Page 75 of Lustling

Bastion grabs my hips, hauls me up against him, and thrusts inside me in one brutal stroke. I scream, my body arching, stretching to accommodate his thick length.

“Fuck, yes,” I gasp, my fingers clawing at his shoulders.

Bastion’s movements are blunt and worshipful. He takes me—not gentle, not kind, but owned—each motion a claim on the map of my skin. His voice is a low animal sound as he moves me, and then something older unfurls under us both.

A pressure slides through me, ancient and unbidden, threading into the marrow. Bastion’s own body changes—something fierce clawing out—and in that instant, teeth find skin. His teeth sink into my chest just above my heart. Pain flares hot. Pleasure follows, braided tight around the hurt. A pull like a locked key snaps home.

A bond bites into place. The world tilts; the new knot of us thrums taut and permanent. I feel it as if someone has sewn our names together with molten wire. My body convulses—pleasure and shock and an animal sweetness that makes me dizzy.

He doesn’t stop there. One hand slaps my wrist and yanks it up to the place over his heart, demanding a pledge. “Bite me back,” he orders, voice raw.

For a breath the world is nothing but the metallic tang of the moment. I hesitate—then the animal inside me answers. My teeth find flesh. It’s hot and real and more intimate than any vow. He roars, a sound that shakes the stone.

Power surges between us like wildfire. Flesh and fangs, blood and breath—something ancient and irrevocable seals itself. The bond settles, heavy and beautiful and brutal. We are linked in a way that does not look for easy undoing.

When the tremors ease I sag forward, trembling. Bastion leans his forehead to mine, still holding me close; his breath is rough, his presence a steadying weight. I am exhausted in that full, used way that leaves a strange, luminous calm behind it.

I lift my eyes and find Deimos and Cassiel watching—wide-eyed, stunned, and impossibly turned on. The sight of them like that—taken, hungry, humbled—makes a wild, satisfied laugh bubble up in me. We have made something here, a crooked rite of blood and want.

Bastion’s hands stay on me, possessive, warm. The bond hums under my skin, a promise and a chain. I press my face to his shoulder and let the aftershock roll through me, letting the truth sink deep: I am owned now. I am marked. And the world is sharper for it.

FORTY-FOUR

Lillien is utterly wrecked.

Her body trembles, limp and glowing with overstimulation, cradled in Bastion’s lap like a prize the gods might kill to possess. His arms wrap around her with surprising tenderness, anchoring her to the now. Blood drips slowly from the fresh mark etched above her heart—a crimson seal where his teeth claimed her, branding her as his. As theirs. As ours. The scent of her power hangs heavy in the air, heady and decadent, spiced with lust and blood and smoke.

She should be spent. Broken open. Hollowed out.

But she isn’t.

Even like this—used, filled, trembling—she still pulses with hunger. Still wants more.

Deimos crouches behind her, the planes of his body sharp with tension, his violet gaze lit with something feral. He doesn’t rush. He trails his fingers down her spine like he’s tracing constellations into her flesh, memorizing her with every slow drag of his hands. She arches under his touch, breath catching, hips shifting in offering.

He spreads her, slow and deliberate, his cock already slick from earlier.

"You think you can take more, Lustling?" His voice is low, rasping against her skin. “Even now?”

She doesn’t answer with words—only a breathless moan and a shiver as she presses her hips back, presenting herself like a creature born to be devoured.

He takes her in one rough thrust.

Her gasp splits the silence, sharp and raw. Her body tightens between them, the stretch brutal, relentless. Deimos groans, burying himself to the hilt as Bastion hisses through his teeth, her slick heat clenching tighter around him.

They find a rhythm—two predators feeding from the same kill, their movements mirrored in the savage poetry of desire. Her body rocks between them, a perfect vessel for their need. And she gives in to it. To them. Completely.

I watch from the shadows.

I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. But I can't look away.

She is transcendence and temptation wrapped in sin. Her skin glows with power, her throat releasing those soft, choked sounds that have haunted my dreams. I ache to touch her. To sink to my knees and beg for a place between them. My cock throbs, rigid and aching, trapped in the prison of my pants, but I don’t move to ease it.

Because I don’t deserve her. Not after what I did. What I almost did.

The memory burns hot—Zepharion’s voice, her pain, my silence. I almost let her be taken. Almost lost her. I would’ve handed her over to a monster if not for the others. If not for her.

Even now, forgiveness from her feels like a gift I haven’t earned.