Chapter 61 Chapter Eight of His Favorite Sin
Salem's pov
My back arched.
“Lucian, please—”
His big cock was buried deep inside me, his fingers cruel around my throat, the other hand gripping my hip like he was carving his name into my bones. Every thrust punched breath from my lungs. I was right there on the edge—my body strung tight, my blood singing, the pleasure a crackling fire in my belly about to explode—
And then he pulled out.
Abruptly. Brutally.
“Wha—” I gasped, my voice high, strangled.
My pussy clenched around nothing. Wet. Empty. Desperate. My legs trembled, my whole body twitching, robbed of the climax I was seconds away from.
Lucian leaned over me, his breath hot against my ear. “You don’t get to come unless I say so.”
I whimpered, helpless, the ache between my legs bordering on pain. My fingers curled into the stone beneath me—the altar cold, unforgiving, like the man standing over me.
“You need to learn patience, little sin.”
He pulled something from the pocket of his coat—black silk.
“Up,” he ordered, the word sharp as a whip.
I sat up shakily, already shaking from need. My thighs were slick, my nipples tight and throbbing. He didn’t give me time to process.
The silk slid over my eyes, smooth and cool. Tight. His fingers knotted it behind my head, stealing my sight, heightening everything else.
“Lucian?” I whispered.
Silence.
No answer.
I heard him move, footsteps quiet but echoing in the high, vaulted chamber. Something clicked. Metal? A drawer? My head tilted toward the sound, but I was blind to it all.
So I sat. Naked. Exposed. Spread open on his altar like an offering to something dark.
I hated the emptiness he left in me. The aching pull. The flutter of my core begging to be filled again. I squirmed, hips shifting, searching for friction. My clit pulsed with every beat of my heart.
Then I heard it.
A low, steady hum.
My breath hitched.
His hand slid onto my thigh, warm and anchoring. The other gripped something.
“Lie back.”
I obeyed instantly, my body his to command.
He pushed my legs wider, and I felt the shift in him—something darker, more deliberate in the air.
“I want you dripping. Shaking. Ruined,” he growled, dragging something smooth and solid along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “This tight little pussy doesn’t deserve my cock until it’s been wrecked by my hands first.”
The thing buzzed against my thigh, and I jolted. The sound was obscene—deep and mechanical, not some delicate pink toy. No, this was something darker. Heavy. Built for destruction.
Then he undid the knot.
Light flooded in.
And there he was—Lucian, in the dim flicker of the altar candles, holding something that looked like it belonged in a dungeon.
“I saw you looking at this when you first entered this room,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Thought about what it would feel like on that filthy little pussy?”
The wand was sleek, black, and brutal. The rounded head looked almost too big. The cord snaked out of the base like it could reach hell and back.
I swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”
He smiled—slow, wicked, and smug. Like he’d just won something.
“I know.”
He plugged it in.
Then came to me.
Lucian settled between my legs and dragged the blunt head up my slit—not even turned on yet—just tracing me. My hips lifted instinctively. I couldn’t stop it. He grazed it over my clit, over my folds, teasing, painting my wetness onto the smooth rubber head.
“Need it?” he murmured.
“Yes,” I breathed, every inch of me coiled, wound, starving.
He turned it on.
Low.
The vibration was a low purr against my clit. Not enough. Too soft. It made me moan from frustration more than pleasure. He pushed two fingers into me—slow, relentless, crooking them just right—watching me unravel.
Then—he turned the dial.
Higher.
My body jolted. “Fuck!”
He laughed, cruel and amused. “Language, Salem.”
“Please—”
“What color?”
“Green,” I gasped.
“Good girl.”
He pulled his fingers out, lifted them to his mouth. Licked them clean. Groaned. Like my taste got him off.
Then he reached again. This time for something long and glassy. Smooth. Cold.
A dildo—curved just enough to torture.
He pushed it in.
My back arched as the cool glass stretched me open. His other hand kept the wand right on my clit, the hum now a roar in my blood. I squirmed, writhed, cried out.
He fucked me with the toy. Watched every flick of my belly, every twitch of my thighs.
“Greedy little body,” he murmured in my ear. “So desperate. So needy. But you don’t get to come. Not yet.”
My thighs shook. My toes curled. I was right there again.
“Please…”
He pulled the glass out. Clicked the wand off.
And I nearly screamed.
Then he unzipped his pants.
His cock—thick, heavy, glistening with precum—slapped against his abdomen as he gripped the base, stroking it once.
I reached for it.
“No,” he growled. “Hands on the headboard.”
I obeyed, gasping for breath.
He knelt between my legs again, lined himself up.
