Page 120 of Black Castle

Before she can finish, Zev plucks the phone from her grasp.

“It’s just Kenji,” she tells him.

But he ignores her, scanning the content of the screen. She rises to her feet as his finger begins to click around the phone, definitely wandering far away from the call that’s still on hold. When she takes a peek at the screen, she finds him on messages, scrolling through her and Kenji’s own.

She rolls her eyes. She had recently switched Kenji’s contact to BBFAI—Best Friend Forever and Infinity. That must be difficult for him to decode so he assumes it’s another man.

But seeing the goofy messages exchanged between Kenji and her, he must have connected the dots, because the rigid muscles of his face suddenly relaxes and he places the phone back in her hand, turns, and begins to walk away.

“Sup?” Kenji’s voice echoes from the other end of the line. But Vivienne’s gaze follows Zev, watching the taut muscles of his back flex. Her eyes unintentionally continue to trace the dark ink sprawling across his back—a double-edged circle, its borders lined with intricate temys symbols. Between the twin edges of the circle and at the very heart of the design, the markings intertwine like an ancient script. A sword is driven straight through the circle’s center as if piercing the insignia itself.

Vivienne never knew the tattoo existed until the very first time she slept with Lucan. The few times she’d had sex with Zev, he was always clothed, so she never saw the tattoo. She only noticed it the first time she and Lucan had sex. He did take off his clothes then. She caught it when they were showering together, and couldn’t help trailing her fingers through the arches, curves and dents.

When she asked him what it meant or why he got it, he had no answer. It wasn’t his choice. Zev had been in control when it happened. Lucan had simply woken up one morning to find his back marked with ink, just like all the other tattoos spiraling up his arms, a permanent reminder of something he didn’t remember choosing. The only tattoo he got willingly is the snarling python crawling up his neck. He didn’t wish to get it. But he had to because it’s the insignia of his platoon, just like Vivienne had guessed when she saw the same python tattoo on nearly all his men.

“What was that?” Suspicion sharpens Kenji’s tone. “You were telling someone about me?”

“Uh, nothing. It’s just Zev.” She takes a step from the spot she’s standing and discomfort blooms between her thighs again. Zev nearly wrecked her.

“Zev?” Kenji demands, and Vivienne snaps her eyes shut, cursing under her breath. Lucan is a man with terrible anger issues and equally terrible mood swings. That’s as far as he knows. If he finds out about the real truth—that they are two different men living in one body—he might as well just pass out.

“Lucan,” she corrects. “His, um, his middle name is Zev.” She scratches the bridge of her nose nervously, hoping that it was a smooth sail.

“I thought it was Ardalion?” Kenji questions, his tone layered with suspicion.

“He um.” She scratches her head. “He has many middle names. Don’t you have like three middle names?”

“Oh, sure,” Kenji mutters, his voice distant and still very skeptical. But he doesn’t push it.

“Okay then, call me when you get home,” he adds. “That woman seemed pretty irritated and shocked that you weren’t home. I told her we were doing homework and you slept off. So, go with that.”

“You are the best,” she says, hanging up.

Vivienne grabs her backpack from the couch, slinging it over her shoulder. She takes a step and discomfort blooms between her thighs. Then she slumps back onto the couch again, grunting.

It should wear off in an hour…hopefully.

Zev is an insatiable, greedy beast. He doesn’t stop when she’s exhausted or spent. He takes, claims, and marks until she is unraveling beneath the weight of his callous touch.

In the last forty minutes, there was not a moment his cock wasn’t buried inside her. And as quickly as he releases, his cock grows rock-hard again, throbbing, aching, and the next moment, he is pounding into her, raw, hard…angry, stealing air from her lungs. She is sure she has never come so hard in her life before.

And the worst part, she enjoyed every moment of it. The dominance, the way he bullied her into submission, the fire in his eyes as he whispered dirty things in her ears, the wickedness in his hands. And his cock. She’s sure she is addicted to his cock at this point.

Still, as much as she enjoyed every thrill, every ride, she craves Lucan. She misses him. His gentle touches. The soft lingering kisses. The reverence in his gaze. The way he treats her like something that should be worshipped.

She wants it all back.

“I can’t believe Isadora gave you this much freedom,” Carla murmurs over a plate of fried potato and fish.

Vivienne has been home for over an hour, but the woman’s complaint and whining haven’t ceased. Even while she cooked, Carla’s murmured prayers for misguided youths filled the kitchen.

“Do you need anything else?” Vivienne asks, already plotting her escape. The second she steps into her room, she is not coming out again. Not even if there is an apocalypse.

“If I don’t want anything else, what will happen?” Carla sets her fork down, elbows braced on the table. “You’ll go to your room and press your phone all night?”

“Uh, precisely that,” Vivienne says with a bit of an attitude that Carla doesn’t fail to catch.

“Sit,” she commands, pointing her fork at the chair Vivienne is standing next to.

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