Chapter 11 #2
"Elena," his voice carried amusement, "are you that eager to see me?"
I caught his scent—cedar and amber. My face burned. I turned away and cleared my throat. "You... what are you doing here?"
"Wanted to see you."
My ears felt hot. He set me down but didn't immediately pull his hands away.
Through the fabric of my dress, I could still feel the warmth of his palms on my waist. I took a small step back, said "I'm going to wash my face," then walked quickly to the pool in the garden corner.
I bent down and splashed cold water on my face.
The coolness pressed against my skin, but my heart was still racing, so fast I could hear it drumming in my ears.
I straightened up and wiped the water from my face. Before I could turn around, a pair of hands circled my waist. Lucifer wrapped his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder, breath brushing my ear, voice low. "What are you doing running over here?"
"Washing my face..." My voice shook because his fingers were stroking me back and forth.
"Done washing?"
He lowered his head and his lips landed on the back of my neck. My whole body went rigid. His lips pressed against my skin, printing a soft kiss. Something compressed my breathing. I felt his fingers tighten at my waist. He turned me around, tilted my face up, and kissed me.
My whole body pressed against the wall, my back against the cold surface.
He went deeper than the previous times. When his tongue slipped inside, my fingers clutched the shirt on his back.
The next second, I was suspended in air, legs wrapped around his waist, calves swinging at his sides.
Lucifer's kiss continued, his throat rising and falling with the movement, nearly robbing me of all oxygen until I finally couldn't take it and pushed him back.
Desire.
His gray eyes were full of it.
I gasped out a sentence. "Your bedroom." We couldn't do this here.
He paused, lowered his head, and bit my collarbone. I moaned and tilted my head back. Lucifer's voice was muffled against my skin. "Our bedroom."
He carried me into the bedroom, and we fell heavily onto the bed. I was gasping for breath, and he was already impatiently spreading my legs.
He stopped for a heartbeat, his weight suspended above me, his gray eyes searching mine through the dim light. His voice came out rough, barely controlled. "Elena. Tell me you want this."
I didn't hesitate. My hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I want this. I want you." The words left my mouth before I could second-guess them, and the effect was immediate.
Something shifted in his expression—relief, hunger, possession all tangled together.
The mattress dipped further as he settled his weight more fully against me.
My dress was already half-undone, the fabric bunched and twisted around my hips.
I could feel every point where our bodies connected: his chest against mine, his thigh pressing between my legs, his breath hot against my throat.
The scent of cedar and amber surrounded me, stronger now, mixing with my own until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
His mouth found mine again, and this time I met him with equal force. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, harder. A low sound rumbled in his chest—something between a growl and a groan—and I felt it vibrate through my entire body.
"Elena." My name on his lips sounded like a prayer and a curse all at once. His hands moved with purpose now, sliding beneath the remaining fabric, finding bare skin. Everywhere he touched felt like it was burning. I arched into him, and he made that sound again.
"Closer," I managed, the word coming out breathless. "Lucifer, I need you closer."
He shifted, his mouth trailing down my neck, my collarbone, lower.
I could feel the controlled tension in every movement—the Alpha in him wanting to devour, to claim, but holding back just enough to watch my reactions.
Every time I gasped or trembled, he paused, his eyes flicking up to check, to make sure.
It made me want him more.
I reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with them until he took pity on me and shrugged it off himself. The sight of him—skin stretched over muscle, the rise and fall of his breathing, the way his gray eyes had gone almost silver—made something clench low in my belly.
My dress was gone now, too, though I couldn't remember when that had happened. The cool air hit my skin for just a moment before his warmth covered me again. His hands mapped every inch of me like he was memorizing it, like he'd been waiting years for this.
Maybe he had been. Maybe we both had.
"Our bedroom," I whispered against his mouth, testing the words. They felt right. Felt true. "Our bed."
His control cracked. Whatever restraint he'd been maintaining shattered, and suddenly his hands were everywhere, his mouth claiming mine with a ferocity that stole my breath.
But I didn't need restraint anymore. I needed this—needed him to stop holding back, needed to meet him with everything I had.
I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him against me. The friction made us both groan. His forehead dropped to mine, and for a second we just breathed together, sharing the same air, hearts pounding in sync.
"Tell me again," he demanded, his voice wrecked. "Tell me you want this. Want me."
"I want you." My hands slid down his back, nails dragging slightly. He shuddered. "I want all of you. Stop asking and take me."
That was all he needed to hear. He shifted, positioned himself, and when he finally pushed inside, I cried out—not from pain but from the overwhelming rightness of it. Like a lock clicking into place. Like coming home.
He stilled, giving me a moment to adjust, his whole body trembling with the effort of not moving. I could feel his pulse hammering against mine where we were joined. The bond between us sang, pulling taut and then releasing in waves of sensation that had nothing to do with just physical touch.
I rolled my hips experimentally, and his breath hissed out between his teeth. "Elena—"
"Move," I commanded, surprised by the authority in my own voice. "Lucifer, please move."
He did. The rhythm he set was deep and deliberate at first, each thrust measured, controlled. But I didn't want controlled. I met him thrust for thrust, my body arching to take him deeper, and gradually his movements grew more urgent, more desperate.
The bed creaked beneath us. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, but I didn't care.
My fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on as the pressure built and built inside me.
The scent of cedar and amber was overwhelming now, mixed with sweat and arousal and something else—something that smelled like us, like belonging.
The whole world had narrowed to this: the slide of skin on skin, the sound of our harsh breathing, the feeling of him inside me, the bond thrumming between us like a living thing.
"Look at me," he growled, and I forced my eyes open. His gaze locked with mine, gray eyes blazing. "I want to see you when you fall apart."
The intensity of it—of him, of us, of everything—was too much. I shattered, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through me in waves. He followed moments later with a guttural sound, his body going rigid as he came.
We collapsed together, tangled and breathless. He was still inside me, our hearts gradually slowing from their frantic pace. His weight pressed me into the mattress, grounding me, and I wrapped my arms around him to keep him there.
"Mine," he murmured eventually, his lips brushing my temple.
I smiled against his shoulder, too boneless to do much else. Wrapped in his arms, I finally understood what it meant to stop running.
To stop hiding.
To let someone in completely, without reservation or fear.
"Mine," I whispered back, and meant it with every fiber of my being.