Chapter 44 Jules
Jules
I wake slowly, wrapped in warmth.
For a moment, I don’t move. I just lie there, half-dreaming, aware of strong arms around me and the steady rise and fall of a broad chest at my back. The bed is impossibly soft, the sheets still warm from the fire burning low in the hearth.
Then reality drifts back in and I remember what happened.
Lucian…last night between my thighs. The way he tasted me and eased my pain. The way he made me come so hard…
I shift slightly—and immediately regret it.
A dull, familiar ache answers the movement, low in my belly. It’s not as sharp as before—not enough to make me gasp. But it’s persistent…heavy. A reminder that my body is still very much doing its monthly thing.
I sigh softly despite myself. I had hoped that the pain was gone for good, but apparently no such luck.
Lucian stirs behind me at once, as if he’s been half-awake already. His arm tightens around my waist, possessive but gentle.
“Ah, my darling,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “Are you hurting again?”
I don’t even bother pretending.
“A little,” I admit. “It’s not terrible, just… there.”
“Come,” he says quietly. “Let me ease you.”
There’s no hesitation in him, no embarrassment, no impatience. Just calm certainty—as though caring for me like this is the most natural thing in the world.
He shifts, guiding me gently onto my back, his movements unhurried and sure. I feel my legs opening naturally for him, almost of their own accord. It’s like my body remembers the relief he can give me and leans toward it willingly.
I let my eyes close as I try to relax. I never imagined waking up like this, I think dimly. In a vampire Don’s bed, trusting him to take care of me.
But I do trust him. He’s so big he could break me in half with one hand, but he’s never been anything but gentle. Also, he’s never been anything but complementary about my body—he genuinely seems to love my curves, so I feel like I can trust him both physically and emotionally.
And that realization startles me almost as much as the relief itself.
His hands are warm on my thighs, spreading them wider with a firm, gentle pressure that brooks no resistance.
“Open for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice sleep-roughened and thick with intent. “Let me taste you again.”
This time, there’s no panic or shame—only a warm anticipation that pools low in my belly, hotter than the lingering cramps. I obey, my legs falling open even wider, the silk sheets cool against the backs of my knees.
Lucian doesn’t kiss his way down this time—he goes straight to his prize, as if drawn by a magnetic pull. The first touch isn’t tentative—it’s a claiming—a broad, hot stroke of his tongue from my entrance all the way up to my clit. It’s slow and deliberate as he tastes me deeply.
Oh God, it feels so good—warm and wet and teasing against my sensitive flesh.
A moan falls from my lips and my hands fist in the sheets.
“Lucian…” I moan.
“Mmm,” he hums against me, the vibration shooting sparks straight through me. “That’s right, my darling. I love to hear my name on your lips.” His words are muffled, spoken into my flesh as he nuzzles, inhaling my scent. “My beautiful girl. Your body is a feast…how I love to taste you.”
He begins to work me with a focused, rhythmic intensity that is entirely new. Last night was about soothing, about drawing the pain out. This is about bringing me to the brink—about pleasure for its own sake.
His tongue is a wicked, clever thing, circling my clit with tight, rapid flicks before flattening to lap at me with broad, hungry strokes. He sucks my clit, not with the gentle suction of before, but with deep, pulling draws that make my hips jerk off the mattress.
“Yes,” he growls, his hands sliding under my ass to tilt me up, giving him better access. “Give it to me. Let me taste every drop. Your cunt is so perfect like this—so swollen and hot for me, little one.”
The dirty talk, raw and unfiltered, seems to set me on fire. My embarrassment is a distant memory—burned away by the sheer carnal desire of his worship. He’s not just easing my pain—he’s reveling in my pleasure.
“Lucian,” I gasp, my back arching. “Oh, God—please! Please!”
“Tell me,” he demands, pausing to blow a cool stream of air over my wet, throbbing flesh, making me cry out. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me you love my mouth on you like this.”
“I—I love it,” I pant, the admission torn from me. “God, your tongue… don’t stop.”
