about the books or the windows. Shit, I didn’t even see them. But then I saw the space. Open. Clean. Built for movement. And the tech?”
She whistles low.
“The redundancy, the surveillance, the massive top of the line rig—it’s like he built this place for someone who can’t sit still and never wants to be surprised.”
I run a hand along one of the shelves.
“Do you think,” I whisper, “he built this for both of us?”
“…He didn’t know he was,” she says, softer than I’ve ever heard her. “But yeah. He did.”
We don’t say anything. We just stand there for a second, letting it settle. Letting us settle.
Both of us are still buzzing, still unraveling, still learning how to breathe in the same skin without tearing it apart.
The silence isn’t empty—it’s full. Shared—familiar in a strange way, like I’ve walked into someone else’s memory and it still fits. I hear the sound of drawers sliding, fabric rustling.
Moonlight traces our steps as we pad barefoot into the room.
Dominic’s back is to me, muscles taut under the dim light of the bedside lamp, all his gear stripped away. He’s leaning over the dresser, sifting through a drawer like it’s just any night and we’re just any people.
He doesn’t turn when he speaks.
“Only have black,” he says, tugging out a soft T-shirt and holding it up slightly. “Didn’t really think I’d be dressing anyone but me.”
I take a step closer, reaching for the shirt—but freeze.
Our fingers are smeared in blood. No longer fresh, but dried, caked, flaking at the seams.
There’s a streak down our arm. I’m sure it’s all over us.
“Sorry not sorry,” Neri says laughing. “Don’t stress it, they wanted to hurt us. I just hurt them first.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
I blink. Swallow.
“Oh.”
I glance down at myself.
“Maybe I should shower first.”
He raises a brow. “Was that an invitation?”
“I meant… me. And her.”
“What she means is—you should absolutely join us in the shower,” Neri says with a smirk.
Heat floods my face.
“Do you want to?” I whisper.
His eyes darken—but not with just lust. With something deeper.
Possession. Devotion. Obsession barely kept on a leash.
He closes the distance.
“Let me take care of you,” he says.
“Like you took care of me.”
Dominic disappears through a doorway just ahead, clicking the light on as he enters.
The sound of water starts behind the half-open door. A moment later, Dominic steps out—steam curling around his shoulders, expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything. Just takes our hand, warm and steady, and pulls us with him.
It hits our skin like a blessing—hot enough to sting, just for a second. Then it settles, soothing.
He doesn’t rush .
He starts with our arms. Washing. Rinsing. Hands gentle but sure.
Fingers circling our wrist, lifting one hand, then the other.
Blood rinses down the drain in fading spirals.
He works his way up. Over shoulders. Down my back.
His thumbs catch tension and melt it.
His touch says: You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.
I close my eyes and let him lather our hair.
His fingers move slow, dragging through the strands, massaging our scalp until our knees nearly give.
He’s silent.
So am I.
But Neri is there—watching through our eyes. Quiet for once. Not because she’s overwhelmed.
She might be a bit uncomfortable, but she’s listening.
The suds rinse away, and I turn to face him.
Water beads in his lashes.
His eyes burn through me.
“Doesn’t it frighten you?” I ask, cracking the silence. “That we’re like this?”
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch.
He cups our face. Both hands. Steady.
“No,” he says.
“I’m not afraid of you—either of you.”
His thumb brushes our cheekbone.
“Dominic is yours. Wraith is Neri’s.”
His gaze deepens.
“I’m both of them.”
A pause. One breath. Maybe two.
“And I love you–in every version.”
My heart stutters .
He leans in, and our mouths meet—firm, certain.
Just a vow wrapped in heat.
When I pull back, I’m shaking.
Not from fear—never from him.
“You love me?” I whisper.
He stares at us like we’re the only thing worth looking at. Like he could burn the world down with one hand and hold us with the other.
“I’ve always loved you,” he says.
“All of you. Even before I knew.”
I don’t think.
“I love you too.”
His mouth twitches—something dark and reverent.
“Say it again.”
“I love you,” I breathe.
He bends, hands curling around our thighs.
Lifts us like we weigh nothing. Carries us out of the steam and straight into the cold air beyond the bathroom.
I don’t even think he turned the water off.
His footsteps are steady. Wet. Silent.
He lays us down like we’re something sacred.
Something his.
And when he looks at us now, I see it.
Not the violence. Not the vengeance.
Just the ache. The reverence. The want.
Dominic kneels between our legs.
Hands on our thighs. Slow. Certain.
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t fumble.
He knows this body—every inch of it.
