Page 32 of Crown of Blood

I know I should be afraid, should be fighting to escape. But all I can think about is how much I want him to consume me. To claim me. To make me his.

No. No, I don’t want this.

But my hips lift. My lips part. And my soaked thighs say otherwise.

Luca’s mouth moves over my skin, each drag of his tongue igniting something low and dangerous in my stomach.

“I won’t be gentle, Bianca,” he growls, teeth scraping the edge of my jaw. “I’m going to ruin you. And you’re going to let me.”

A tremor runs through me. Not fear. Not quite pleasure either. Something darker.

I don’t answer. I can’t. My breath is already fractured, caught between the person I thought I was and the thing I’m becoming.

His eyes catch mine, gray and cold and gleaming with something that doesn’t feel like lust—it feels likepossession.

Then he thrusts into me, sharp and sudden, and the breath is ripped from my lungs in one strangled cry.

“Fuck!” I gasp, fingers scrabbling against his forearms, unsure whether I’m trying to hold on—or push him away.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ask again.

I've given him my word, and for a man of this power, that's enough to take what's his. He won't be told twice.

He smirks above me, hips rolling until he's deep inside me. "That's it."

Each movement is merciless. Not tender. Not kind. Just raw conquest, like he’s carving his name inside me with every brutal stroke.

His hand finds my throat, tight enough to hold, not choke. Not yet. It feels more like a warning, caught somewhere between a claim and a leash that hasn't quite been tightened all the way yet.

“You’re mine, Bianca,” he breathes, his voice pressed into my ear like a knife. “Say it.”

I shake my head, eyes squeezed shut. But my body? My body won’t play along.

I’m clenching around him, soaking for him. I hate that I feel full, owned, branded. And I hate even more that I don’t want him to stop.

He snarls when I don’t answer. “Still pretending you’re not begging for it?” His hand tightens around my neck. “Then I’ll fuck the truth out of you.”

He slams deeper, hitting a spot that makes my visionwhite out. My nails rake his back, tearing flesh.

“Luca—”

“Say it,” he commands again. “Say who owns this pussy.”

I want to spit in his face. I want to curse him. But all that comes out is a broken, high-pitched moan that betrays me just as much as my hips spreading wider for him does.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, smug and savage.

He pounds into me again. And again. And again.

Each thrust forces another crack through my defenses, shatters another brick in the wall I’ve spent a lifetime building.

I arch into him. Not to fight. Tofeel.

“You feel that?” he growls, his hips grinding in brutal circles. “That’s how deep I am. That’s how deep you belong to me.”

His ring catches the light as I claw down his back—a flash of gold against his skin. It’s on my finger too now. A matching set. His crest, his curse.

I bite my lip, tears stinging my eyes—not from pain. From the fact that it feelsso fucking good.

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