Page 114 of Creeping Lily

“You should run,” I whisper into the dark, my voice nothing more than a scrape of air. “While you still can.”

She stirs, murmurs something soft against my chest, and curls closer. My throat locks. My arms tighten around her automatically, possessive, desperate, selfish.

Because here’s the truth: I’ll never let her run.

And that’s why I’m the worst kind of monster.

I press my masked face into her hair, inhaling her scent until it burns behind my ribs. She’ll never know it, but every breath she takes in her sleep is another vow I make to myself: to guard her, to shield her, to destroy anything that dares come near her.

Even if it costs me what’s left of my soul.

Especially then.

The silence stretches, long and heavy. I don’t move. I don’t sleep. I just watch her breathe, listen to her heart, and tell myself I’ll find a way to let her go—but even as the thought forms, I know that it’s a lie.

58

LILY

The mask is the first thing that undoes me.

He doesn’t take it off. Not fully. Just tips it up enough that I can see his mouth, the sharp cut of his jaw, the scars that live where the silicone ends. It should feel like a wall between us, but it doesn’t—it feels like a dare. Like he’s giving me just enough to tease me, and if I want more, I’ll have to earn it.

My pulse hammers as his mouth finds my throat. Heat pours through me, liquid fire where his lips drag over skin. I arch back, hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer because I can’t bear the space between us.

“Titan…” My voice cracks on his name.

He groans into my neck, low and feral, and then he’s everywhere at once—his weight pinning me to the mattress, his hands rough on my hips, thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise. Every movement screams possession. Like he’s stamping me into the earth with his body, branding me as his.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he rasps against my ear, but his hips grind down, betraying the lie.

“Yes,” I gasp, nails clawing at his shoulders through the fabric. “I do. I want all of it. All of you.”

His laugh is dark, dangerous, and it vibrates through my bones. “Careful what you beg for, little flower.”

Then he kisses me. Though it’s not really a kiss. It’s a war. His mouth crashes onto mine, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, his breath hot and ragged as if he’s drowning and I’m the only air left in the world. I open for him, let him take, let him ruin, because I’ve never wanted anything like this—like him.

The cool air licks over my skin, but then his hands are there, everywhere, mapping me with greedy strokes. His palms drag up my thighs, over my stomach, cupping my breasts with a hunger that makes me whimper into his mouth.

“Look at you,” he growls, pulling back just enough to watch my chest rise and fall. His masked face tilts, eyes blazing. “Spread out for me. Mine.”

The word detonates in me. I spread my legs wider, desperate, shameless, because he makes me that way.

He slides a hand down, fingers brushing where I ache most, and I cry out, hips jerking. He doesn’t rush. He circles slowly, deliberately, watching me unravel beneath him.

“Please,” I gasp, the word ripped out of me.

“Beg prettier.” His voice is a razor, slicing me open. “Tell me what you want.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, too raw, too undone. He grips my jaw, forcing my gaze to meet his through the slits of the mask. His stare pins me in place, molten and merciless.

“Tell me,” he orders.

My body trembles, heat flooding me. “I want you inside me. I want you to ruin me.”

A sound tears out of him—half growl, half groan—and then he’s pushing into me, hard, deep, filling me to breaking. Thestretch is brutal, exquisite, every nerve sparking like I’ve been struck by lightning.

I scream his name.