11
Rescue & Revenge
The manor's front door had barely clicked shut behind us when Lucien's control shattered.
I'd felt it building the entire drive back—the tension radiating from his body, the way his amber eyes kept flicking to me in the rearview mirror, the low, constant growl that vibrated in his chest like a warning. Darius and Azrael had flanked me in the back seat, their presence steady and grounding, but Lucien had been a coiled spring, wound tighter and tighter with every mile that passed.
Now, standing in the grand foyer with the echoes of our rescue still ringing in my ears, he finally snapped.
His hand closed around my wrist—not painfully, but with an urgency that bordered on desperation—and he pulled me toward him. I stumbled, my legs still unsteady from hours of sitting in that cold metal chair, and he caught me easily, dragging me onto his lap as he sank onto the bottom step of the grand staircase.
"Lucien—" I started, but his mouth on my throat silenced me.
"I thought I lost you." His voice was wrecked, barely human, vibrating against my skin. "When I realized you were gone—when I smelled strangers on the perimeter and knew they'd taken you—" His teeth grazed my pulse point, and I felt the sharp edge of fangs barely sheathed. "I can't. I can't be gentle right now. I need—"
"I know." I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. His amber irises were nearly swallowed by black, the wolf so close to the surface I could see it lurking behind his gaze. "Take what you need. I'm here. I'm safe. I'myours."
The sound he made was barely human—a snarl of relief and hunger and desperate, feral need. His hands found the waistband of my jeans—ruined already, stained with soot and warehouse grime—andtore. The denim gave way like paper, the sound of ripping fabric obscenely loud in the quiet foyer. Cool air hit my exposed skin, and I gasped, but Lucien didn't give me time to adjust.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, positioned me over his lap, and thrust up into me in one brutal motion.
I cried out—not from pain, though the stretch was intense, but from the sheer overwhelmingfullnessof him. He was thick and hot and impossibly hard, and he filled me completely, burying himself to the hilt in a single stroke. My hands flew to his shoulders, my nails digging into the leather of his jacket, and I heard myself make a sound that was half sob, half moan.
"Mine," he snarled against my throat. His hips began to move—rough, desperate, a punishing rhythm that drove me up and down on his cock. "Mine.Mine. Say it."
"Yours," I gasped, my head falling back. "I'm yours, Lucien, all yours—"
He fucked me like he was trying to crawl inside me. Like he needed to feel me around him, needed to bury himself so deep that nothing could ever take me away again. The angle was devastating—every thrust hit something deep and sensitive, sending sparks shooting through my nerves. I was still sore from the group session the night before, still tender, and the roughness of it blurred the line between pleasure and pain until I couldn't tell them apart.
Behind us, I was dimly aware of the others. They hadn't left. They stood in the shadows of the foyer—Darius leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his silver eyes dark and watchful; Azrael perched on the edge of a marble table, his golden gaze fixed on us with reverent intensity; Selene settled on the staircase above us, her emerald eyes sparkling with satisfied approval. They were witnessing this—witnessing Lucien's claiming, his desperate, feral need to reclaim what he'd almost lost.
I should have been embarrassed. Instead, it only made me hotter.
"Look at them," Lucien growled, his lips brushing my ear. "Watching me fuck you. Watching me claim what's mine." His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back, exposing my throat. "Let them watch. Let them see. You belong to all of us, but right now—right now, you'remine."
His teeth found my shoulder—the same spot he'd bitten before, the wound still tender—and he bit down. Not hard enough to break skin, but close. The sharp sting of it sent a fresh wave of heat through my core, and I felt myself clench around him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.
"So tight," he rasped. "So perfect. Taking all of me like you were made for it."
I was climbing, rising toward a peak that felt inevitable. Every thrust pushed me closer, and I could feel the knotbeginning to swell—that familiar pressure at the base of his cock, stretching me impossibly wider with each stroke. I knew what was coming. I craved it.
"Lucien—" His name was a broken plea. "I'm close—"
"Not yet." His rhythm slowed, became grinding, punishing. "You come when I say. And I'm not done with you."
He was edging me, I realized—deliberately, cruelly, holding me on the precipice while he took his pleasure. Every time I got close, he would ease back, change the angle, deny me the release I was desperate for. I was sobbing with it, tears streaming down my cheeks, my body trembling with unfulfilled need.
"Please," I begged. "Please, Lucien, I need—"
"Need what?" His voice was a growl, rough and possessive. "Tell me."
"Need to come. Need your knot. Need you to fill me up—"
The words broke something in him. His rhythm changed—faster, harder, driving into me with a ferocity that stole my breath. The knot swelled, catching at my entrance, and I felt the familiar stretch as he forced it past my resistance.
"Take it," he snarled. "Take all of me."
The knot locked inside me, and I shattered.
