Page 175 of Boy of Ruin
Ezra comes beside Maverick, closer to my hips.
Then a flame flickers, going out, the smoke unfurling toward the ceiling as Lucifer’s fingers circle around a candle at my feet. He crawls over my body, the candle in his hand, dripping red wax over my belly, my chest, my throat.
He has one hand planted beside my head, the other holding the candle which he poises over my temple. I feel the warm wax drop above my brow, where that scar is.
Lucifer dips his chin, his eyes on mine.
“Are you nervous, baby girl?”
Before I can answer him, Cain’s fingers are circling one wrist, Maverick’s the other, pulling my arms away from my chest, pinning them down to the floor.
My chest heaves, panic and lust consuming me.
“L-Lucifer, what are—”
“Submit to me, Lilith,” he whispers, dropping his mouth just above my own. “Submit to us.”
My legs start to tremble, my arms too, but Cain and Maverick keep them pinned down.
Atlas’s fingers come to my hair, massaging my scalp, and I feel like I’m drowning in sensation.
Lucifer twists his body and I see his muscles flex, his shorts still on as he hands the candle to Ezra, who sets it down.
Then Lucifer’s blue eyes are on mine as he sits back on his heels, between my legs. His fingers find the bandage along his arm and he pulls it off, tossing it out of the circle.
I see dried blood against his skin, see the index finger of his opposite hand snag against the crusted laceration, splitting open the wound.
I gasp, try to sit up, but Ezra’s hand comes to my thigh, Atlas keeps my head down and Cain and Maverick don’t let up their grip on my arms.
“Open your mouth, Lilith,” Lucifer says quietly, crawling back up my body. He swipes one finger over his bleeding arm, coating it in crimson.
I dart my gaze from his finger to his face, and a furrow creases his brow.
“Baby girl,” he chides me, “you drink my blood, you get their cum, and I know they’re tired of waiting to fuck you.”
My eyes widen as I try to look to Maverick, holding my arm, but Lucifer’s hand comes to my face, gripping my chin.
“Don’t look at them,” he says quietly. “You look at me. Right now, I’m your master.”
My mouth falls open and before I can speak, he lets go of my face, pushes his finger down my throat just like he did that night at the asylum.
I taste iron, and on instinct, I suck his finger as he pushes further back, making me gag.
He smiles down at me. “Such a good girl, baby.” He licks my cheek, over my eye as I close it, his finger still in my mouth. “My fucking girl.”
He pulls his finger out of my mouth, wraps his hand gently around my throat as my chest heaves, the taste of him lingering on my tongue.
“Are you ready to be one of ours?” He pushes down his shorts, his boxers, and all around me, everyone is moving. Shifting. Getting undressed.
My thighs clench as I hold my husband’s gaze while he throws his clothes out of the circle.
“Y-yes,” I whisper. “Yes.”
He smiles, but there’s something like pain in his eyes.
Then he looks up, at Atlas.
Atlas’s fingers leave my hair.
