Page 59 of Creeping Lily

TITAN

L ily stands in front of me, bare and unflinching, the soft glow from the lamp brushing over every inch of her like it’s worshipping her. She doesn’t shy away, doesn’t cover herself. She offers herself to me—wordless, certain—and something deep inside me splinters.

She wants me.

That truth pulses through my blood, drowning out the flicker of guilt that tries to surface. Whatever rules I thought I had, whatever lines I swore I wouldn’t cross—they dissolve under the weight of this moment. I can’t ignore what’s between us. Not when her eyes tell me she feels it too.

I’m on the edge of the bed before I realize I’ve moved, my hands sliding to her waist. I pull her in until she’s standing between my knees, so close I can breathe her in.

Jasmine. Clean skin. The kind of scent that hits somewhere deeper than my lungs, stirring up images of spring mornings and warm rain, of light breaking through the dark.

She smells like everything good I’ve never deserved.

I bend forward, my mouth finding the smooth line of her stomach. I trail slow, deliberate kisses up over her ribs, circling her belly button, tasting the salt of her skin. She tastes like she smells—sweet, alive, dangerous to a man like me.

I’ve fought this. God knows I’ve fought it. But even the strongest dam cracks eventually.

I take her breast into my mouth, my lips closing over a tight peak.

Her gasp turns into a soft moan, vibrating through me.

I let go only to tease her, my tongue drawing lazy circles that make her arch toward me before I give her other breast the same attention.

She’s warm, soft, and trembling under my mouth, and I’m struck dumb all over again that she’s here—with me, of all people.

She could have had anyone. Guys who lined up for a chance she never gave. But she’s here. Choosing me.

I don’t give her a chance to rethink it.

My hands grip her thighs, and in one swift movement, I lift her.

She lets out a startled yelp, her fingers clutching at my shoulders.

I lay her back on the bed, her hair spilling across the pillow like a dark halo.

The sight of her like this—laid out, waiting—hits me so hard my chest aches.

I crawl over her, my thigh sliding between hers, pressing up until she gasps. “You are so damn beautiful,” I mutter, my gaze locked on her mouth as she catches her lip between her teeth, teasing me without saying a word.

She arches, closing the distance, and then she’s kissing me—hungry, desperate.

Her tongue tangles with mine, and I press my body fully against hers.

She can’t miss the hard line of me against her stomach, even through the fabric.

I break away just long enough to strip my pants and boxers, the need clawing at me now.

The foil packet tears in my hands, the latex snapping into place with a finality that makes my pulse quicken. I don’t take my time. I can’t.

She drags me down, craving more of me—more skin, more heat. My cock presses into her thigh hard enough that I know she’ll carry the mark tomorrow. Her hand slips between us, curling around me, stroking, and I nearly lose it right there like some starved teenager.

I pull back just in time, catch her mouth again, kissing her rough and deep, my teeth catching on her bottom lip.

Her moans turn ragged, her nails scraping down my back.

Then she bites my shoulder—sharp enough to send a bolt of pain shooting through me.

I rear back, our eyes locking, both of us breathing hard. She’s fire.

I line myself up, pausing just long enough to read her gaze—daring me.

I push into her slowly, the heat of her wrapping around me, pulling me deeper. “Damn,” I groan. “So damn wet, Lily.”

She hooks her legs around my waist, drawing me in until there’s nothing left between us but the pounding of our hearts. I start slow, savoring the glide, the way her body molds perfectly to mine. But soon the rhythm builds, our moans tangling in the air.

This is more than I imagined. And still, it’s not enough. I want to claim every inch of her, to taste her skin after she’s spent, to etch myself into her so she’ll never forget me.

Her voice comes in short, breathless bursts. “Oh… fuck…” The sound of her falling apart around me drags me under with her. I thrust harder, faster, chasing that last peak until my release crashes over me in shattering waves.

I collapse against her, catching my weight on one arm, my other hand pulling her close. My face buries in her hair, and I breathe her in—like I could keep this moment alive just by refusing to let it go.

She’s so damn beautiful.

And now she’s mine.

Lily lies across my chest, her hair spilling over me like silk, her fingers dragging idle shapes into my skin.

Circles. Lines. Something careless, something innocent.

She doesn’t realize every lazy stroke feels like a brand.