“After I’ve used my toy on you…” he murmured, rubbing his cock against my dripping slit, “now you take mine.”
He thrust deep—hard.
I screamed. Half pain. Half heaven. He didn’t give me time to adjust. Didn’t need to.
He fucked me, merciless and possessive, one hand wrapped around my throat, the other reaching for the wand again.
He turned it on. Pressed it to my clit as he slammed into me.
“You feel that?” he growled in my ear. “My cock and the toy together? Bet no little boy ever fucked you like this.”
“No—never—fuck!”
I shattered. Loud. Violent. My entire body clenched and pulsed, pussy squeezing so tight around him it made him groan.
But he didn’t stop.
He kept going. Fucked me through it. Over and over until I was crying, begging, soaked.
Then he pulled out.
Flipped me.
Dragged my hips to the edge of the altar like I was nothing but his plaything.
Smack.
My ass burned. Again.
Then he drove into me from behind. Deeper.
The wand?
Still on my clit. Pressed down, vibrating violently.
“You’re mine,” he snarled.
“I’m yours,” I gasped, tears streaming now. I didn’t care.
He reached around, shoved two fingers into my mouth. I sucked them, filthy, desperate, obedient.
“Good girl,” he groaned. “Now take my fucking cum like the filthy little angel you are.”
I collapsed against the altar, chest heaving.
My thighs were soaked. My cunt was still pulsing, raw and twitching with aftershocks. I couldn’t close my legs even if I tried—he’d split me too wide, stretched me too deep, fucked me past the point of pride.
I was trembling. Limp. Tears clung to my lashes. My mouth hung open, jaw slack from panting.
And still—
I felt him.
Lucian was still inside me. Buried to the hilt. His cock twitching as he spilled inside, hot and thick, coating my walls like he owned them.
His breath hitched as he came. But he didn’t make a sound. Not a growl. Not a moan. Just silence—dangerous, contained. Like a storm behind glass.
Then slowly, he pulled out.
I whimpered at the stretch. At the sudden emptiness.
A mess dripped out of me. His cum. Sticky. Warm. Shameful. Mine.
I expected him to leave me like that.
Used.
Ruined.
But I felt his hands instead—rough palms on my thighs, steadying me. Then, impossibly gentle, he laid one hand on the curve of my back.
“Easy,” he murmured.
I blinked. My vision swam.
Lucian moved around the altar, grabbed a dark cloth from somewhere—he’d thought of this. Planned it. Of course he had. Nothing he did was ever careless.
He returned and knelt between my legs.
I flinched.
“Shh.” His thumb stroked my hip. “I’ve got you.”
Then he began to clean me.
Slowly. Tenderly.
He wiped away the slick mess between my legs, folding the cloth carefully after every pass like I was some delicate thing. He didn’t flinch at how ruined I was—how used, how wrecked. He admired it.
“I like seeing you like this,” he said softly, his voice like velvet dragged across a blade. “Shaking. Dripping. Marked.”
He ran the cloth over the curve of my inner thigh. Then set it aside and leaned down, pressing a kiss there.
A kiss.
Not lustful.
Worshipful.
“Lucian…” I whispered, my voice rasping.
He didn’t look up. Just dragged his mouth higher, kissing the soft flesh where my thigh met my pelvis. Then another kiss, right above my mound.
He was… reverent.
“You’re mine now,” he said, voice steady. Certain. Like it had already been written somewhere. “No one else gets this body. This pussy. These tears.”
He pressed a kiss to my navel, then to the underside of my breast. “They belong to me.”
I was trembling again, but for a different reason.
His hand wrapped around the back of my neck as he leaned up, pressing his forehead to mine.
“I meant to punish you,” he admitted. “But you looked so fucking perfect begging for more. Taking every bit of it. Drowning in it like you were made for it.”
His lips brushed mine. Not a kiss. Just… contact.
“I could take you again right now.”
My thighs flinched. My core ached in warning and want.
“But I won’t,” he whispered.
He lifted me—arms under my legs and back—like I weighed nothing.
I sagged against his chest, completely wrecked. My head fell against his shoulder.
Lucian carried me like he was carrying a relic. Sacred. Bloody. Claimed.
He took me away from the altar, through the corridor of flickering candles, into his bedroom. The sheets were black, the walls stone, the windows shuttered against the world.
He laid me on the bed. Tucked a blanket around me.
Then slid in behind me and wrapped his arm tight around my waist, dragging my back flush to his chest.
“I’ll let you sleep,” he murmured, his voice a quiet anchor against my back.
His breath warmed my ear.
“When you wake up... I’ll be right here.”
.