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His kiss is sharp, aggressive, full of too much tongue and not enough oxygen.
There’s no finesse. No tenderness. Just open mouths, clashing teeth, too much tongue, and the kind of feral energy that says someone’s going to break something.
I bite his bottom lip. He growls like an animal that’s been poked one too many times at the zoo. Then his hand fists in my hair, yanks my head back, and my brain short-circuits -
Because apparently I’m into being handled like a misbehaving prophecy.
I should tell him to get off me, but unfortunately, I’ve been possessed by every poor decision I’ve ever made; so instead, I claw at his shirt like I’m personally offended it still exists.
Buttons pop. Fabric tears.
Somewhere in the house, one of his silent maids probably gasps.
He spins me and slams me into the wall like I owe him money.
“Ow,” I grunt, very dignified, as a framed abstract painting rattles above my head. “This house is gonna need structural reinforcements if we keep this up.”
Lucian's in full alpha meltdown mode. Shirt rumpled. Eyes wild. Hands dragging up my thighs like he’s cataloging every inch of me for evidence.
“Fucking -” I hiss, gasping as his hand slides up my thigh, dragging the hem of my sleep shirt -hisshirt - with it.
“Panties off,” he orders.
He hooks two fingers under my panties and yanks them down.
“I - okay.”
I kick them off mid-turn and lunge at him again, grabbing the front of his shirt.
“If we’re gonna ruin the décor, at least make it symmetrical.”
He doesn’t respond. He’s too busy dragging me into the dresser like I’m a life raft in a sea of emotional repression.
Alamp topples to the floor and shatters.Neither of us looks.
His mouth is everywhere - jaw, collarbone, the curve of my breast. Teeth scrape, tongue soothes, breath pants. His belt buckle hits the floor with aclang, his pants dropped in seconds.
My shirt’s next - torn over my head so fast I yelp-then we’re skin to skin, slick and seething.
Naked, breathless, and wrestling for dominance even though he’s clearly winning.
“You’re mine,” he growls, grabbing me under the thighs and lifting me like I weigh absolutely nothing.
“Thenprove it.”
He snarls - a sound, not a word - and slams me onto the closest surface.
The dresser.
It creaks. Then it groans.
Then it makes a sound that suggests we owe someone a replacement.
His hand grips my throat while his other cups my pussy - rough, unrelenting, marking me all over again, exactly the way I want it.
“Youdrippedfor them,” he growls, pressing two thick fingers into my soaked cunt without mercy. “You cried out for them. Youlet them knot you.”
“Andyou,”I pant, clutching his biceps. “You just ghosted me like a heat-ridden coward.”
