Page 23 of Lustling

“Her virgin cunt.”

The words drop like coals in my chest—too calm, too casual for the way my blood ignites. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to curl into fists. That should make me laugh. Should spark some cruel delight.

But instead, all I feel is heat. Territorial. Vicious. Because he called herhis.

And somewhere deep inside, something feral stirs in protest.

I imagine dragging her into the shadows. Not to hurt her—at least not in the way she fears. I want her to tremble, not from fear, but from the ache of recognition. From the pull of her own body awakening under mine. I want her to whisper my name before she even knows it.

Not to destroy her. Not yet.

Just enough to mark her.

Just enough to teach her who she belongs to.

I blink and force the image away, chest tight. Deimos turns to Cassiel.

“Start the music.”

And just like that, the fire is back in his eyes. The mask slips on. Charming. Controlled.

But I see the truth in the lines of his jaw, the tension in his steps as he disappears into the night.

He’s unraveling.

Cassiel glances at me, searching my face. “You good?”

I don’t answer right away. Because I’m not.

All I know is this: tonight changes everything.

And if that girl thinks she can walk into this fire and come out unburned… She’s fucking wrong.

TEN

Shawn’s hand is iron around mine as he pulls me away from the bonfire, deeper into the woods where the trees swallow the light and noise. The music and laughter fade behind us, replaced by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the hiss of the wind curling through the branches. My heart beats faster with every step, though I’m not sure why. The air here feels heavier. Close. Like someone is watching.

He shoves me against a tree before I can speak. The bark bites through my sweater, rough and unyielding, and his mouth is on mine, wet and crushing. The gasp that escapes me is devoured before it can turn into a protest. His hands roam over my body, rougher than usual, more demanding. Heat flickers through me in strange, uneven bursts as his fingers slide up my thigh, pushing the hem of my skirt higher. His knee presses between my legs, forcing them apart.

I moan despite myself when his fingers slip into the top of my panties, under my stockings. He slides against my slick folds with an ease that should thrill me. This should feel good. This should be what I want. I reach down out of habit, fumbling at his jeans, freeing him, wrapping my fingers around his cock.

And then everything changes.

The moment my skin meets his, something inside me recoils. My stomach twists. Nausea rises. The hands on me feel wrong, not just clumsy but foreign, as though I’ve been playing at intimacy with a stranger wearing a mask. The dark presses in from all sides. The trees feel too close. Too silent. My pulse spikes, quick and frantic. Why am I so aware of how far we are from the fire, from anyone else?

Shawn grips my waist and jerks me forward, his breath hot and sour. Shawn’s grip tightens like a vise as I try to pull back. The bonfire glow is long gone now; the only light is the thin silver of the moon cutting through the trees. My pulse pounds against my ribs. “No, Shawn. I changed my mind.” My voice cracks, brittle and small in the empty woods.

He goes still. For a heartbeat, nothing moves. “Changed your mind?” The words spill out of him, dripping disbelief and contempt. His fingers bite harder into my arm before I can twist away. Then he spins me, shoving me chest-first into the tree. The impact knocks the air from my lungs. Bark bites through my sweater and scrapes my skin raw.

“You don’t get to toy with me for months, tell me no, and then pull this,” he snarls into my ear.

Cold fear snakes up my spine. “I don’t want this anymore. Stop!”

He doesn’t stop.

The sound of tearing cloth rips through the night. My stockings. My panties. His fist tangles in my hair, yanking my head back. The angle exposes my throat, stretches my neck painfully. Normally I might like the edge of pain, the roughness of being handled, but not now. Not here. Everything feels wrong. Then his hand presses my cheek hard against the tree trunk, grinding splinters and grit into my skin until I feel it tear. A hot sting blooms across my face, and I feel the slow trickle ofblood slipping down toward my mouth. It tastes like iron when it reaches my lips.

“Shawn, stop!” My voice shakes, rising with panic. “Please, don’t?—”