SAVAGE OBSESSION

Chapter Eleven: No Going Back

The storm broke after midnight.

Thunder cracked above the mansion, the rain sweeping across the windows like the world was trying to wash itself clean. But inside Aria’s room, the air remained thick, electric, trembling on the edge of something unspoken.

Lucien stood at the window, rainlight casting shadows across his bare forearms. His shirt was unbuttoned, damp at the cuffs, his jaw tight with something too sharp to name.

Aria sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. Waiting.

“You should go back to them,” he said, voice rough. “Your parents. Your life.”

“I can’t,” she replied.

“You can. You should.”

“But I won’t.”

He turned then. Slowly. His eyes—those endless, dangerous eyes—met hers with a hunger he could no longer contain.

“Why?” he asked. “Tell me why you’d give up everything for this.”

“For you,” she said.

The air cracked like lightning between them.

Lucien crossed the room in three strides, his hand reaching out to grip her chin—not hard, but commanding.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he growled. “You don’t know how close I am to losing control.”

“Then lose it,” she breathed.

That broke him.

He crushed his mouth to hers in a kiss that was part war, part worship. She responded with equal force—fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, as if she could devour the distance between them.

His hands slid down her sides, lifting her effortlessly into his arms as he carried her to the bed. The kiss deepened—hotter, darker, laced with everything they’d been denying.

He laid her down and hovered over her, one hand stroking her cheek, the other gripping the edge of her thigh. Their bodies pressed together, a perfect, aching fit.

Still, he hesitated.

“I’ll ruin you,” he whispered against her throat. “You don’t come back from a man like me.”

Aria arched beneath him, baring her throat like a vow.

“Then ruin me.”

With a growl low in his chest, Lucien claimed her.

Their clothes vanished in a blur of hands and gasps. Her skin was silk under his palms, her body fire against his. He kissed her like a man starved—trailing his mouth down her collarbone, across her chest, lower.

Aria moaned his name, breathless, shaking.

Every touch was slow but deliberate, sensual but consuming—like he was memorizing her, branding her with every inch of himself.

Lucien made love like a man who knew how to break and rebuild a soul.

And Aria gave herself to him like a woman who’d already lost everything—and didn’t care, so long as he was what she gained.

The world outside thundered, but the storm inside them was louder.

He worshipped every curve, every gasp, every arch of her body. He teased and tormented until she cried out for him, then took her—deep, relentless, and tender in a way that left her shattered and remade.

Their bodies moved in rhythm, tangled sheets and whispered names, skin to skin, until the line between pain and pleasure blurred.

When they finally collapsed into each other, slick with sweat and heartbeats wild, there was no space left between them.

Only truth.

Only them.

Lucien rested his forehead against hers, both of them panting, the world tilting around them.

“I should let you go,” he said.

“But you won’t,” she murmured.

“No,” he confessed, voice like gravel. “I won’t.”

And in that moment, Aria knew something terrifying and beautiful:

This wasn’t just obsession anymore.

It was love.

But love, in Lucien’s world, came with a price.

And someone, soon, would pay it.