Chapter 15: Chapter 15
Lucius knelt at Cassie’s feet, a shattered monument of silk and bruises. The raw pleading in his bloodshot eyes, the tremor in his outstretched hand, the desperate rasp of "Own me. Tell me how." – it hung in the lavender-scented silence like a bomb waiting to detonate. Sirius watched from his armchair, the ice in his tumbler clinking softly as he took another slow sip, his own gaze unreadable but heavy. The wreckage of their forced encounter still clung to the air – spilled whiskey, sweat, and the bitter tang of humiliation.
Cassie looked down at the proudest, coldest man she knew, reduced to trembling supplication on her rug. The gnawing ache from Rabastan’s relentless possession warred with this new, unsettling power. Control, a voice whispered inside her head, away from the terrifying chaos of loving him. She could control this.
"Up," she commanded, her voice flat, cutting through the tension. Lucius flinched. "Stand up. Now."
He moved like a puppet with tangled strings, struggling to rise on unsteady legs. Sirius didn't offer help; he just watched, a faint, cynical curve to his lips. Cassie turned without another word, walking towards the sweeping staircase. She didn't look back, but felt their presence follow – Lucius’s shuffling uncertainty, Sirius’s predatory quiet. The grand bedroom door stood slightly ajar. She pushed it open.
Opulence washed over them. Deep crimson velvet draped the towering four-poster bed. Antique furniture gleamed with dark wood polish under the soft light of crystal sconces. The air, thick with the mingled scents of expensive amber perfume and something older, dustier, like whispered secrets trapped in the tapestries. A cool breeze sighed through the open window, making the heavy silk canopy curtains ripple like ghosts.
"Here," Cassie stated, stopping in the center of the vast, silent room. She turned to Lucius. His torn shirt hung open, revealing the mottled bruising on his chest and ribs from Sirius’s earlier handling. His eyes were wide, still lost, still desperately seeking instruction. "Strip," she ordered. "Everything. Then lie on the bed."
His hands trembled as he fumbled with the ruined buttons, peeling the silk away. His fingers hesitated at his belt buckle. Sirius leaned against the ornate doorframe, swirling his drink, his gaze fixed on Lucius with unnerving intensity. "Hurry up, Malfoy," Sirius drawled, the casual cruelty back in his voice. "Or do you need help peeling off your fancy knickers too?"
Lucius flinched, dropping his gaze, his cheeks flushing a mortified crimson. He managed the belt, shoving trousers and underwear down his long legs, stepping awkwardly out of them. He stood naked under the chandelier’s soft glow, pale skin stark against the dark room, marred by fresh bruises – fingerprints on his hips, the dark bloom on his cheekbone. He looked painfully vulnerable and utterly exposed. Without meeting her eyes, he moved towards the bed, climbing onto the impossibly soft mattress, lying stiffly on his back, staring up at the carved canopy. His breathing was shallow, ragged.
Cassie began removing her own clothes, the skirt still damp with Rabastan’s spend, the blouse smelling faintly of brick dust and sweat. She let them pool on the thick rug. She felt Sirius’s eyes on her, scanning the fading marks Tom had left on her ribs, the fresh scrapes from the alley wall, the general aura of rough usage. She ignored him and climbed onto the high bed, straddling Lucius’s narrow hips. His skin was cool beneath her thighs. He gasped softly as she settled her weight, his hands clenching the velvet coverlet. His cock, half-hard, stirred weakly against her thigh.
She reached between her legs, positioning him. He was still slick inside from Rabastan, sore and swollen. The initial breach was tight, uncomfortable. Lucius hissed, his head pressing back into the pillow. "Relax," Cassie murmured, more command than comfort. She sank down slowly, deliberately, feeling him stretch her, fill her. The mingled sensation – the residual ache, the fullness, the bizarre intimacy of commanding this broken man – was overwhelming. She began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm, setting the pace she wanted. Lucius’s eyes fluttered shut, his jaw clenched. He made small, choked sounds with each descent.
