NOCTURNE

Chapter 3 — The Breaking Point

The night was restless. I woke before dawn, the sea still muttering against the cliffs. My body felt strung like a wire, humming with everything unsaid.

I dressed, not carefully—just a cardigan thrown over my slip—and padded down the corridor toward the library. Light burned in the archive room, golden and steady. He was already there. Of course he was.

Adrian stood with his back to me, sleeves rolled, reading by lamplight. When I stepped inside, he didn’t startle.

“You don’t sleep,” I said softly.

He turned a page. “Neither do you.”

I moved closer, unable to stop. The air between us was charged, thick, more dangerous than the storm outside.

“Last night,” I said, “you said if you came closer, it wouldn’t be a reflex.”

His eyes found mine then, sharp and unreadable. “Do you want me closer, Selene?”

The way he said my name—low, deliberate—loosened something inside me. I nodded. “Yes.”

In two strides, he closed the distance. His hand caught the back of my neck, not rough but sure, tilting my face up. His mouth came down on mine—hungry, claiming, as if he’d waited too long to be careful. The kiss was deep, wet, his tongue demanding entrance, mine answering. My body lit up under his.

I gasped when he pressed me back against the table, scattering papers. His thigh pushed between mine, hard muscle grinding into me through the thin fabric. Heat rushed, pooling where I was already wet, humiliatingly so. He knew—he must have known, because he groaned against my mouth and pressed harder.

“Adrian,” I whispered, my hands clawing at his shirt.

He broke the kiss, lips swollen, breath ragged. “If you want me to stop, say Nocturne.”

“I don’t,” I panted. “I don’t—”

That was all he needed. His hand slid beneath the hem of my slip, fingers gliding up the inside of my thigh. He found me soaked, his fingertips stroking my slick folds with devastating precision.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, teeth grazing my jaw.

“You’re making me.”

He pushed two fingers inside me in one slow stroke, filling me, stretching me. My cry echoed off the stone walls. He f****d me with his hand—deep, steady, curling just right—while his thumb circled my c**t. My hips bucked helplessly against him.

“Already so wet,” he growled. “You’ve been waiting since the storm.”

“Yes,” I gasped, shameless. “Please, don’t stop.”

His free hand gripped my hair, pulling my head back so he could watch me come undone. His eyes burned into mine as I shattered around his fingers, orgasm tearing through me hard, soaking his hand. I clutched the table, screaming his name.

He slowed, then withdrew, bringing his fingers to my lips. “Taste yourself.”

I obeyed, sucking them clean, moaning at the salt and musk. His c**k strained against his trousers, thick and obvious.

“Your turn,” I said, voice hoarse.

He unbuckled, freed himself—long, heavy, flushed—and my mouth watered. I dropped to my knees before he could stop me, wrapping my lips around the head. He hissed, hand fisting in my hair.

“Selene…”

I took him deeper, sliding my tongue along his shaft, hollowing my cheeks. He groaned, thrusting shallowly into my mouth. I gripped his thighs, moaning around him, the vibrations making him curse.

“Enough,” he snarled, pulling me up, kissing me hard, tasting himself on my lips. He spun me, bent me over the table. Papers crumpled beneath my palms.

“Say it,” he growled in my ear as he rubbed his c**k along my soaked slit.

“Yes,” I moaned, arching back. “Yes, Adrian, f**k me.”

He thrust in one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt. I screamed at the stretch, the fullness, the sweet burn of it. He held there a moment, letting me feel every inch, before pulling out and slamming back in.

“God,” I gasped, nails clawing the wood.

His rhythm was brutal, relentless, each thrust pounding me into the table. The sound of our bodies filled the room: wet, obscene, perfect. My breasts bounced with every snap of his hips, n*****s hard and aching.

“You take me so well,” he groaned, voice breaking. “So f*****g tight.”

I cried out as he angled deeper, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur. Pleasure surged, violent, unstoppable. “I’m—Adrian, I’m—”

“Come for me,” he ordered. “Now.”

I shattered, body convulsing, clenching hard around him. He roared, thrust twice more, and spilled inside me, hot and pulsing, filling me. We collapsed against the table, panting, sweat slicking our skin.

He pulled out slowly, c*m dripping down my thighs, obscene and beautiful. He grabbed a cloth, cleaned me with surprising tenderness. His hands lingered on my skin, grounding me back into my body.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered against my ear. Not a question. Not even a rule. A vow.

And for the first time, I didn’t want to argue.