He roared her name as he spilled into her, every muscle taut, his body trembling with the force of it. The sound echoed through the room, wild and broken, and then he was collapsing beside her, breath ragged.
She curled into him, limbs tangled, his cum still warm inside her. He kissed the crown of her head, heart still pounding.
“No one’s ever felt like that,” he whispered. “No one but you.”
Lillith smiled into his chest, her fingers dragging lazy circles across his ribs, but said nothing.
Her fingers calmed Dominic and he felt as if nothing needed to be said. He was at peace and happy they finally gave in. He let himself drift back to sleep.
16
LILLITH
Lillith hadn’t drifted off back to sleep. Not like Dominic had.
She’d lain there in the aftermath—bare skin against his warmth, the scent of him still clinging to her skin like a secret spell she hadn’t meant to cast. Dominic had drifted off with maddening ease, his breath slow and deep beside her, arm slung over her waist like it belonged there. Like she belonged to him.
And that was the problem. Because part of her wanted to believe she did. But the smarter part—the older, scarred part that remembered the High Fae court, and her father’s cold voice, and how it felt to be used like a pawn in someone else’s game—knew better.
So she’d waited. Until his breathing steadied. Until she could slip out from beneath him without waking him. Until the air stopped tasting like temptation and the press of his lips on her neck stopped echoing like thunder in her blood.
She dressed in silence, wrapped herself in a worn robe, and padded down the hall barefoot. The sigil he’d marked her with earlier still shimmered faintly against her skin, like moonlight trapped beneath her collarbone.
She didn’t dare touch it, because if she did, she might remember the way he’d whispered her name. She might remember the way she’d let her walls crumble. And then she might not survive the regret.
Not if this was just the bond talking. Not if what she felt, what he felt, wasn’t real. Not if it was only fate’s cruel idea of fun.
She shut herself in the study and summoned her grimoire again, fingers trembling slightly as she whispered the same words she’d whispered a dozen times already.
Break the bond.
The pages turned. Rituals. Oaths. Spells lined with fire and consequence. She traced each one with cold fingers and colder resolve.
Because she wasn’t going to let Dominic Kane fall for her just because they’d shared a bed and a curse.
If he loved her, if that was even possible for someone like him, it had to be by choice. Not magic. Not necessity. And certainly not because she’d made the same mistake she’d spent her whole life running from.
Letting someone in, someone see the softness beneath her sarcasm, the tremble beneath her strength. Letting someone believe she was worth staying for.
She pressed her hand over her heart, where his mark pulsed softly, steadily. And she made herself a promise. One more wall. One more spell. Just until she was sure, or at least until it didn’t feel like survival to pretend she didn’t care.
But peace had never been easy. It had been something she carved out herself, stone by stone, spell by spell, wall by wall.
And now Dominic—arrogant, golden, lion-hearted Dominic—was wrecking it just by breathing in the same room.
She hated him for it.
She hated how easily he’d made her laugh. How easily he’d seemed to see her as if she wasn’t broken.
She slammed the grimoire shut. The room seemed to exhale with her.
She didn’t turn when the door creaked open behind her.
“Morning,” came his voice. Sleep-rough. Warm. Unaware.
She forced her spine straight. “Don’t sneak up on me. Bad habit.”
“Didn’t sneak. You left the door open.”