I’ve lived years without touch, years where my skin was nothing but armor, and now…

now it feels like she’s sketching me back to life.

I keep still. I always keep still. But inside, my bones are restless.

Then her hand moves higher, toward my jaw, toward the edge of the mask.

The mask.

Her fingers glide over it, soft, reverent, like she can touch through it. She doesn’t understand. She shouldn’t.

“Why do you wear it?” she whispers.

I inhale, slow and sharp, forcing my chest to stay steady under hers. “You already know why.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, searching, bright even in the half-dark. “I know what you want me to think. That it’s anonymity. Protection. Fear.” Her thumb strokes across the false cheekbone. My jaw tightens beneath it. “But that’s not all of it, is it?”

The way she says it makes something ugly claw up my throat. Could she know? I grip her hip tighter, grounding myself in her softness. “Lily…” My voice comes out low, rough. A warning.

But she doesn’t back down. She never does. “I want to know you. Not just the mask. Not just Titan. You. Inside and out.”

Her words slice me open. She has no idea what she’s asking for. No idea what kind of disaster lies beneath the silicone, beneath the name, beneath the man.

For a long moment, I say nothing. Then I hear myself mutter, “The mask isn’t for me. It’s for everyone else. ”

Her brow creases. “What does that mean?”

I shift, restless, hating how raw this feels. “People see what they want. A faceless man is easy to fear. Easy to forget. The mask keeps the lines clean.”

Her fingers keep moving, stroking the bridge of the false nose, then moves across to the hard jaw. She cups my cheek like she believes she can feel me through it. “But it doesn’t keep me out. I can still feel you.”

The words gut me.

“You shouldn’t want to,” I rasp.

“But I do.” She presses harder now, eyes burning. “I want to know everything about the man who thinks he’s a monster, because all I see is a quiet beauty.”

My chest locks. My pulse slams. She can’t be looking at me this way.

Then she presses her lips to the edge of my mask, right where silicone meets skin. The sound that leaves me is low, guttural, animal. I fist my hand in her hair, dragging her head back just enough to look at me.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I grind out. My voice sounds dangerous even to me.

“Yes, I do.” Her tears shine, catching the dim light. “I’m asking for permission to know you. Every piece. Even the broken ones.”

It’s too much. Her words, her touch, the way she looks at me like I’m worth anything at all. My hands find her face, thumbs grazing the wet tracks on her skin, and I want to believe her. I want it so bad it’s tearing me apart.

But all I can do is roll her onto her back and crush my mouth to hers.

The kiss is punishment. A warning. A surrender.

She sobs against me, clinging, and I can’t stop, won’t stop, because she’s the only thing holding me to this earth. My monster and her softness, colliding, bleeding, binding.

When I break away, I press my forehead to hers, breath shaking. “Careful, Lily. You keep pulling at masks, one day you won’t like what you find.”

But my thumbs are still wiping away her tears. My body is still trembling over hers.

And in that moment, I know the truth I’ll never admit aloud:

The mask isn’t just to hide me from the world.

It’s to hide the world from me.

She falls asleep tangled in me.

Her breath is warm against my chest, her fingers curled into my skin like she’s anchoring herself there. Every exhale brushes over me in a rhythm I can’t ignore, steady, unbothered, as if lying beside me—masked, scarred, ruined—is the safest place she’s ever been.

It kills me.

I stare at the ceiling, wide awake, every muscle locked. I’ve been trained to lie still for hours, to play dead when the world demands it. But this—this stillness—is something else. It’s torture.

Because I can’t stop looking at her.

Her soft hair spills across my arm. Her face, slack with sleep, looks younger, untouched by the weight she carries when her eyes are open.

She trusts me with this—this unguarded piece of her—and I don’t deserve it.

Not me. Not the man who’s killed more than he’s saved.

Not the man who hides behind a mask because the truth underneath is worse.

I shift just enough to see her better. My hand finds her shoulder, then her arm, sliding down to her wrist. Her pulse beats steady beneath my fingers. Proof she’s alive. Proof I didn’t destroy her by pulling her into my fire.

God help me, I want to keep her.

I brush a strand of hair off her face, careful not to wake her. My hand hovers there a second too long, aching to linger, aching to believe.

“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.