Sirius moved quietly from the doorway. He pulled off his own shirt, tossing it aside, and sat on the plush velvet chaise lounge near the bed. He stretched out, propping his head on one hand, his other hand idly tracing patterns on the upholstery. He watched them with a lazy, almost bored intensity, sipping his drink. The clink of ice against crystal punctuated the quiet sounds of skin on skin and Lucius’s stifled breaths.
Cassie focused on the feel, the control. She rode Lucius harder, seeking friction against her clit, trying to obliterate the phantom echo of Rabastan’s growling voice in her mind. I love him. The treacherous thought surfaced again. She pushed it down, grinding against Lucius, making him gasp. She felt his cock swell fully inside her, betraying his body’s unwanted response to her dominance.
"Look at me," she ordered Lucius. His eyes snapped open, wide and startled, meeting hers. The surrender there was absolute. She saw the shame, the confusion, the sheer terror of being so completely known and used. "Come," she commanded softly, increasing her tempo. "Come inside me."
His control shattered instantly. With a ragged cry that was almost a sob, his body arched off the bed. His fingers dug into her hips as he pulsed deep within her, his release hot and helpless. Cassie rode him through it, feeling the spurts, the tremors that shook his lean frame. When he finally collapsed, utterly spent, his eyes rolled back, his breathing harsh and uneven, she stayed seated, feeling the warm, mixed slickness of Rabastan’s seed and Lucius’s fresh spend seep between her thighs. She looked over at Sirius. He hadn't moved. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes glittering in the low light.
Lucius’s breathing slowed, deepening. Exhaustion, shock, and release pulled him under swiftly. His eyelids fluttered shut, his head lolled to the side on the pillow, unconsciousness claiming him almost instantly. The profound stillness of sleep settled over him.
In the sudden quiet, broken only by the sigh of the curtains and Lucius’s soft snores, Sirius unfolded himself from the chaise. He put his empty glass down silently on a side table, the crystal making a soft tink. He approached the bed with the silent grace of a large cat, his gaze fixed solely on Cassie. The predatory stillness radiating from him was a different kind of threat than Rabastan’s feral energy – colder, sharper, edged with a dangerous familiarity.
He stopped beside the bed, looking down at her where she still straddled the sleeping Lucius. His eyes, dark and intense, traveled over her sweat-slicked skin, her messy hair, the marks of others visible even in the dim light. A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips.
"Well, well," Sirius murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that seemed to vibrate in the plush silence. He reached out, not touching her, but his fingers trailed a phantom path down her arm, making her skin prickle. "Look at you." He leaned in closer, bringing his face inches from hers. The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne mingled with the musk of sex in the air. His gaze held hers, stripping her bare in a different way. "My naughty little slut niece." The words were soft, almost affectionate, yet loaded with a heavy, illicit charge. "Been busy, haven't you? Collecting conquests. Letting them all paint your pretty insides."
He finally touched her, a single fingertip tracing the curve of her lower lip, then trailing down her throat, over the pulse hammering wildly there. "Rabastan’s filthy gutter marks. Riddle’s cold disdain. Malfoy’s desperate little surrender..." His finger dipped lower, skimming over her collarbone, towards her breast. "And now it’s my turn." His hand slid around her waist, strong and demanding, pulling her backwards off Lucius’s limp body. Cassie landed on her knees on the plush rug beside the bed, facing him. He didn't let go, his grip tightening.
"Don't pretend you don't want it," he breathed, his other hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. His eyes burned into hers. "You crave being used. Owned. That little fire in you needs stoking. Needs reminding who really knows how to burn you." He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down her spine despite everything. "Time to come for your Uncle Sirius, sweetheart. Come hard. And beg for it while you do."
Sirius’s grip in her hair tightened, forcing her head back further until her throat arched taut beneath his gaze. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, raising goosebumps despite the heat radiating from him. "Beg," he repeated, the word a low vibration against her ear, his breath hot and smelling faintly of expensive Scotch.
