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The word no had sat hot and heavy on Lucien’s tongue when Feyre had invited him to Starfall. It had burnt like ash in his throat, dry and bitter, and for a brief moment before he’d opened his mouth to reply, he’d been sure that he would refuse her invitation.
He didn’t want to come to Starfall. Had no desire to spend an evening adrift amongst Feyre’s family and Feyre’s friends, people who looked at him with dislike or pity or a nauseating amalgamation of the two. He would have a terrible time. Much better to spend the evening in his empty apartment, looking out at the night sky through the wide windows and listening to the revelry below until he fell asleep.
What came out of Lucien’s mouth despite all of this was yes. Yes, Feyre, I’d love to come – is there anything you’d like me to bring?
Lucien was intimately aware of how pathetic that was, and he felt it wash through him with each breath he took in the River House, engaging in idle conversation with Varian. Amren, apparently, didn’t enjoy these festivities, and had unwound herself from her paramour for long enough to allow him to attend.
Lucien was glad for it. He didn’t mind Varian’s company, and he made for decent conversation. He was also a welcome distraction from the rhythm of the bond that beat through his thoughts and his blood like a drum, a constant reminder of the fact that he was closer to his mate now than he had been in over a year.
Like a dog waiting at the door for its owner, lifeless until it heard the cadence of footsteps, the click of a key in the lock, Lucien couldn’t help but search for Elain amongst the crowd. The bond dragged at him, visceral, begging him to seek her out.
He refrained. No doubt that was the last thing Elain wanted, and if the only thing he could do for his mate was to pretend that he didn’t exist, then that was what he’d do.
It was easier when there was physical distance between them: when he was on the continent, the bond had been little more than a demanding itch that he couldn’t scratch. Ever present, yes, but he’d been able to set it aside into the dusty recesses at the back of his mind, along with all of the other things he didn’t like thinking about.
Being this close, though, was like trying to stopper the tides. No matter what Lucien did to block the bond, little bits kept trickling through. Little flickers from Elain that said I’m here. Listen to me. Come and find me. He was fortunate that he was still able to block Elain’s end of it. The very thought of her being burdened with him made nausea roil in his stomach.
If he was lucky, he’d be able to leave the festivities before she even saw him. Starfall would soon begin, and Lucien planned on making his exit whilst everyone travelled outside to watch. He’d no doubt slip past unnoticed – even Feyre had barely managed to sneak in a quick conversation with him before she was stolen away, her son at her hip. There was no one else here who would miss him.
It had taken Lucien years’ worth of hard, gruelling lessons to learn that luck was rarely on his side. His very birth had been, as Beron had once put it, unfortunate; the unwanted and unnecessary seventh son born to a father who hated him and a mother who had long since lost the capacity to care about much at all.
He was reminded of this as the scent of jasmine and honey washed over him, heady and distinct against the riot of other smells in the room. His heart stuttered, a cruel parody of excitement that felt more like dread. He knew who it was even before his gaze found her.
Elain looked resplendent in a frothy gown of lilac gossamer, the neckline dipping low enough to highlight the swell of her breasts. The purple made her creamy skin glow and her hair was down, hanging about her shoulders in bouncy golden curls, a few flower hairpins threaded about her locks. She was so beautiful that it made his heart ache.
She was smiling, and her smile was so big it took up all her face, and Lucien’s too. He couldn’t help it. So close to her, he could feel the thrum of her through his bloodstream. She felt like fire, like victory, like sinking into a hot bath at the end of a cold Autumn day.
In that moment, it didn’t even matter that it was the shadowsinger making her laugh like that. Didn’t matter that her smile wasn’t for him. It didn’t even matter that he could see her small, pale hand pressed against the Illyrian’s forearm and that he could feel the slow pulse of her lust for him through the bond, like liquid fire.
Seeing his mate so happy was a privilege he was all too grateful to have. Especially after a year without seeing her, a year where she’d shown no interest in meeting with or even acknowledging him. The time he had spent in her proximity had been spent on awkward half-conversations and stifled silences and this was the closest he’d ever been to one of her smiles.
On the other hand, seeing her with the shadowsinger made his chest hurt, an ache akin to the unrelenting agony of a broken rib. Did the Illyrian realise how fucking lucky he was? Not that he blamed Elain, not really – it was an easy choice between the two of them.
The bond let him know the moment that she saw him. He felt the contained blaze of her flare in surprise, in uncertainty, in fear. It sent a shudder through him that he was barely able to stifle.
