Chapter 38 #2
Ash presses a final kiss to my forehead before stepping back, breath still unsteady. Then Rook steps forward, his gaze fixed on me—half reverence, half ruin. The room seems to hold its breath with him.
He tilts his head, voice low, almost broken.
“You’ve ruined us, my disobedience.”
The words land like a vow, heavy and holy, and I feel it in my bones—the moment everything changes.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up—every muscle tightening, need and desire winding sharp through me.
“Wraith,” Rook says, his tone smooth and dark with command, “I believe it’s our turn.”
He steps forward, deliberate and slow, wicked intent gleaming in his eyes like a promise I’m not sure I’ll survive—but already know I’ll crave.
The others step back, content to watch—predators momentarily leashed. Vale lingers closest, a grin curving his mouth, dark and unapologetic. I catch the subtle shift of his stance, the way hunger flickers in his pitch-black eyes, and it sends a shiver straight through me.
Rook moves in behind me, his hands hovering just above my shoulders—close enough for the heat of his skin to tease mine, never quite touching. The nearness is intoxicating, dizzying, and it reignites the ache I thought had finally eased.
Wraith takes his place in front of me, his dark eyes molten, heavy with want and something deeper that makes my pulse falter.
His hands move slowly—hesitant, almost careful.
Rook wastes no time, taking exactly what he wants.
His hand wraps around my throat, steady and commanding, and then he moves.
He’s bigger than Ash, and I’m not fully prepared for the way he fills me—utterly, completely, until breath itself feels optional.
It’s exquisite—and until Wraith’s fingers find my swollen clit, it’s still not enough. When his touch moves in slow circles, and Rook moves behind me, I almost cry out from the sheer pleasure flooding through me.
Wraith kisses me then, teeth catching my lower lip, a low growl rumbling into my mouth as Rook quickens his rhythm behind me.
I moan into Wraith’s mouth, the sound muffled, need winding tight through me—hot, consuming, coursing through every vein.
“We need to hear you, my disobedience,” Rook growls, his voice rougher, lower than I’ve ever heard it. A pause—then, darker, commanding—“Raise the bloody roof.”
The scream that tears through me is so raw, so consuming, it leaves my whole body trembling. When it fades, I collapse against them—boneless, floating, the world reduced to heat and breath and the shimmer of starlight behind my eyes.
Wraith catches me before I can fall. His arms are solid and sure as he gathers me up against his chest. “She’s spent,” he mutters to the room, voice low and hoarse.
“I am not,” I manage, though my words are slurred and defiant, and even I don’t believe them.
A dark chuckle sounds nearby—Vale, amused and unrepentant. “You will be,” he says, his tone full of wicked promise. “But not tonight, sweetheart. You’ll need your strength.”
Saint steps closer, his voice softer, velvet-wrapped sin. “He’s right. There’ll be time for everything… later, my little lamb.” His hand brushes a strand of hair from my face, the gesture gentle enough to make my throat tighten.
Wraith carries me through the quiet halls of the manor, the air still heavy with candle smoke and the remnants of what just transpired. The walls seem to hum around us, alive with what we’ve done, what we’ve become.
When he reaches my room, he lays me down with surprising tenderness. The sheets are cool, the contrast biting against overheated skin. He tucks the blanket around me, his fingers lingering at my collarbone, tracing the edge of the mark left by Rook’s hand.
Rook stands in the doorway, half in shadow, half in light—the picture of control and command even now. “Get some rest, my disobedience,” he orders, his voice quiet but carrying enough authority to still the air. “Tomorrow, you’ll learn what it means to wear that crown.”
I meet his gaze, too tired to argue but unwilling to look away. “You think I don’t already?”
Something dangerous flickers across his face—pride, possession, maybe even reverence. “You’ve only just begun, my queen.”
He turns, leaving me in the dim glow of the room. Wraith lingers, adjusting the blanket one last time, his thumb grazing my jaw before he straightens to follow.
“Stay,” I whisper. The word leaves me before I can stop it—soft, unguarded, heavy with everything I don’t have the strength to name.
He freezes. For a moment, neither of us moves. The tension stretches taut between us. Then he exhales slowly, that small, almost feral smile curving his mouth.
“If that’s what you want, little fox.”
I nod, too tired to speak, too content to fight it.
He kicks off his boots and slips beneath the sheets, careful but sure, the mattress dipping under his weight. His warmth finds me instantly. Strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close until my back meets his chest, until every breath I take is matched by his.
“Sleep,” he murmurs against my hair, voice low, rough with satisfaction.
For once, I do—safe in the circle of his arms, wrapped in the kind of peace that feels almost like surrender.