Cassie’s mouth felt dry, her mind scrambling against the sheer, terrifying magnetism of his command. "Please," she choked out, the word scraping raw. "Sirius..." It wasn't enough. His free hand slid down her spine, rough and possessive, stopping at the curve of her hip. His thumb dug in, a silent, insistent pressure.
"Louder," he growled, his lips grazing the frantic pulse in her neck. "Tell me what you want, niece. Tell me how badly you need it." The memory of Rabastan’s brutal ownership, Tom’s cold detachment, Lucius’s shattered surrender – they collided inside her, a confusing storm. Sirius felt different. Dangerous in a way that promised annihilation and absolution simultaneously.
"I need..." Cassie gasped as his fingers slipped between her thighs, finding her slick and swollen, a mess of mixed spend and her own treacherous arousal. His touch wasn't gentle; it was an assessment, a claiming. "I need you," she forced out, the admission burning her tongue. "Please, Sirius. Make me come."
A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. "That's my girl." He released her hair only to grab her hips, spinning her roughly onto her hands and knees on the deep velvet rug beside the bed where Lucius slept obliviously. The plush pile crushed beneath her palms. Sirius knelt behind her, his presence immense, blocking the dim light.
She felt the blunt pressure of him against her entrance, still stretched and sensitive from Lucius. He didn't ease in. He pushed forward with a single, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Cassie cried out, a sharp sound muffled against the rug, her body bowing under the sudden, overwhelming fullness. He felt thicker, harder, demanding space Lucius hadn't claimed.
He didn't pause. Sirius set a brutal, driving rhythm immediately, each powerful thrust slamming her forward, making her brace her arms against the rug’s friction. "Fuck," he hissed, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring her for his use. "Feel that? That's mine now." His voice was thick with exertion and dark satisfaction.
The force was jarring, almost painful, yet it ignited something deep and primal she couldn't suppress. Each impact sent shockwaves through her, sparking against her clit. The ache mingled with a terrifying, building pressure. "Sirius..." she whimpered, the plea tangled with involuntary moans. "Oh god..."
"Look at him," Sirius commanded, his thrusts never faltering, his voice rough. "Look at your broken prince sleeping." Cassie lifted her head, vision blurry. Lucius lay sprawled on the bed above them, pale and still, utterly unaware. The contrast was obscene, dizzying – his peaceful oblivion against the raw violation happening inches below him.
"Tell me who owns you," Sirius demanded, punctuating each word with a punishing drive of his hips. His fingers dug deeper into her flesh. "Tell me whose cock is filling you now." The pressure inside her coiled impossibly tight, a wire pulled to snapping. The shame, the fear, the sheer, undeniable physical response – it fused into a terrifying crescendo.
"You!" Cassie gasped, the word ripped from her. "Yours, Sirius! Please... please..." Her voice broke on a sob as the coil snapped. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and all-consuming, tearing through her resistance. She convulsed around him, crying out incoherently, her body shaking violently as wave after wave crashed over her.
Sirius grunted, a sound of pure, feral triumph. He drove into her twice more, hard and deep, burying himself completely as his own release surged. She felt the hot pulse deep inside, another claim mixing with the others. He held himself there, buried to the root, his body rigid against hers, his breathing harsh in her ear. His hands stayed locked on her hips, possessive anchors.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. Cassie collapsed forward onto her elbows, utterly spent, her cheek pressed against the cool velvet. Sirius remained lodged inside her for a long moment, his weight heavy, his presence smothering. Finally, he withdrew with a soft, slick sound that echoed loudly in the sudden quiet. He stayed kneeling behind her, his hand smoothing possessively over the curve of her ass, tracing the marks his fingers had left.
He leaned down, his lips brushing her sweat-damp temple. "Mine," he murmured, the word a final, irrevocable seal. His breath ghosted over her skin. "Remember that." He rose smoothly to his feet, leaving her trembling on the rug. Sirius glanced once at Lucius’s sleeping form, a flicker of cold disdain in his eyes, before turning towards the door, his silhouette dark against the dim light from the hallway. He didn't look back.