But now… he’s exploring it like it’s his first time.
A kiss at the bend of our knee.
A lick up the inside of our thigh.
A soft scrape of teeth right at the top?—
just enough to make me twitch.
“Dominic,” I breathe.
He hums against my skin.
One hand holding us open, the other dragging slow patterns?—
torment and devotion, both in his touch.
In my head, Neri shifts.
“Why is he being so slow?”
I don’t answer right away.
He sucks a mark just above our hip. My breath catches.
Then I say it. “Maybe let him show you what slow can feel like.”
“To what? Get teased until I lose my mind?”
“To be loved,” I whisper back. “To let someone be gentle with you. Even when it’s hard.”
“Even when you don’t think you deserve it.”
Dominic kisses up our ribs.
Every bone. Every breath.
His hands map our sides, thumbs brushing the underswell of our breasts?—
but he doesn’t go there. Not yet.
“We’re not broken, Neri.”
His mouth sucks in the peak of our breast and I arch off the bed with a gasp.
“Dominic, please,” I pant.
“We’re not too much.”
He palms the other breast firmly, thumb brushing slow, tight circles around the nipple—teasing it to a peak just out of sync with his mouth .
“And we don’t have to survive everything alone anymore.”
His mouth trails down the center of our sternum—open-mouthed kisses that get wetter as he descends. Slow licks between the swells of our ribs.
Neri goes still.
Soft bites pepper just above our belly button in a meandering line.
And for once… Neri doesn’t argue.
Dominic’s mouth finds our center.
Hot. Slow. Devoted.
His tongue parts us, drinks us, groans against us like we’re something divine.
My hips buck. He holds me still.
“Dominic,” I beg, this time wrecked.
He sucks—low and deep, pulling moans straight from my soul. Laughing against us, enjoying every moment of our torment. Dragging it out. Making it pleasure.
Then licks again.
And again.
Until I’m gasping.
Begging him over and over.
Clutching at his hair.
His name is the only lyric to the song I sing.
And then I’m falling apart in the cradle of his mouth as the pressure bursts inside me.
He doesn’t give us time to breathe.
One second I’m floating—body lax, barely tethered to anything?—
The next?
We’re face down.
Arms dragged above our head.
Our cheek pressed into the cool sheets.
His hand fists in our hair.
His weight settles behind us—hot, inevitable.
His cock is thick, nudging at our entrance. He slides it in slowly. I cry out?—
And he groans.
Deep and low and feral.
“You didn’t think I was done, did you?” he growls, sliding out of us.
“I haven’t even started.”
He thrusts in—hard, so hard our whole body jolts, vision strobing white at the edges.
The sound that leaves me isn’t a moan. It’s a sob of pure sensation.
His hand wraps around the back of our neck—not choking, just holding—just owning.
“You feel that?” he rasps. “That’s what it means to be mine.”
Every thrust punches a sound out of me—breathless, broken, desperate.
Our legs are shaking.
Our wrists are burning from the grip he has on them.
But all I can do is gasp and take it.
And in the back of my mind?—
She’s there.
Watching.
Neri.
Wary. Silent.
“This isn’t losing control,” I whisper to her. “This is letting someone hold it. ”
His hand slips to our throat again, fingers spread wide, palm pressing just enough to make our pulse spike.
“Say it,” he growls against our ear.
“Tell me who you belong to.”
I try.
I really try.
But I’m so far gone, the words come out like a cry.
“Y-you—Dominic—please?—”
He yanks us back by the hair, just enough to arch our spine.
His other hand grabs our thigh, drags it up, flips us like I weigh nothing.
We’re on our back.
Leg tossed over his shoulder.
“Say it again,” he snarls.
“Look at me and say it.”
“You,” I gasp. “I belong to you.”
His jaw clenches.
Then he fucks us.
Hard.
Unrelenting.
Like we’re the rhythm he’s been chasing his whole life and he’s finally, finally found it.
My nails rake down his back.
My mouth falls open.
And I break.
Tears streak down our cheeks and I don’t even know why.
Maybe because it’s too much.
Maybe because it’s finally enough.
“It’s okay to let someone touch you like this,” I whisper to her. “It’s okay to let it feel good.”
He doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t finish.
“This one’s for you,” he pants, voice shredded. “I want you to come again.”
He teases that perfect spot—rub, press, ruin.
I scream his name as I detonate—everything inside us collapsing all over again.
He grinds in deep, lets me ride the aftershocks, hand still tight on our throat like a leash made of need.
And then he stops.
Doesn’t pull out.
Just watches me fall apart underneath him.
Breathing hard.
