Page 84 of Lustling

The truth of it slams into me, cold and suffocating. I’ve known this all along, of course, but I hadn’t allowed myself to face it. To look it full in the eye.

“They’ll notice,” I whisper, my voice breaking in the middle. “They’ll know something is wrong.”

Cassiel inclines his head, his expression unreadable. “Eventually.” A pause, softer but no less merciless. “You have to let them go.”

The air leaves my lungs in a shudder. I don’t want to. I don’t want to lose them, not when they’ve been the only anchor to a life that feels less and less real. Even if they were never truly mine to keep, I still want them.

But choice is a luxury I was never given.

I sink onto the bed beside him, my hands clenched in my lap so tightly my nails bite into my palms. “How?”

Cassiel shifts, his body angling toward mine, eyes glinting with a strange, solemn light. “I can erase their memories.”

The words hit me right in the chest, stealing my breath.

I snap my gaze to his, sharp, panicked. “Erase their memories?”

He nods once. Calm. Steady. “It will be as if you never existed to them.”

My throat closes, my voice raw. “But… will they still be happy?”

“ Yes.” The answer is immediate. Unwavering.

That single word is a blade with two edges. Relief on one side. A wound on the other. They’ll be happy. Without me.

A tremor runs through me, and before I can think, I move—crawling into his lap, straddling him as if the contact can hold me together, as if his solidity can keep me from breaking.

Cassiel stills, his hands instinctively bracing against my hips. “Lillien,” he murmurs, the warning gentle, but hollow. He isn’t stopping me.

I press my forehead to his, my voice a plea. “I need you.”

He inhales sharply, tension flickering through his body. For a moment, I think he’ll push me away, remind me of timing,of clarity, of control. But then his fingers slide into my hair, threading deep, pulling me closer. And he kisses me.

Not like before. Not about power or command.

This kiss is slow, aching, desperate.

I cling to him, pouring every fracture, every shard of sadness into it, my trembling fingers working at the buttons of his pants. He tenses, the soldier in him resisting, but he doesn’t stop me. He lets me undo the fabric, lets me free his cock, hot and hard against my palm.

A sound vibrates low in his chest when I push my panties aside and sink down onto him, inch by inch. My gasp shatters the silence, and his grip on my hips tightens, grounding himself as much as me.

“Temptress,” he breathes, the word laced with reverence.

I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Be quiet.”

A flicker of amusement shadows his mouth, faint but real. “I put up a barrier,” he whispers, voice ragged. “They can’t hear us.”

Relief floods me so hard my chest aches. So we can have this. This moment carved from everything crumbling around us.

There is no rush. No roughness. No war for dominance. Just slow, measured movements, hips rolling, hands tracing, lips ghosting. Cassiel touches me as though I am fragile, something sacred. A thing to be cherished rather than consumed.

It is nothing like what I’ve known with Deimos or Bastion. No hunger. No fire. Just this quiet, devastating reverence. And gods help me—it’s exactly what I didn’t know I needed.

I whimper as the pleasure builds sharp and relentless, clutching at his shirt as I move, pressing closer, desperate to memorize this. His breath stutters against my skin, his restraint unraveling as his hands dig into me, pulling me down, deeper, harder, until control shatters for us both.

I break first, a soft cry tearing from my lips, trembling as release overtakes me. Cassiel follows, his body seizing beneath mine as he spills inside me, his arms iron around me, holding me through it.

For a long time, neither of us moves.