Chapter 43: Jealousy's Sharp Edge
The scent of Sebastian’s skin—sandalwood and the crisp, cold air of a winter hunt—filled Charlotte’s lungs. His mouth was relentless on hers, a hungry, smiling thing that tasted of the sweet red wine he’d been drinking earlier. She straddled his lap on the velvet chaise, the rough fabric of his trousers a delicious friction against the bare skin of her thighs beneath her rucked-up skirts. His hands were fists in her curls, holding her fast as she rolled her hips, grinding the sensitive core of herself against the hard ridge of his erection.
A soft, wanting moan escaped her, swallowed immediately by his kiss.She could feel the low rumble of his pleasure in his chest.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he mumbled against her lips, his grip tightening. “Like you were made to sit on my cock, Charlie. Just like this.”
He was about to flip her, to take control the way he loved to, when the air in the room changed.
It wasn’t a sound. It was a pressure drop, a sudden, profound silence that swallowed the crackle of the fireplace and the sound of their breathing.The hair on the back of Charlotte’s neck rose. Sebastian’s mouth went still against hers, then curled into a wicked grin.
“Took him long enough,” he whispered, a flicker of triumphant heat in his emerald eyes.
She turned her head.Lucian stood just inside the door, which hadn’t made a sound. He was still in his day clothes—tailored black trousers, a silver-gray waistcoat over a white shirt unbuttoned at the throat. But his face… His face was a mask of preternatural stillness.His molten gold eyes were not on Sebastian, nor fully on her. They were fixed on the point where their bodies joined, on Sebastian’s hands buried in her hair, possessive and claiming. A current of pure, dark energy vibrated from him, a silent thunder that made the candle flames gutter.A sharp, unexpected bolt of something hot and defensive shot through Charlotte’s chest. It wasn’t hers. It was his, bleeding through the bond—a jagged spike of possessive jealousy, so visceral it felt like a physical blow.He moved.
One second he was across the room, a statue of restrained fury. The next, his hand was clamped on Sebastian’s shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle with enough force to make a human bone shatter. He wrenched Sebastian back from her, breaking their kiss with a brutal jerk.
“Enough.” The single word was a growl, low and guttural, vibrating with an ancient authority that made the very stones of the castle seem to listen.Sebastian’s head snapped back. He didn’t fight the grip. Instead, he leaned into it, his smirk widening as he deliberately ran his tongue over his lower lip, tasting her there. His eyes, glinting with challenge, never left Lucian’s.“She came to me,” Sebastian said, his voice a taunt. “Wanted a taste of something a little less… polite.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering. His gaze swung to Charlotte, and the raw hunger in it, layered over the jealousy, stole her breath.In one fluid, violent motion, he hauled her off Sebastian’s lap. Her feet barely touched the ground before he spun her, his arm a band of iron across her stomach. He bent her forward over the carved arm of the chaise, the wood digging into her hips. Her cheek pressed against the cold velvet.
“Lucian—” she started, a protest born from surprise more than refusal.He didn’t answer with words. His hand went to the back of her skirts, gathering the fabric in a rough fist and yanking it up to her waist. The cool air of the room kissed her exposed skin. She heard the sharp intake of Sebastian’s breath, a sound of pure anticipation.She was already wet, soaked from grinding against Sebastian. Lucian’s cool fingers slid through her folds, a harsh, claiming touch, and a ragged sound escaped him. “Dripping for him,” he muttered, the words thick with a bitterness that felt like heartbreak.Then his hand was gone. The sound of his buckle, the slide of fabric—it was all done with brutal efficiency. She felt the blunt, broad head of his cock press against her, not seeking permission, just positioning. He was larger than Sebastian, and the stretch as he pushed inside was immediate, breathtaking, a filling ache that bordered on pain.
He didn’t wait for her to adjust. He slammed the rest of the way home in one punishing thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a force that drove a shocked cry from her lips. The chaise scraped forward an inch on the marble.
“She is mine too,” Lucian snarled, and it wasn’t just a statement. It was a verdict, delivered to the room, to Sebastian, to her very bones.His hips drew back and hammered forward again.And again. This wasn’t the deep, worshipful rhythm from the night before.This was a punishment, a reclamation. Each drive was hard, jarring, meant to remind her—and Sebastian—of whose she was. Her fingers scrabbled against the velvet, finding no purchase. With every thrust, a brutal, unwelcome spike of pleasure shot through her, coiling tight in her gut.She hated it. She wanted it.She was trapped between his anger and her own traitorous body.
Sebastian hadn’t moved from the chaise.He watched, his eyes dark pools of emerald fire. His hand was wrapped around his own cock, stroking it in a slow, tight fist, his thumb smearing the bead of moisture at the tip. He was biting his lower lip, his gaze locked on where Lucian’s body disappeared into hers.
“Look at that,” Sebastian breathed, his voice husky.“Look how he’s fucking her. Like he owns the very air she breathes.” He licked his lips.“You gonna come in her, Lucian? Mark her from the inside after I had her on my tongue?”
Lucian’s only answer was a harder, deeper thrust that made Charlotte sob. The pace was relentless, a piston driving her closer to an edge she didn’t want to acknowledge. The sick, sweet tension built despite her shame, despite the chaos of emotions.Her inner muscles began to flutter, clenching around his invading length uncontrollably.
“She’s close,” Sebastian observed, his strokes speeding up.“I can see it. Her pretty little cunt is gripping you like a fist. She’s gonna come on your cock while you’re fucking her like you hate her.”
“I don’t hate her,” Lucian gritted out, his rhythm fracturing, losing its mechanical precision. His breaths were ragged gusts against her neck. “I… God, Charlotte…”
His hand left her hip and tangled in her hair, pulling her head back. The change in angle drove him deeper, hitting a place that made her vision white out. A broken scream tore from her throat as her orgasm exploded, violent and involuntary, ripping through her with the force of a storm. She clenched around him, pulsing, milking his length as the waves of pleasure-pain wrecked her.
The feel of her convulsing around him shattered the last of Lucian’s control. With a ragged, devastated roar that held her name, he plunged deep and held, his body bowing over hers. She felt the hot, sudden flood of his release, filling her in fierce, claiming pulses that seemed to go on forever.
Silence, broken only by their harsh breathing. Lucian slumped over her, his weight pressing her into the chaise, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades. His grip in her hair softened to a trembling caress.From behind them, Sebastian let out a long, shuddering sigh. They heard the wet sound of his own climax, and then the soft drip of it hitting the floor. “Well,” he said, his voice exhausted and strangely tender. “That’s one way to settle a dispute.”
Lucian didn’t move for a long moment. Then, with infinite care, he withdrew from her body. He gently lowered her skirts, his hands smoothing the fabric down her thighs with a tenderness that contrasted brutally with the preceding violence.He turned her around, his golden eyes searching hers. The jealousy was gone, burned away.In its place was a profound, aching regret.
He cupped her face.His thumb brushed away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “I am… sorry,” he whispered, the words seeming to cost him.
She was raw, used, emotionally scraped hollow. But the bond hummed with his genuine anguish, his self-loathing for losing control.She leaned into his touch. “You’re an idiot,” she whispered back, her voice shaky.“Both of you.”
From the chaise, Sebastian gave a weak chuckle. “Can’t argue with that.”
Lucian gathered her into his arms, lifting her as if she were made of glass.He carried her past Sebastian, towards the large canopy bed. As he passed, his free hand reached out and gripped the back of Sebastian’s neck, a firm, anchoring hold.Not a reprimand.A connection.
“Come,” Lucian said, his voice heavy with exhaustion and a dawning, complicated peace.“The bed is cold. And we are not done.”