The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 371

Chapter 371: 371 | The Boy Who Woke Up Different

Sloane Fitzgerald had never been particularly good at staying still.

She’d spent her entire life in motion. Running drills before dawn. Pushing through conditioning sessions that left her muscles screaming. Training her Aspect until the amber light of Detonation felt less like a weapon and more like an extension of her own heartbeat. Movement was comfort. Stillness was vulnerability. She’d learned that lesson early and reinforced it every single day since.

But right now, wrapped around Lukas Belmont’s sleeping form in the aftermath of what had been objectively the most thorough sexual marathon of her entire life, Sloane found that stillness felt surprisingly okay.

Better than okay, actually.

Her body ached in ways she hadn’t known bodies could ache. Her thighs burned from positions she hadn’t even known she was flexible enough to attempt. There was a tenderness between her legs that reminded her with every micro-movement exactly how many times he’d been inside her tonight, how many different angles he’d found, how many orgasms he’d wrung from her until she’d lost count somewhere around the fifth or sixth and just surrendered to the overwhelming reality of being his.

The nightstand held evidence of their enthusiasm. Four condoms, each one tied off and heavy with proof of his stamina, lined up like trophies she refused to feel embarrassed about. The sheets beneath them were ruined. Her voice was shot from sounds she’d made that she hadn’t even known she was capable of producing. And Lukas, beautiful infuriating Lukas, had finally passed out approximately twenty minutes ago with his face pressed into the crook of her neck and one hand still possessively cupping her breast like he couldn’t stop touching her even in sleep.

Sloane traced her fingers through his hair, watching the way his chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths.

The last time she’d felt this thoroughly fucked had been months ago. The night after Diane had walked in on them. The night after her mother had gotten on her knees in front of Lukas while Sloane stood there watching, unable to look away, unable to process what she was seeing, unable to do anything except feel her entire understanding of her family dynamics shatter into pieces she was still trying to reassemble.

That night, after Diane had left and the door had closed and Sloane had stood there vibrating with emotions she couldn’t name, Lukas had taken her apart and put her back together with the kind of focused intensity that left no room for anything except sensation. He’d fucked her until the image of her mother’s lips wrapped around his cock stopped playing on loop behind her eyelids. He’d fucked her until the complicated tangle of jealousy and rage and something darker that she refused to examine too closely got buried under layer after layer of pleasure.

Tonight felt similar.

Different circumstance. Same result. The knowledge that Lukas had spent part of his afternoon with Felicity Hardy, had touched her, had let her touch him, had arrived at Sloane’s door carrying the faint scent of vanilla that didn’t belong to him. That knowledge had burned through Sloane like acid for the first hour of their evening together. She’d wanted to scream at him. Wanted to hit him. Wanted to make him feel even a fraction of the betrayal that clawed at her chest despite the fact that she’d agreed to this arrangement herself.

Instead, he’d kissed her forehead and called her perfect and worshipped every inch of her body with his mouth and hands and cock until the jealousy got replaced by something far more primal.

Mine, she thought, watching him sleep. Whatever he does with anyone else, whoever else he touches, he comes back to me. He’s mine first. He said so himself.

The bond between them hummed with quiet warmth, transmitting his contentment even in unconsciousness. The Heroine Bond Resonance, he’d called it once, though she still didn’t fully understand what that meant or why their connection felt so much stronger than anything she’d experienced before. All she knew was that she could feel him. Not just physically, not just the weight of his body pressed against hers, but emotionally. His satisfaction. His affection. His possessiveness that matched her own.

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