Page 42 of Lustling

Except I couldn’t. She wouldn’t have let me. She’d claw me to ribbons first.

I pull out, blood and cum still hot on my skin, and zip up without another glance at the girl. I grab my shirt off the bench, shrugging it on as my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Deimos:Need you. Now.

Of course.

I look back once—just once—at the broken body crumpled in the corner like discarded prey.

Then I walk out, still half-hard, still starving, still furious in a way no cage or cunt can fix.

She’s only been awake a few hours. What kind of damage has our little succubus already done? And why the fuck do I want to watch her burn the rest of the world to ash?

TWENTY

Shawn doesn’t deserve this.

He doesn’t deserve me standing on his doorstep in a dress that clings like sin, with lips painted the color of blood and a smile I don’t mean. But I give it to him anyway. The night air is cold against my skin, but my body hums with something hotter. Something crueler.

When he opens the door, confusion flickers across his face, followed by interest. His eyes drag down my body, lingering on the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips, the hem of my dress. He’s predictable, which makes him easy.

“Lillien?” he asks, cautious, like he’s not sure whether to be flattered or afraid.

I tilt my head and soften my voice. “Hey.”

A smirk begins to form as he leans against the doorframe, the confidence returning to his posture. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

I bite my lip, lowering my lashes just slightly, enough to draw him in. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

That gets his attention. His eyebrows lift, surprise mixing with curiosity. I take a step closer, slow and deliberate, until Ican reach out and trace my fingers down his chest. His heart beats faster beneath my touch, and I know I have him.

“I think…” I let my voice drop to a whisper. “I’m ready.”

For a moment he just stares at me, breath caught between disbelief and desire. Then I reach behind me and slide the zipper of my dress down an inch. That’s all it takes. His doubt crumbles.

He pulls me inside quickly, shutting the door behind us. His hands are everywhere—clumsy, eager, already shaking with need. I let him lead me down the hall toward his bedroom, my heels clicking across the floor.

When we reach the bed, his mouth finds mine in a messy, hungry kiss that tastes like whiskey and arrogance. He tugs at my dress, dragging it down my shoulders as if unwrapping something he thinks he’s earned.

But when he goes for his belt, I stop him. My hand slides down his chest, pausing at his stomach before moving lower. I make it slow, deliberate, an act of control disguised as invitation. When I finally free him, I smile and step forward until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

“So impatient,” I whisper, pressing my hands to his chest and pushing him down. Then I climb into his lap, straddling him, lowering myself onto him in one smooth, unhurried motion.

He groans, hands gripping my hips with bruising force, trying to take control. But I don’t let him. I grab his wrists, pinning them to the bed as I roll my hips slowly, deliberately. His breath catches. His muscles tense.

Then I lean close—so close that our mouths almost touch, so close he can feel the warmth of my breath against his skin.

And I whisper, “I fucked them.”

He goes rigid beneath me.

I grind against him again, letting the words slide from my mouth like a spell. “The guys from the woods.” I let out a soft, taunting moan. “It was… transformative.”

His jaw tightens, his chest rising and falling faster. I can feel the anger building in him, thick and electric, and beneath it—lust.

He tries to shove me off, but I don’t move. Instead, I press closer, my lips brushing his ear. “So… does that mean your bet is forfeit?”

His whole body locks. “Lillien, get the fuck off me.”