Anri POV
He kissed me like it wasn't enough.
Like just having me beneath him wasn't enough to undo the weeks of restraint he'd been clinging to. I could feel it in the way his fingers gripped my thighs, the way his hips pressed into mine—not quite desperate, but simmering. Barely leashed.
Lucien had always been composed. Polished. High-value, controlled.
Now, he was a man starved.
And I...I'd missed this.
I'd dreamed of this.
Of being ruined by him again.
It had lived in the back of my head, coiling in secret, every lonely night in London. Every time I rolled over and reached for him, only to find cold sheets. Every time I touched myself, only to stop—because my fingers couldn't match the way he did it. Not the way he touched me like he owned every inch. Not the way he worshipped and destroyed me all at once.
Lucien pulled back now, hovering above me. His breath was ragged, his mouth swollen from kissing, his eyes darker than I'd ever seen them.
"You don't understand," he said quietly, like it hurt to admit. "How hard it was to wait."
My heart flipped.
He dragged his hand down my chest, thumb brushing just under my breast. "When I couldn't even touch you. When I had to sit and heal and pretend I wasn't going insane."
I swallowed, chest rising fast.
"Now you're mine again," he said.
And then he bent down.
He latched onto my breast, tongue circling my nipple slowly—then sucked. Hard.
I arched, gasping, as heat shot straight down my spine.
He was obsessed with them. He always had been. But now, he was unhinged.
He palmed one roughly while his mouth devoured the other—flicking, biting, then soothing with his tongue. He tugged gently with his teeth, and I moaned so loudly he chuckled darkly against my skin.
"I forgot how sensitive you are here," he said, pinching the other nipple between his fingers. "So fucking soft. So reactive."
"Lucien—fuck—"
He switched sides without warning, mouth hot and wet, and I was already writhing under him, shameless and overwhelmed.
"You said you wanted to spoil me?" he muttered, kissing down the valley between my breasts. "Let me show you what my version of spoiled looks like."
Before I could answer, he shoved my thighs apart and dragged me to the edge of the bed.
His fingers found me instantly—slick, aching, needy.
He didn't waste time.
Two fingers slid inside me fast, curling deep, dragging along that raw spot that made me twitch.
I gasped.
His other hand cupped my breast again, thumb brushing lazily as he fingered me hard and fast, his breath hot at my neck.
"You're fucking soaked," he whispered. "You've been waiting for this too, haven't you?"
I whimpered. "Yes— yes—"
He pulled his fingers out and licked them clean.
I watched, breathless, as his mouth curled.
"Open your mouth."
I obeyed.
He slid his fingers in—coated with my arousal—and I sucked without thinking, moaning softly at the taste of myself.
Lucien groaned.
"You're insane," he growled. "You know that? My pretty girl who looks so innocent on camera, and then does this when the lights are off."
I was already shaking.
I needed him inside me.
Now.
"Lucien, please—"
He didn't make me beg again.
He grabbed the condom—ripped it open fast, rolling it down his thick, pulsing cock with one hand. It still shocked me how big he was. Every time. Thick and long, veined, already dripping at the tip. It made my mouth water.
"On all fours," he ordered, voice hoarse.
I scrambled to obey.
He knelt behind me, one hand spreading my ass, the other guiding himself to my entrance.
Then—
With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside me.
I screamed.
He didn't give me time to adjust.
He pulled out halfway—then slammed back in.
Again.
And again.
Until I was shaking, knees digging into the mattress, breasts bouncing with every deep, brutal thrust.
He gripped my hips tightly, nails biting into my skin, pulling me back onto him.
"You're mine," he growled. "Say it."
"I'm yours," I cried out.
He thrust harder.
"Louder."
"I'm yours!"
He fisted my hair, yanked my head back, and kissed my neck from behind—teeth scraping just below my ear.
"I've missed this body," he whispered against my skin. "The way you tighten around me. The way you sound when I fuck you right."
He slammed deeper.
I saw stars.
But he wasn't done.
Suddenly, his hands gripped my thighs—hard—and he lifted me off the bed while still inside me.
My legs instinctively wrapped around him.
He stood up.
Carried me.
Fucked me while standing.
I clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck, helpless and overwhelmed as he thrust up into me, each movement making my head fall back.
"Lucien—oh my God—"
"Hold on, baby," he growled, his hands under my ass, bouncing me on his cock with a rhythm that felt violent in the best way. "I told you—consequences."
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
I was completely his.
He walked us to the nearest wall, slammed me gently against it for support, and fucked me so deep I nearly sobbed.
"You dreamed of this, didn't you?" he gritted out. "While we were apart. Touched yourself and thought of me."
I nodded frantically. "Yes—yes—I did—I missed you—"
"Then take all of me."
And I did.
I broke apart in his arms.
Shaking. Crying out. Coming so hard I couldn't see, couldn't speak. My body locked around him, legs trembling, muscles convulsing with waves of pleasure.
Lucien groaned loud into my neck—and then he came too.
Hard.
He held me tighter as his body jerked against mine, spilling into the condom, every breath ragged, desperate, destroyed.
We stayed like that—pressed against the wall, limbs tangled, breath shallow, hearts pounding in sync.
I buried my face into his neck while he kissed my temple softly.
Still holding me like he didn't want to let go.
And then—quietly, raggedly—he whispered against my hair:
"I'm sorry."
I blinked. "For what?"
His voice broke slightly. "I'm never kind when I'm jealous."
I didn't move. Didn't speak.
He exhaled slowly. "I try to control it. I swear I do. But when it comes to you—fuck, Anri—it's like everything slips."