Chapter 30
Seraphina
Iwake up wrapped around Lucien’s body like he’s my own personal life raft.
My leg is thrown over his, my arm draped across his chest, and my face pressed against his neck where I can basically drown myself in his scent.
For a moment, I just lie here, not moving, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
He’s still asleep, which is a miracle, but I need to not have to deal with him for a moment.
Last night rushes back in flashes that make my stomach clench.
Father Richards’ twisted face as he talked about “purifying” me.
The ropes cutting into my skin. Father Richards’ hands on me, the altar, the knife, the blood.
So much fucking blood. I shiver involuntarily, and Lucien’s arm tightens around me even in his sleep.
The look in Lucien’s eyes when he found me—like he was barely containing something animalistic and deadly inside himself.
I should be more fucked up about witnessing a murder, right?
Because that’s what happened—Lucien killed Father Richards right in front of me.
Stabbed him and then twisted the knife, his face completely calm like he was just checking the time or some shit.
Yet here I am, not running for the hills but curled around the killer like he’s my security blanket.
What does that say about me?
I should be traumatized. I should be a fucking mess. But all I feel is numb, like my brain has built a wall between me and the horror show of last night. Maybe that’s shock. Maybe that’s self-preservation. Either way, I’m not complaining.
I carefully lift my head to look at him. In sleep, his face loses that sharp, calculating edge. His lips are slightly parted, dark lashes resting against his cheeks, hair falling across his forehead. He looks younger, almost vulnerable. Almost.
The bruise on his jaw is darkening where Richards got in a lucky punch before Lucien took control.
His knuckles are scraped raw, dried blood still visible in the creases.
He killed a man with these hands, and now they’re wrapped around me, one resting possessively on my hip, the other tangled in my hair.
And I’m just lying here trying to make sense of the fact that this man—this arrogant, controlling, dangerous man who’s made my life hell—came for me when no one else did.
He abandoned his game, tracked me down in the middle of nowhere, and then washed my hair with hands that were covered in death an hour earlier.
Who the fuck does that?
I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me reflexively. Even in sleep, he’s possessive.
I stare at him a little longer, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath.
Something inside me needs to reclaim control after being so fucking helpless yesterday.
I need to feel powerful again, to remind myself that I’m not just some victim.
And maybe I need to feel something other than the lingering terror that’s still clawing at the back of my mind.
I wait until his breathing evens out completely before I move. Carefully, I untangle myself from his arms and sit up. For a moment, I just look at him—this dangerous, beautiful man who killed for me without hesitation.
Fuck it.
I swing my leg over his body, settling my weight on his thighs. His skin is hot against mine through the thin cotton of his boxers. I can feel him hardening beneath me already, his body responding to mine even in sleep.
With shaky fingers, I grab the hem of his t-shirt and pull it over my head in one fluid motion. The cool air hits my bare skin, making my nipples tighten. I’m completely naked now, exposed, but it feels like armor somehow. Like I’m taking back something.
I roll my hips experimentally, dragging my wetness along the growing bulge in his boxers. The friction feels so fucking good that I do it again, more deliberately this time. I need this. Need to feel him inside me, need to use his body to chase away the shadows in my head.
His breathing changes, quickens. I grind down harder, my hands braced on his chest for leverage. The muscles beneath my palms are taut, defined even in sleep.
Suddenly, his eyes snap open—those piercing green eyes instantly alert, instantly focused on me. His hands shoot to my hips, gripping them hard enough to bruise.
“What are you doing?” he growls, voice rough with sleep but eyes sharp and clear.
I look down at him, tossing my hair back over my shoulder. “I’m gonna ride you,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “You got a problem with that?”
His eyes darken as they sweep over my naked body. For a second, I think he might flip me over, take control like he always does. Instead, his hands loosen slightly on my hips, thumbs tracing small circles on my skin.
“No problem at all, Little Sinner,” he says, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. “Take what you need.”
I reach between us, pushing his boxers down just enough to free his cock. He’s already fully hard, the head glistening with pre-cum. I wrap my fingers around him, giving him a few slow strokes that make his jaw clench.
“Fuck,” he hisses when I position him at my entrance. “You’re already so wet.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, not wanting to analyze why. I sink down onto him slowly, inch by inch, feeling him stretch me open. The fullness is exactly what I need—something real and physical to anchor me to the present.
“God, you’re so fucking big,” I moan as I take him completely. I sit there for a moment, adjusting to his size, watching his face contort with pleasure.
“Move,” he commands, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough that I know I’ll have marks tomorrow.
I start to rock, finding my rhythm. Slow at first, then faster as the need builds inside me.
My hips slam down onto him, taking him as deep as possible with each thrust.
“That’s it,” he groans, his eyes locked on mine. “Use me, baby. Take what you need.”
I lean forward, changing the angle so his cock hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. My hands find his chest, nails digging into his skin as I ride him harder.
