Page 117 of Wicked Salvation

I feel it—thick, coating my insides, painting me with him. His roar echoes through the empty flat. When he pulls out, slow and reverent, cum that leaks from me. He gathers it with his fingers and pushes it back inside, gently, possessively. “Keep it,” he murmurs. “All of it.”

I tremble.

Sweat slicks my skin.

My thighs are shaking.

I’m sore.

But I’m not spent—there’s one more thing that I want.

My legs are unsteady as I slide off the bed, pushing Lucian back with my hands flat against his hard chest. I kneel before him.

His cock is hard still—huge and heavy, flushed pink with need. The head glistens, slick with both our releases. I stare up at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling with shallow, reverent breaths. I look up at him.

He knows what I want.

But he knows I want him to take it.

“Open your mouth,” Lucian commands.

I obey with a smile.

His hand cradles the back of my head as he guides his cock forward, smearing it across my lips, over my tongue. He spends time watching how I take him in. The taste is heady and addictive—salt and musk. My tongue curls instinctively around him and my throat relaxes as he pushes deeper.

“Good girl,” he mutters under his breath.

That’s when he starts to move.

His cock slides over my tongue, into my throat, and I relax for him. His fingers tighten in my hair. His hips begin to roll. Each thrust is smoother. More possessive.

“You’re not just kneeling,” he rasps. “You’re surrendering.”

I moan around him, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes, but I don’t stop. I want him deeper. I want him to use me. He thrusts harder now. His cock filling my throat again and again, each stroke a prayer, a promise, a claim.

“I’m going to come,” he says. “Be a good girl for me and finish your plate.”

I moan, throat tightening around him, tongue stroking the underside of his cock as he fucks my mouth even harder. Thenhe shudders, throwing back his head as he roars my name. The whole thing.

Eden Grace Lockhart.

Hot, thick liquid floods my mouth—over my tongue and down my throat. I drink it greedily, swallowing every warm, salty drop. Because I want to, and because it’shis.When Lucian finally pulls back, his eyes are dazed and my body…I’m all used up.

He hoists me on the bed, and moments later he collapses beside me, burying his face in my neck. We lie there for a long time, tangled in sweat and silence. I roll onto his chest, pressing my ear over his heart. His hand drapes across my waist.

The room is quiet. Just our breathing, soft and synced. The occasional hum of a radiator switching on somewhere in the wall. The smell of us settling into the air—salt, skin, cinnamon from the latte he spilled on his hoodie an hour ago.

Lucian kisses the top of my head.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs.

“Which part?”

“That I was cold. Before you.”

I trace lazy circles over his chest with my fingertip. “I was drowning before you. But I didn’t know it.”

He lifts my chin so he can look at me.