Page 115 of Wicked Salvation

“Well?” he murmurs. “Do we hate it?”

“No,” I whisper. “We love it.”

We haven’t said it out loud yet—what this move really means.

We’re not just changing cities.

We’re not just enrolling in anormalsixth form.

We’re starting over.

No blood. No rituals. No family names dragging behind us like iron chains.

Just two people in love. Lucian nuzzles into the crook of my neck. “I gave you the top drawer in the dresser, and I’ll unpack for you”

I turn, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t even foldyourclothes.”

“No,” he admits, lips twitching, “but I plan on throwing yours in there with great care and enthusiasm.”

I laugh, lightheaded from the strangeness of it all. If a few months ago you gave me a million guesses, I would’ve never imagined I would be doingthiswith the ‘sinner’ I saw smoking in a dark corner at that cursed school.

It’s early afternoon. We’ve been up since dawn. My legs ache from the stairs—an apartment on the top floor sounded good until I realized there were no elevators—and I still don’t know where I packed my toothbrush.

But the way Lucian looks at me, like I’m just his future, but his present and past—like I’m hiseverything.The ache disappears.

Lucian wraps his arms around my waist lifting me to my tiptoes so our lips meet. He kisses me. It’s a soft kiss at first, lingering.

But then it gets deeper, and I sink into it.

He’s got me pressed against the counter, his hands sliding under my coat, tugging at the buttons of my sweater. Lucian kisses me greedily like I’m his first taste of air after a lifetime underwater. It’s like thiseverytime and I can’t get enough of it.

We come up for air just long enough to kick off our shoes and stumble our way to the bedroom kissing through laughs, gasps as we crash into doorframes, giggles as we crash into each other. The bed isn’t even made yet. There’s no sheet, just the mattress and two pillows we’d thrown on top in our rush to explore the flat. We fall into it, a tangle of limbs.

Lucian’s mouth finds my neck as he pushes my sweater up, his hands reverent as they roam over my bare skin.

“You’re so warm,” he breathes. “You always run warm.”

“Maybe you’re just cold,” I tease, curling my fingers into his hair.

“I was,” he says, voice low. “Until you.”

I tug at his shirt until it’s gone. He does the same to mine. Then my jeans. Then his belt. Lucian kisses every part of me like a prayer. All my scars, my stomach, my thighs—he even pays extra attention to the birthmark near my abdomen. He lingers at the hollow beneath my ribs, his tongue brushing the edge of my sternum, sending chills down my spine.

Next thing I know, he’s spreading my thighs. His fingers slide into me—two, then three, slow and relentless. My body opens around him, wet and aching. Every thrust presses against a place that makes my toes curl.

His eyes are locked on mine, watching me the kind of amusement that only a man who knows how to make me fall apart would. He licks his lips, watching as the strangled moans fall from my lips. He stopsrightas I’m on the edge.

“I’m not letting you get away so easily, Edie,” Lucian whispers. “I’m going to enjoy every inch of you.” His hands move to my knees and with a jerk, he spreads my legs as wide as they can go, his green eyes looking over me like a hungry man at a feast.

He leans down and licks a slow line up my inner thigh. I moan, thighs shaking. His hands spread me as wide as my legs will go, hands underneath me to pull me closer to him, and then his mouth is on me—worshipping, devouring me like it’s ritual.

I’m losing control of myself, of my grip on reality.

All I can feel is the pleasure rippling through every inch of my body.

His mouth seals over my cunt, tongue plunging deep, licking up every pulse of arousal with greedy, unholy delight. He moans into me like it tastes divine, like I was made for this, for him. My thighs tremble against his face and my whole body arches on its own, hips bucking to match the rhythm of his tongue.

“Fuck,” I gasp, one hand clawing into the bed beneath us, the other tangled in his hair. “Lucian—oh god?—”