Page 61 of Run Little Fawn

"Mine," he whispers, his tone leaving no room for argument. I can't find the words to respond, my body still thrumming with the aftershocks of our climax. "You're fucking mine, and if another man even looks at you, I'll gouge out his eyes."

Those words should disgust me. Horrify me. They definitely shouldn't stoke the embers of lust in my belly.

"And if he touches me?" I challenge.

I shouldn't be encouraging this, let alone taunting him, and yet when I see the rage flare in his eyes, it's worth it.

"If he touches you," he continues, cupping his hand beneath the curve of my jaw with a gentleness that belies the brutality in his words, "I'll cut his fucking hand off and shove it down his throat."

He thrusts into me as if to punish me, even if the ecstasy that unfurls in me is anything but a deterrent for future recklessness.

"And what about the Order?" I ask.

Lucian stills against me, his body tensing. Slowly, he pulls back, his stormy eyes meeting mine.

The heat of passion is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but there's something else now.

A flicker of unease, of uncertainty.

If I didn't know better, I'd think there was hesitation.

"There's no point in thinking about that right now," he mutters.

There's an edge to his voice, a hint of desperation that makes my heart clench. I've always seen Lucian as an unstoppable force, a predator without weakness. But in this moment, I catch a glimpse of the man beneath the monster.

"No," I murmur. "Guess not."

As we slowly disentangle, I feel the loss of his warmth immediately, a chill creeping over my sweat-slicked skin.

My legs tremble slightly as my feet touch the ground, and I have to brace myself against the door for a moment to regain my balance. Lucian steps back, his eyes never leaving mine as he tucks himself back into his slacks with deft, efficient movements.

I bend to retrieve my discarded costume, wincing slightly at the soreness between my thighs. A delicious ache that serves as a reminder of what just transpired.

As I slip back into the flimsy material, at least what's left of it, I can feel Lucian's gaze on me, heavy and intense, tracking my every movement.

"So," I say, my voice still a bit breathless. "Does this mean I won this round?"

Lucian's lips quirk, a ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Depends on your definition of winning, little fawn."

I pause, considering his words.

In a way, he's right. If my goal was to push him to the brink, to shatter that ironclad control, then yes, I've won.

But there's more to it than that, isn't there? Beneath the games, beneath the push and pull of our twisted desires, there's something else. Something deeper, more profound.

I think back to that flicker of hesitation I saw in his eyes, that brief glimpse of some humanity within him. It's there, buried deep, but not entirely lost.

And that, more than anything, feels like a victory.

I finish dressing and turn to face him fully, a smirk playing on my lips. "By my definition? Yeah, I'd say I won."

His eyes narrow, a flash of something dark and dangerous in their depths. "And what exactly is your definition, Aria?"

The use of my name sends a shiver down my spine. It's rare for him to use it, to acknowledge me as anything more than a plaything, a pawn in his twisted games. But there's a weight to it now, a significance that hangs heavy from my shoulders.

I step closer, my hand coming up to rest on his chest. I can feel the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm, a reminder that despite everything, he's still human. Still flesh and blood and bone.

"My definition," I murmur, my eyes locked on his, "would be you coming back to the hotel with me tight."

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