The velvet pile of the rug pressed cool against Cassie’s flushed cheek. Sirius was gone, the heavy bedroom door clicking shut behind him, leaving only the scent of whiskey, cologne, and sex hanging thick in the opulent air. Lucius snored softly on the bed above, oblivious. Every muscle screamed. Between her thighs felt raw, swollen, a bruised ache echoing the deeper throb Rabastan had left inside her, now mixed with Lucius’s and Sirius’s claims. She pushed herself up onto trembling elbows, the movement sending a fresh wave of discomfort through her core. The grand room felt suddenly too large, too silent, the whispering silk curtains mocking her disarray.
Sunlight, harsh and unforgiving, stabbed through the high windows. Reality crashed in. Work. Ignoring the stickiness coating her inner thighs and the dull throb radiating from her hips, Cassie stumbled towards the ensuite bathroom, a sanctuary of marble and chrome. She turned the shower to near-scalding, stepping under the punishing spray. The water ran pinkish-brown down the drain for a terrifying minute – dust, blood, semen – a grotesque cocktail of the alley, the garage sale, and the tangled power plays in velvet-draped rooms. She scrubbed until her skin felt raw, trying to erase the phantom sensations, the possessive whispers, the lingering scent of three different men clinging to her. Owned. Broken. How much more can bend before it snaps? She dried off quickly, pulling on clean clothes that felt like a flimsy disguise. Makeup couldn't hide the exhaustion bruising the skin under her eyes, or the faint, telltale marks Rabastan’s teeth had left on her shoulder, visible above her blouse’s neckline. She grabbed her bag and slipped out, leaving Lucius to his shattered sleep.
The sterile, fluorescent buzz of the office hit like a physical slap after the heavy perfume and shadows. Cassie slid into her chair, the cheap plastic unforgiving against her tender muscles. She powered up her computer, the screen’s glow harsh in the artificial light. The mundane task of logging in felt surreal, a thin veneer over the chaos humming beneath her skin. Focus was impossible. The memory of Sirius’s voice, low and dangerous – "Time to come for your Uncle Sirius" – echoed, overlaying the rhythmic clack of keyboards around her. She flinched, shifting in her seat, the persistent ache a constant reminder. Just get through the day. Don’t think. Don’t feel.
The air pressure in the room dropped suddenly. A cold wave washed over Cassie before she even heard the heavy tread. Tom stood in the doorway of her small office pod, his face a mask of carved ice. His knuckles were white where they gripped the doorframe, his dark eyes sweeping over her with terrifying precision – lingering on the barely concealed bite mark, the way she held herself stiffly, the pallor beneath her foundation. The silence stretched, thick with the hum of computers and distant phones, utterly suffocating.
"You," he stated, the single word like a shard of dropped glass. His voice was lethally quiet, devoid of its usual smooth control, vibrating with suppressed fury. "Look at the state of you." He took a single step inside, his presence shrinking the cramped space. "Smell it." The accusation hung in the air, sharp and undeniable. He didn’t need to specify what it was. The musk of sex, layered and undeniable despite the shower, seemed to thicken around her.
Before Cassie could form a syllable, a loud, sharp laugh shattered the tension. Rabastan LeStrange leaned around Tom’s rigid frame, his grin wide and predatory, eyes alight with malicious delight. He filled the doorway, radiating chaotic energy. "Whoa, boss! Someone’s been busy!" Rabastan crowed, his gaze raking over Cassie with open, leering appreciation, lingering pointedly where Tom’s had only hinted. He sniffed theatrically, his grin widening. "Smells like… victory." He winked at Cassie, the gesture obscene in the charged atmosphere. "Got yourself thoroughly christened, didn’t you, sweetheart? That garage sale find treating you real good?" He laughed again, the sound grating and loud, deliberately needling Tom. "Looks like you needed a few more hands on deck. Shoulda called me." Cassie froze, caught between Tom’s glacial fury and Rabastan’s giddy, provocative cruelty. Tom’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking furiously beneath his skin. The air crackled. Rabastan leaned further in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, mocking whisper aimed at Tom but loud enough for Cassie to hear. "Problem, boss? Jealous someone else got to break in the new toy first?"