Eyes wild.
And that’s when I feel it.
Neri’s done watching.
And I hear her voice, rich with promise:
“Cute,” she purrs. “Now let me show you how fun it is to take control.”
She throws him—shoves him off, fast and brutal, flips us so she’s on top and he’s on his back, glaring like he’s already deciding whether to fuck her or fight her again.
She doesn’t wait for either.
She slams down onto him with a vicious roll of our hips that punches a groan from his chest.
“Oh,” she says, breathless and laughing, “still got some bite left in you?”
He grabs our thighs—tight, bruising and growls, “You’re not the only one who likes to be on top.”
She snorts. Rides him harder.
“Keep talking,” she taunts. “I love it when you try to pretend you’re still a threat.”
He bucks. She grinds.
He grabs our ass. She slaps his face.
A crack of skin on skin. Not playful. Not cute.
A dare.
He growls, low and dangerous, “You trying to start something?”
“Already did.”
She leans forward, teeth dragging across his jaw like a threat dressed in want.
“C’mon, Wraith,” she murmurs. “Bleed for me again.”
He flips us fast—slams us onto the mattress, his body pinning ours like a snarl with a spine.
“You want it rough?” he growls. “You want bruises?”
“I want to ruin you.”
She bites his shoulder—deep. Hard. Claiming.
He fucks into her like he’s punishing the space between us. Like he’s trying to pound the emotion out of this. Like she didn’t just make him feel too much and run.
Her laugh cracks the air, wild and wrecked.
“That all you got?”
He grabs our wrists—slams them above our head.
“Keep pushing me,” he grits out through his teeth.
I barely have time to process the motion before Neri yanks free with a grunt and slaps a hand around his throat—gripping tightly while the other fists his hair.
“Fucking MAKE me.”
He thrusts deeper, harder—each snap of his hips making the headboard slam the wall.
She wraps our legs around him like chains .
She welcomes it. Demands it. Rides his rhythm like she’s daring him to lose it first.
“That all you’ve got?” she spits. “I’ve been fucked harder by regret.”
“Don’t cry when you can’t walk tomorrow.”
“Oh, baby,” she snarls. “I’ll limp with pride.”
He slams in again. Again. Every thrust sharper. Messier.
She grabs the back of his neck. Pulls him in. Kisses him like it’s a threat. Bites him like it’s a promise.
Her nails rake down his back—blood wells.
“Bleed for me, lover boy,” she gasps.
He grabs our face with one hand, fucks us harder with the other wrapped tight around our thigh.
She throws her head back and screams—clenching around him like we’re going to come or combust, whichever hits first.
He tries to slow. She won’t let him.
“Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking dare.”
His pace stutters—hips jerking.
She clamps down around him like a vice.
“Come for me,” he growls.
“Make me.”
Her voice is venom. Her body is fire.
She breaks first.
Shudders. Snarls. Comes hard, legs trembling, nails dragging more blood from his back.
And the second she does?
He lets go.
Slams in.
Breaks with us .
Comes with a sound that’s half-growl, half-fuck-you, all wreckage.
We collapse.
Bodies heaving.
Sweat. Blood. Bruises.
Silence, thick and electric.
Neri laughs first—low and satisfied, like a lioness full of violence and victory.
“Next time,” she whispers, breath hot against his neck, “I’m bringing rope.”
We don’t move.
His breath ghosts against our collarbone, still ragged, still real.
Our heart hammers in our chest like it doesn’t know how to stop.
Neri doesn’t speak. She doesn’t laugh or tease or claw her way out of the silence.
She just breathes. Slow. Steady.
She stays.
Then—
She shifts. Just enough to brush her fingers along his jaw. A fleeting touch. Barely there.
And then, so quiet I almost think I imagined it?—
“I love you too.”
My heart stutters.
The words don’t feel soft.
They feel like a knife laid flat against a pulse.
Not a threat.
Not yet.
But not what I expected.
Because Neri doesn’t say things like that.
At least, I don’t think she does.
I don’t really know her.
But somehow, I believe her.
Dominic doesn’t respond.
He doesn’t have to.
He shifts just enough to press his mouth to our shoulder. Breath warm. Gentle. Still wrecked.
And Neri lets him.
No pushback. No sarcasm. No claws.
Just quiet.
We lie there like that for a long time—twisted together in the wreckage of what we just did.
And for the first time in my life?—
I don’t feel alone.
Not really.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings.
But we’ll wake up and face it together.
We.
Not just me.
Not just her.
Not just him.
Our eyes close.
And we fall asleep with no walls between us.