“I have no intention of stopping,” he promises darkly, and then his mouth is on me again, his tongue plunging shallowly inside me before returning to torture my clit.
He sets a relentless pace, one hand moving to press down on my lower belly, a firm, grounding weight that seems to channel every sensation directly to where his mouth works.
His other hand reaches up to cup one of my breasts and tease my nipple.
As the pleasure builds, words begin pouring out of me.
“Oh God…oh yes! Please, Lucian, I’m getting close…so close!” I gasp.
He looks up briefly.
“Come for me, Julia. Come right now,” he growls. “Let me feel you lose control.” Then he buries his face between my legs and goes back to work—licking my aching clit relentlessly.
The command is all I need—the coil tightening in my belly snaps and pleasure explodes inside me, a white-hot burst that sears through every nerve ending.
I sob his name, my body convulsing under his relentless mouth as wave after wave of intense, overwhelming ecstasy rips through me. Lucian holds me through it, his long arms wrapped around me to hold me steady until I collapse back onto the sheets, utterly spent, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “That was amazing.”
Slowly, Lucian looks up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He leans over me, caging me with his arms, and kisses me gently.
“The ache is gone,” he states, his voice a low rumble of triumph.
It isn’t a question—he knows. And he’s right. There’s nothing left but a deep, boneless satisfaction and the fading echoes of a pleasure so profound it feels like I’m a whole different person.
“Yes,” I breathe. “It’s gone.”
He smiles, a slow, predatory curve of his lips.
“Good. Remember this, my darling—any pain you have, any need…you bring it to me. I will always turn it into pleasure.” He kisses my forehead, a strangely chaste contrast to where his mouth has just been.
When he finally gathers me back into his arms, I feel lighter…looser. The ache is gone, replaced by a pleasant warmth that settles deep and soothing inside me.
“There,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my hair. “All better.”
“Yes,” I say softly. “Much.”
He smiles, just a little—I can hear it in his voice when he speaks again.
“Would you like to have breakfast with your friend? I have business to attend to, but I will come meet with you after you’ve eaten.”
“That sounds… really nice, actually,” I say. The thought of sitting somewhere calm and normal with Hanna feels like the perfect way to start the day. I hesitate, then add quietly, “Thank you. For making me feel better, I mean.”
He tilts my chin up, dark eyes intent as he studies my face.
“My blood magic should last five or six hours. If you feel any discomfort before then, you will tell me.”
It’s not a request—there’s a proprietary look in his eyes that should probably worry me. But somehow it makes me feel warm inside instead.
“I’ll tell you,” I promise.
“Good. And you needn’t worry about bleeding through your clothes,” he adds matter-of-factly. “The magic will prevent that until I can tend to you again.”
So I’ll be wearing the magical equivalent of period panties. The idea is strange—almost surreal—but instead of panicking, I find myself nodding.
“Okay,” I say. “I trust you.”
The words surprise me as soon as they’re out of my mouth, but I realize they’re true.
Lucian goes still for a heartbeat, then his expression softens into something quiet and intense.
“Thank you. That means more to me than you know, little one,” he says.
He rises from the bed and begins to dress with smooth efficiency, pulling on dark trousers and a crisp shirt, every movement graceful and controlled. Watching him feels oddly intimate, like I’m seeing something meant only for me.
“Breakfast will be served in the breakfast nook,” he says, fastening his cuffs.
I look at him in surprise.
“The Crimson Spires has a breakfast nook?”
He smiles faintly.
“Of course. The servants will show you and Hanna the way. I will join you afterward.”
He leans down and presses a final kiss to my forehead, then glides toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at me.
“Rest,” he murmurs. “And eat.”
Then he’s gone.
I sit up slowly, wrapping the covers around myself, listening to the fire crackle and wondering when my life became this strange, this dangerous… and this unexpectedly gentle.
What happens next? I wonder.
And for once, instead of fear, the question brings a flicker of anticipation.