Page 26 of Lustling

ELEVEN

She smells even better than she feels wrapped around my cock. The scent of her—sin and surrender—clings to my skin, thick and sweet, curling through the air like incense burning at an altar. Every thrust draws more of it from her, that subtle shift of power sparking. She is feeding, not just on me but on us, and she doesn’t even realize it yet.

But I do. And so do my brothers. They don’t need to ask. They feel it, taste it, smell it in the way her body arches, the way her breath breaks in soft gasps. She’s responding to all of us now.

Cassiel and Bastion release her wrists together, their hold unnecessary. She isn’t running. She’s clinging—hips rolling to meet mine, lips parted, eyes glazed. Gone pliant. Gone desperate. Drunk on the dark ecstasy of being devoured. I want to drown her in it. I want to overwhelm her until the line between ecstasy and death disappears.

“Feed her,” I growl, the words rasping between thrusts, drawn from something feral and starved. “Let her taste you.”

Her dazed eyes blink up at me, dark and glossy, confusion furrowing her brow. She doesn’t understand yet. But Cassiel and Bastion do. They shift in unison, undoing their belts, cocks springing free—hard, flushed, ready. They kneel beside her, eachguiding one of her trembling hands to their lengths. Her fingers wrap around them instinctively, like she was born to do it.

The moment she touches them her arousal surges, crashing through me like a wave. My thrusts falter for a heartbeat as I brace against the tidal pull of her pleasure.

She doesn’t just want us. Sheneedsus.

Bastion is thick, girth that makes her fingers stretch, her eyes widen. Cassiel is long and elegant, veined and flushed, the embodiment of a fallen angel’s corruption. Her gaze flicks between them, lips trembling, cheeks flushed. Then her tongue flicks across her lips, and she shudders.

She’s close. So close. Her power hums beneath her skin like a living thing, denial crumbling like a dam about to burst. When it breaks we will all drown.

I thrust harder, driving into her with everything I have, wanting that moment, wanting to rip it from her, wanting to feel her unravel so completely she can never be stitched back together without me. I want to destroy her.

“You’re mine now,” I snarl, leaning down until my mouth hovers over hers. She gasps, whimpering like she’s about to beg, so I take her mouth. Her taste is addictive—sweet and sinful, laced with helpless hunger. My hand slides to her throat, not squeezing, just holding her there as her body arches beneath me.

Cassiel and Bastion stroke themselves with her hands, low groans spilling from their lips, their need tangled in hers, in mine. She trembles on the verge, and when Bastion tears her sweater apart, exposing the flushed swell of her breasts to the cool night air, her moan is loud, unfiltered, wrecked.

She’s stunning beneath us. Raw. Bare. Ours. And soon, she will be something else entirely.

“Come on my cock, Lustling,” I order, my voice sharp and deadly with hunger. “I want to feel it.”

Her breath catches. Her body goes taut. Cassiel’s and Bastion’s hands move faster, rougher, using her like a toy between them, while I drag her closer and closer to the edge. Her head falls back. Her mouth opens.

And then they come. Bastion groans, thick ropes of hot cum spilling across her chest and chin. Cassiel follows, breath hitching as he coats her skin with his cum.

It’s enough.

Her climax hits her like a strike of lightning. She screams, her body arching off the ground, her cunt clenching around my cock in violent, spasming waves. Her eyes roll back, her fingers convulsing. She breaks.

And I nearly do too.

Power flares through her, wild and unchecked. Her pleasure feeds me, stronger than anything I’ve tasted in a thousand years. She’s waking up. But I want more. More than power. More than sex. I want her soul screaming in my hands.

My fingers slide down to her thigh, pushing her legs wider and wider until she’s laid out like an offering. No. Not an offering. A sacrifice.

Then I draw the blade.

The silver of the knife gleams in the moonlight, its edge sharp and clean. Ceremonial. Sacred. Desecrated. Cassiel stiffens beside me. He knows what this means. What comes next. But he doesn’t stop me. His silence is complicity. His silence is surrender. Bastion’s breathing slows, his body relaxed as he watches.

I brace myself, cock buried to the hilt inside her, my balls tightening as my own orgasm looms just behind my ribs. Her eyes open. They meet mine. And I see the flash of understanding too late. She knows.

But it’s too late.

I slam into her one last time as my release crashes through me—white-hot and consuming—and I drive the blade down.

The tip sinks into the center of her chest. My cock pulses as the knife pierces flesh. My orgasm and her death are one. Her scream is a broken thing—half moan, half gasp, choked by the shock and pain flooding her expression. She spasms around me, body locking up as she comes again, harder, her climax fusing with the moment of death.

She dies with my name in her throat and my cum in her cunt.

Her blood is hot, spilling over my fingers. Her power pulses violently once, then stills. Then everything is quiet.