His eyes flashed with triumph as he drove into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt. I felt the hot pulse of him as he came, filling me with his seed, marking me from the inside. His forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling as we both trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure.
For one unguarded moment, vulnerability flickered across his features — something raw and honest that made my chest ache. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual mask of cold control.
He lowered me slowly, my legs too weak to support my weight immediately. My body felt used, claimed, satisfied in ways I didn’t want to examine too closely. Without his support, I slumped against the wall, watching as he efficiently rearranged his clothing.
I felt the evidence of our joining trickle down my inner thigh, hot and viscous. The sensation should have disgusted me. Instead, it sent a perverse thrill through my body — a reminder of what we’d just done, of how completely I’d surrendered.
Septimus watched me with hooded eyes as I struggled to steady myself. His gaze tracked the path of his seed down my leg, a possessive gleam in his dark eyes that made my stomach clench with renewed desire.
“You look thoroughly fucked,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction. “It suits you.”
I glared at him, summoning what remained of my dignity as I pushed off from the wall. “Is that all you came for? To mark your territory?”
His laugh was low and dangerous. “If I were marking territory, you’d be wearing my bruises where everyone could see them.” His fingers traced my collarbone with deceptive gentleness. “Don’t tempt me.”
I expected him to leave immediately — to reassert the distance between us with some cutting remark or dismissive gesture. Instead, he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with unexpected gentleness.
“Come,” he said, taking my arm and guiding me toward the small bathing area in the corner of my chamber. I was too exhausted to resist as he poured water from the pitcher into the basin, dampening a cloth.
“I can clean myself,” I protested weakly as he pressed me to sit on the edge of my bed.
“Shut up, Livia,” he said, but without malice. He knelt before me — a position so at odds with his dominating presence moments before that I could only stare in confusion as he began to wipe the cloth gently between my thighs.
The tenderness of the gesture was more unsettling than his violence had been. I watched, transfixed, as Septimus cleaned the evidence of our coupling from my thighs, his movements careful, almost reverent. Another cloth to wipe gently over my flushed skin, and then before I realised what he was doing, I was cradled in his arms.
“Septimus, what-”
“Enough talk,” he said firmly. He laid me down gently, pulling the linens up and over my body. I watched, wary and confused, as he moved around my chamber with unexpected care. He poured water into a cup from the pitcher by my bedside and brought it to me, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
“Drink,” he commanded, but the edge had left his voice.
I took the cup, our fingers brushing in a way that sent unwelcome sparks through my still-sensitive body. The water soothed my parched throat, and I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d been until the cup was empty.
Septimus took it from me, setting it aside before sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I shifted slightly, uncertain of what this new mood meant. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken things.
“Why are you still here?” I finally asked, my voice rougher than I’d intended.
His gaze flicked to mine, dark and impenetrable. “Would you prefer I leave you used and alone?”
“I would prefer consistency,” I shot back. “This…” I gestured vaguely at his current demeanour, “Whatever this is, doesn’t suit you.”
A smile curled at the corner of his mouth, but it lacked its usual cruelty. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to.”
He grinned, pulling back the blanket and sliding in beside me.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m staying.”
“Staying? Why?”
His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me gently against him with casual possession. “Because I want to,” he said, as if that explained everything. “And because you’re not as indifferent to me as you pretend.”
“I never claimed to be indifferent,” I muttered, stiffening against him. “I said I hate you.”
His chuckle rumbled through his chest against my back. “Keep telling yourself that.”
