– “Control is a Lie”
451 Words
– “Control is a Lie”
Lucien’s POV
⸻
She was in his bed.
Wearing his shirt.
And smelling like his mark.
Lucien leaned in the doorway of the den, watching her tuck her legs under herself on the worn leather sofa. Her skin still glowed faintly from the Binding, and her scent—ripe with satisfaction and trust—was an arrow straight to the chest.
Or lower.
Rhea glanced at him over the rim of her tea mug. “You’re staring.”
“I always stare at what’s mine.”
She raised a brow but didn’t deny it.
That amused little look she gave him—playful, teasing, like she knew he was close to the edge—almost made him snarl.
She had no idea.
Because this wasn’t the circle.
This wasn’t ritual.
This was danger.
The moment she stood and walked toward him, barefoot, loose hair tumbling down her back, Lucien saw it.
She wanted to push.
She stepped into his space, barely touching him, head tilted like a curious wolf. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m keeping myself in check.”
“That sounds exhausting.” Her fingers brushed down his chest, lightly grazing the inked runes on his skin. “Let go.”
He growled low, catching her wrist—not hard, but firm. “You don’t understand what you’re inviting.”
She leaned in, whispering against his jaw. “Then show me.”
His control snapped like a leather strap.
In a blur, he had her pinned against the wall—one hand around her throat, the other sliding under the hem of his shirt she wore. His mouth was at her neck, hovering over the mark he’d left during the Rite.
“You think I was rough before?” he rasped, voice thick with hunger. “That was ceremony. That was kindness.”
Rhea gasped, hips arching into him. “Then stop being kind.”
Lucien chuckled, dark and low, biting the shell of her ear—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to warn.
“Careful, little flame. I can take you apart and make you beg for mercy without leaving a single bruise.”
She moaned softly, eyes fluttering.
And still… he didn’t move further.
He held her there, trembling in his grip, aching and ready, but untouched. His power was pulsing under his skin, but he held it. Barely.
“You’re mine,” he growled, pressing his forehead to hers, “but I won’t take you like this. Not until you beg for it. Not until you break for it.”
And gods help him…
He wanted to be the one to break her.
Gently. Slowly. Completely.
- Writer
