Page 114 of Lustling

The shirt slides from his shoulders, baring skin etched with scars—old battles, old vows, holy violence carved into flesh. Power hums just beneath the surface of him, raw and restless, but he keeps it caged. He isn’t here to command.

He’s here to yield.

And the moment his knees touch the stone in front of me, my cock is hard.

I don’t need a circle. I don’t need summoning. This—his mouth parted, breath shallow, tongue sliding across his lips—is the ritual.

I start to undress. Slower than him. Not for show. To keep myself from detonating. My fingers shake as I unbuckle the laststrap of leather. My skin feels too hot, too tight. My incubus instincts howl, ravenous. I give them just a taste—push that hunger out in a wave, thick and suffocating.

Cassiel moans—sharp, involuntary. His head drops forward, hands fisting against his thighs. Behind me, Bastion exhales, rough and shaky.

Good. Let them drown in it.

Cassiel leans forward, reverent and eager, and presses his lips to the tip of my cock. Not lust. Not play. A vow. He looks up at me once—waiting, asking.

I nod. He takes my cock.

Heat. Pressure. Wet. My knees almost buckle. Cassiel moans again, and I fist a hand in his hair, guiding. He doesn’t need instruction. He knows what he’s doing—good, eager, obedient. Holy, even as he falls to ruin.

I barely notice Bastion until the heat of him sears at my side. A wall of fire. His chest bare, his cock flushed and thick in his fist. His breathing harsh.

“Move over,” Bastion growls.

Cassiel shifts without question. One hand strokes me with steady devotion while his mouth opens for Bastion, swallowing him deep with a sound that vibrates through us both.

“Fuck,” Bastion hisses, his hips jerking. “He’s good.”

“I know,” I rasp. My voice shakes. “And he’s so pretty when he comes.”

That image strikes like lightning.

Cassiel pulls back, lips wet and shining, switching. His mouth wraps around me again while his hand works Bastion with reverent precision. Then he trades. Stroking one, sucking the other. Alternating like worship, like ruin, like this is the only prayer he knows.

He whimpers, broken and raw. And in that sound—we feel it. That flicker of something older sparking beneath the skin. Not just lust. Not just magic.

Bond.

The beginning of it.

I thrust deeper. Cassiel takes it greedily, throat working, wings trembling against the stone. Bastion jerks in his grip, teeth bared, a low growl rattling out of him as his control frays.

Cassiel moans like he’s drinking starlight. Like we’re filling him with the first real thing he’s ever tasted.

“He’s ready,” Bastion mutters, breathless.

“So am I.”

Cassiel shifts onto his back, pupils blown wide, thighs spread open in offering. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow gasps. I lean over him, spit into my palm, stroke myself once, twice, then guide my cock to his entrance.

He shudders. Not from fear—from the weight of it. From what it means.

I push in slow, inch by inch, feeling him stretch around me, open for me, take me. He wants it. All of it.

His gasp shatters against the walls. His head tips back, lips parted.

“Still so fucking tight,” I growl, and wrap my hand around his cock. Hot. Leaking. Desperate.

He lifts his hips, caught between two hungers—my cock inside him, my hand stroking him. Trembling, gasping, begging without words.