Chapter 150
Lirael
I woke to heat—oppressive, overwhelming heat radiating from Sebastian's body, and something else, something hard and insistent pressing between my thighs from behind, his hips moving in shallow, unconscious thrusts that sent sparks of unwanted pleasure through me.
"Sebastian?" I pushed at his shoulder, concern overriding the arousal his movements were creating. "Wake up. Something's wrong."
His eyes opened, but instead of warm amber, they were pure gold—vertical pupils dilated and glowing, something wild and barely controlled in them, and his hand tightened on my hip, pulling me harder against the rigid length of him.
"Lira," he rasped, voice rough and distorted, and I could feel him pulsing against me, hot even through our clothes. "The full moon... it's coming earlier than expected. The pull is stronger tonight."
His hand gripped my arm, tremor running through him, and I realized the trembling wasn't just from restraint but from the effort of not grinding against me, not taking what his body was screaming for. "I'm burning up," he managed through gritted teeth, and I could feel the heat of him, could feel how hard he was, thick and heavy and desperate. "Everything hurts. I need—"
"I'll get the doctor," I said immediately, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened to the point of pain and he rolled, pinning me beneath him, his hips settling between my thighs in a way that made us both gasp.
"No!" The word came out almost as a growl, and I could see his canines lengthening, could feel the hard ridge of him pressed directly against my core now, separated only by thin fabric. "Don't leave. You're the only one who can help. Only your scent, your presence—" He broke off, hips jerking forward involuntarily, and I felt the wetness of his arousal seeping through his pants.
I forced myself to stay calm even as heat flooded through me at the friction. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to help you."
His eyes met mine, and I saw past the beast to the man underneath—the fear and desperation and raw, aching need. "You know what I need," he said, voice dropping to a rumble as one hand slid up my thigh, pushing the silk higher. His fingers brushed against my panties, feeling the wetness there, and he groaned. "When you come apart for me."
Understanding crashed over me, and heat flooded my face even as my hips lifted involuntarily into his touch. He was asking me to help him through this crisis in the most intimate way possible, asking me to give him my body, to let him inside me where he could drink down the moon dew my pleasure would produce.
His eyes opened again, gold receding slightly as he forced control, even as his fingers continued their maddening stroke against damp silk. "I'm sorry," he said, anguish genuine. "I shouldn't ask this. I promised I wouldn't force you. Go. Leave now. I'll lock the door. I don't trust myself not to—" He shuddered, hips grinding down despite his words, and I felt him thick and hard and ready against my entrance.
But I didn't move. Because all I could see was someone in genuine pain, someone fighting his own nature, and because my body was screaming for this, wet and aching and empty in a way I'd never felt before.
"If this helps you," I heard myself say, voice surprisingly steady despite my shaking hands, despite the way I was already arching into his touch, "if this keeps you from losing control... then I'll do it."
His head snapped up, eyes widening with shock and disbelief. "What did you just say?"
I took a deep breath, my hand sliding down between us to cup him through his pants, feeling the heat and hardness of him, the way he pulsed in my palm. "I said I'm willing to help you. In whatever way you need. Because I can't stand watching you suffer. Because despite everything, I don't hate you. And because—" I squeezed gently and he groaned, "—I need this too. Need you."
For a moment, Sebastian just stared, expression cycling through shock, wonder, and fierce joy. "Lira," he breathed, and then his hand was between my thighs, pushing my panties aside, fingers sliding through my wetness. "Do you understand what you're saying? Once I'm inside you, once I feel you come around me and taste your tears, there's no going back. I'll never let you go."
"I know," I said, gasping as his fingers found my entrance, circling but not entering. "I know what this means. And I'm saying yes anyway."
Something in him snapped—not his control, but the last threads of restraint. In one smooth motion, he had my robe open and my panties torn away, his own clothes disappearing with supernatural speed, and then the hot, thick length of him was sliding through my folds, coating himself in my wetness.
"If you say stop," he said, voice rough but steady as he positioned himself at my entrance, the broad head of him pressing insistently, "I'll stop immediately. I swear it. Your consent matters more than my need, always."
Instead of answering with words, I pulled him down into a kiss and wrapped my legs around his hips, tilting my pelvis in invitation. "Don't stop," I whispered against his mouth. "Don't you dare stop unless I tell you to."
The sound he made was almost a growl, and then he was pushing inside, thick and hard and stretching me in a way that burned and ached and felt so impossibly right. I gasped at the intrusion, at the fullness of him filling me inch by inch, and he paused, giving me time to adjust even as I could feel him trembling with the effort of restraint.
"More," I heard myself beg, nails digging into his shoulders. "Sebastian, please—"