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I drop to my knees behind her, get both hands on her cheeks, and spread her wide open.

Then I lean in and lick.

She jerks like she's been shocked, cryin' out somethin' that's just noise, and I do it again, tongue draggin' slow from her clit all the way up, and she's so wet I can taste her before I even get there.

Drippin'. Christ, she's always like this for me, like her body knew me before her mind ever caught up.

I work my tongue over her, slow circles, and she's shakin' now, both hands fisted in the couch cushion, hips pushin' back into my face like she can't help herself, and I let her.

Let her use me a little.

I slide one finger down and push it inside her, and Christ, the sound alone—wet, easy, no resistance at all—almost undoes me right there on my knees.

"So slippery," I mutter against her skin, more to myself than her. "Fuckin' soaked, baby."

I pull my finger back out, drippin', and drag it slow up the crease of her ass, coatin' her with herself, and she goes still for half a second like she's not sure what I'm doin', then relaxes right back into it, breath comin' out shaky.

"That's it," I tell her. "Just feel it."

I push the finger back inside her, deep this time, and start strokin', hard and steady, my knuckles brushin' against her with every push, and she starts makin' that sound again—broken, needy, my name fallin' outta her mouth like a prayer she don't even mean to say out loud.

"Legion—God⁠—"

"I got you."

I keep goin', wrist workin', watchin' her come apart under my hand, her thighs shakin' around that crooked, useless scrap of lace still hangin' there, and I don't slow down. Don't give her a second to catch up.

She's close when I stop.

And this makes her almost sob as she looks at me from over her shoulder. "Fuck me," she whispers. "Fuck me now."

CHAPTER 4

"Fuck me now," I hear myself say. My words come out desperate.

And that's how it's always been between us.

Desperate.

He grabs both cheeks of my ass like he's claiming territory, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and I moan into the leather cushion because that's exactly what I want—marks, proof, something to look at tomorrow and remember this.

"You want it now." His voice is wrecked gravel behind me. "After I spent all that time worshiping this pretty pussy, licking you like you're something holy."

"Legion—"

"Shut up." He says it soft, not mean. "I'm talking."

He drags his cock through me, notching at my entrance, not pushing in, just torturing me with the promise of it.

"You're my angel." His thumb presses against my asshole, slow circle, and I shudder. "Fell out of heaven straight into my lap. Little rich girl with a halo and a dirty mouth." He leans over my back, mouth at my ear. "But you don't want the angel part, do you? You want the demon. You want me to fuck the good girl right out of you."

"Yes." It comes out broken. Shameless.

"Say it." "Say it," he growls again, and I can feel the words vibrating against my spine where his chest presses into me. His fingers slide through my folds again, soaked, and he curses low, a rough sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest, like he can't believe I'm this wet for him.

He drags two fingers up slow, deliberate, gathering every bit of proof I want him, and holds them just out of my sight—like he's memorizing the shine of me on his skin, like this is something he intends to remember long after today ends.

"Christ, Savannah." His forehead drops to my shoulder blade, breath hot and unsteady against my skin. "You always did drip like this for me. Even when you were pretending you didn't."