Lucien had barely slipped back into his chambers when she appeared.
No knock. No whisper of footsteps.
Just a burst of heat—and there she was.
Evelyne.
Her eyes were molten. Her gown was flame—scarlet silk clinging like fury. Her lips were crimson as blood and parted in silence. She didn't speak.
She stalked.
Lucien opened his mouth. "Evelyne, I—"
A flick of her fingers sent him flying to the bed.
"Don't lie to me," she said softly.
The room trembled.
"I felt her on you. Her magic. Her mouth. Her filth."
Lucien groaned as his wrists were bound by ropes of heatless fire. "You're jealous."
She climbed atop him, straddling his hips like a queen on a throne. "I'm dominant."
She tore open his shirt. Her nails dragged across his chest, awakening the sigils anew. They glowed like embers, responding to her touch.
"You want to fuck others?" she whispered against his ear. "Fine. But you come back to me. You belong to me."
And she made him remember why.
Her mouth found his throat, biting and kissing in turns. Her hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it with maddening precision as she whispered spells—binding, claiming, marking.
Then she sank onto him in one fluid motion.
Hot. Wet. Wrathful.
She didn't make love. She took.
Her hips pounded against his, hands on his chest, pinning him down. Her moans were curses. Her eyes locked on his like a predator feeding on need.
Lucien gasped, straining against the bonds.
"You think she was intense?" Evelyne growled, clenching around him. "She doesn't even know your body."
"Evelyne—" he cried.
She ground harder. Faster. Her nails dug in. Her cunt pulsed around him like fire, milking his climax with brutal grace.
When he came, it was explosive—his body shuddering, magic crackling, the sigils burning gold and red in ecstatic overload.
She collapsed over him, chest heaving.
And whispered, mouth on his neck:
"Next time you give her what's mine, Lucien, I'll make you beg me to stop… and I won't."