“You like that?” I pant, watching his face as I clench around him. “You like me using your cock like this?”
“Fuck yes,” he growls, thrusting up to meet me. “Any time and any way I get to sink into you is enjoyable.”
I don’t want his encouragement or his permission. I want to shut him up, to make him feel as out of control as I’ve been feeling. Without thinking, I lean forward and wrap my hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to feel his pulse hammering against my palm.
His eyes widen for a split second before a fucking maniacal grin spreads across his face. The expression should terrify me—it’s the same look he had right before he killed Father Richards—but instead, it sends a jolt of heat straight to my core.
“You like that?” I ask, tightening my grip slightly as I grind down on him. “Being at my mercy for once?”
His laugh is dark and rough, partially choked by my hand. “You think this is a hardship for me?” he rasps, his hands moving to grip my ass, spreading me wider. “This is just you finally admitting what you want.”
I squeeze harder, feeling his Adam’s apple bob against my palm. His face is flushed now, veins standing out in his neck, but that crazy grin never falters.
“How bad do you want it?” he chokes out, his voice strained but eyes gleaming. “How badly do you wish you could choke me until I pass out? Until I stop breathing altogether?”
The question shocks me, makes me loosen my grip slightly. “I don’t—“
“Liar,” he whispers, bucking his hips up so hard I nearly bounce off him. “I can see it in your eyes. The thought excites you. The power.”
He’s right, and that scares the shit out of me.
There is a tiny, fucked-up part of me that wonders what it would be like to press harder, to watch those green eyes roll back, to hold someone’s life in my hands the way he held Richards’.
The thought sends an electric thrill through me that I immediately hate myself for.
“Just shut up,” I snarl.
I grab a handful of his hair and yank his head back, shutting him up for a blessed second. My hips never stop moving, grinding down on him with a fury that has nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with power.
“You don’t know what I want,” I hiss, slamming down on him so hard my thighs burn with the effort.
But that fucking smirk is back on his face. “I know exactly what you want,” he growls, grabbing my ass with both hands and spreading me wider. “You want to feel something. Anything besides fear. You want to be in control for once. You want to make me lose mine.”
I hate how right he is. I dig my nails into his chest, leaving crescent-shaped marks as I ride him harder, faster, chasing the high that will make me forget everything else.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, my voice breaking as he hits that perfect spot inside me.
“You’re already doing that, baby,” he taunts, thrusting up to meet me. “And doing a pretty good job of it too.”
I slap him across the face, the sound echoing through the bedroom. His head snaps to the side, and for a split second, I’m terrified of what I’ve just done. But when he looks back at me, his pupils are blown wide, a red mark blooming on his cheek, and his cock somehow gets even harder inside me.
“Again,” he demands, voice rough with lust.
I hesitate for just a moment before slapping his other cheek, watching his eyes roll back in pleasure.
“You’re so fucked up,” I pant, but I’m no better, getting wetter with every slap.
“We both are,” he agrees, grabbing my hips and slamming me down onto him. “That’s why we work so well together.”
“You gonna come for me, Satan?” I taunt, circling my hips in a way that makes his breath hitch. “Or do I need to make you beg for it?”
His laugh is dark and dangerous. “I told you before, I don’t beg.” He reaches between us, his thumb finding my clit. “But I will make you scream.”
I tighten my grip around his throat, pushing down hard as my orgasm builds to an unbearable peak.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” I scream as everything explodes, my body convulsing wildly around him. My vision blurs at the edges as I come so hard I can barely breathe. I’m still riding the wave when I feel his cock pulse inside me, his body tensing beneath mine.
“Seraphina,” he chokes out, my name strangled by my grip on his throat.
In one swift motion, he flips us over, still buried deep inside me. My back hits the mattress as he looms over me, my hand never leaving his throat. He thrusts into me, once, twice, three times before burying himself to the hilt.
I feel him emptying inside me, hot pulses filling me up as he keeps grinding against me, working through his release.
His face is flushed dark red from the lack of oxygen, veins standing out in his neck and forehead, but his eyes are locked on mine like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this world.
He leans down and captures my mouth in a vicious kiss. It’s full of teeth and tongue and desperation, like he’s trying to crawl inside me through my mouth.
I bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, tasting copper as he groans into my mouth.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both gasping for air. My hand falls away from his throat, leaving angry red marks that will definitely bruise. Good, I want him marked. I want everyone to know what we did, what we are. I am his and he is mine.
“Jesus Christ,” he pants, rolling off me but immediately pulling me against his side. “You might actually kill me.”
He brushes my hair back from my face, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “You okay now?”
The question catches me off guard. Am I okay?
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But I think yeah, maybe. I’m on the way to being okay.”
And isn’t that the thing most of us can ask of ourselves. Working toward being okay with everything the fucking world throws at us.