The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 57

Chapter 57: Fifty Seven

Lucien

She comes to me like she always does at night.

Much as I wish it, much as I yearn for it, I know it isn’t my Erasthai. Only the thirsting dream of a mad man. Still, even the knowledge of it doesn’t make me want it any less.

She wears nothing, save for the silky, fiery mane tumbling down her shoulders. Skin pale as the moon and cold as death, beauty worthy of tunes even the bards sang only with reverence.

"Luke," she breathes, running those pale hands up my chest, trailing up my arm, and when she takes my wrist and brings it to her lips, I hiss sharply, feeling razor sharp fangs sink deeply into my vein. A slice sharp of agony amid bliss, the rush of desire amid grief, a pleasure darker than any sin of flesh.

Soon, too soon, her fangs leave my skin, leaving me aching and wanting.

"I miss you," she whispers, encircling my wrist with the bindings at the head of the bed. "I love you."

Her legs find either sides of my waist, straddling me, and she drops back her head, running those hands over her dizzying bare curves I know as well as my own, lips closing around my name as she squeezes her hardened nipples. "Lucien, please."

My hands snap against the bindings. "Release me," I say roughly, tears of sorrow running down my cheeks. "Let me touch you, Ilya. This once."

But I know what her response will be. She’s never said yes.

Her mouth falls against mine, urgent, and I taste blood. I taste jasmine. I taste death. I taste my ruin. The absence of a life stolen. And still, I fall deeper into the abyss, pleading for it to swallow me whole, if only I am able to keep her close like this.

Her body shivers as she leans harder into me, her fangs nipping my lips, my jaw, my neck. They sink in deeper, drawing blood from me, taking my essence, my will until they mold to hers and all I want is to be taken on the angel of death’s swift wings. To be with her. To perish with her.

Slowly, her kisses descend, delirious with hunger. Moaning softly, those bespelled fingers reach into my pants and tug me free. Pulsing, aching, hot in death-cold hands. I groan as she breathes against me, in and out, the cool air sifting across the tip until my hips begin bucking to the slightest breeze.

Holding me in those hands, jade green eyes darkened with thirst, she asks, with the slightest spark on anger flashing in her eyes, "Still mine?"

"Always," I whisper.

"Liar."

Then, those blood red lips part and take me into her hot mouth, and my back arches off the bed, wood groaning as I snap back against the bindings, needing to feel her supple skin in my hands. But it doesn’t matter how hard I pulled, I could never be free of her.

For all the power I possess, I am powerless.

Her hand stroke against me mercilessly, her lips, her tongue weaving a tale that spoke ownership and possessiveness in the wickedest of ways.

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