Her eyes went wide before narrowing, full, pink mouth pinched in a thin line. She met his gaze almost incredulously. He was powerless to tear his eyes away, caught in the inferno of her and his own hammering heart. He burnt with it, all trepidation and shame and desperate, hopeless desire.
“Lucien?” a voice said, and he forced his eyes away from his mate. Varian regarded him with a raised eyebrow.
Heat rose to Lucien’s face. “I beg your pardon – I’m going to get some air.”
He left without waiting for a reply. Rude, that had been so ill-mannered of him, so unlike the courtier he was meant to be. He just – he couldn’t be in that room for a second longer. Couldn’t watch Elain on the arm of the shadowsinger and feel the pool of her desire in his belly as if it was his own. The bond didn’t understand that her excitement wasn’t for him; it only knew that his mate was aroused, and his body responded in turn.
He pushed his way through the crowd, exchanging strained smiles with those who met his gaze, and onto one of the balconies reserved for watching Starfall. It was small and secluded enough that he didn’t worry about anybody seeing him and the air was pleasantly cool against his flushed skin. He closed the heavy doors behind him with a click and then pressed his back against them, barely able to stifle his groan.
His cock was hard and straining against his trousers and he was disgusted with himself. How insulting to Elain, that he was reduced to this at the mere sight of her. How degrading to her. How little he deserved her.
The disgust didn’t stop his hand from slipping down to palm himself through his pants and he wasn’t able to hold back his sounds now, letting the sigh slip through his lips. It sounded even more pathetic on the balcony than it did in his apartment, shattering the otherwise serene silence. He was suddenly very glad for the privacy wards that hung around the space – a precaution that Feyre had mirthfully told him about, though he doubted she’d imagined that he’d be using it for this purpose.
He pressed at himself harder. It didn’t really feel good, not through the thick material of his trousers. It was the barest hint of pleasure, almost uncomfortable for how roughly he was touching himself. He focused the pressure on the head of his cock and hissed, hips bucking slightly.
Lucien pulled his hand away, shame burning hot in his belly. The scent of jasmine and honey still hung in the air and the bond was, as always, an ever-present buzz in his mind and his blood. He always did his best to avoid the bond when he pleasured himself – it felt disrespectful to Elain to focus on what she sent through their connection at the best of times, and downright lecherous to do so whilst he touched himself. Like he was taking advantage of something she likely wasn’t even aware that she was offering.
He focused on it now, hoping the reminder would force him to shake his arousal and help him leave this fucking balcony without somebody noticing his erection.
He’d expected to be met with the same happy feelings as before, or maybe annoyance, due to seeing him, or even the low hum of her arousal for Azriel. Instead, a tidal wave of hurt and all-encompassing anger washed over him, so heady that he stumbled forward a step, back leaving the door.
Was Elain hurt? Had someone insulted her? Demeaned her?
Fury flared in his chest at the thought.
Had it been the shadowsinger?
He would kill him if it had been. Even though he’d likely die in the process. Whatever had happened, it had hurt Elain so badly that he’d gladly lay down his life to ensure that it never happened again.
He had rarely felt such a strong burst of emotion from her – she was angry sometimes, yes, prone to the emotion more often than he would’ve assumed if he’d had nothing but their limited interactions to go by. This level of feeling was rare for her though and made him all the more concerned. She’d looked so happy only a moment ago.
Had his presence caused this? He swallowed at the thought, mouth suddenly dry. He had incited anger from Elain before, yes, and discomfort and fear and disquiet, but never this.
Cauldron boil him, he should’ve refused Feyre’s invitation. He hated his apartment in Velaris, hated how barren and cold it was, but he longed for it now. He had to leave. Slip through the partygoers and hope that nobody noticed his early departure. He was sure that he’d be able to explain it away to Feyre even if somebody did – she was far too busy to worry about him anyway.
Yes, he would go back to his apartment as he’d planned all along. Maybe open the vintage bottle of dark liquor that he’d been saving for a special occasion and when he got drunk enough, he’d pleasure himself to the memory of Elain in that lilac dress, the way her eyes had locked on his, all heat and just for him, only focussed on him for that precious snatch of heartbeats.
The doors to the balcony burst open and Lucien jumped, heart in his throat and feeling sorely like a child caught in the midst of mischief.
To his horror, there stood Elain, eyes wild, cheeks flushed with heat, face alight with something that he couldn’t name.
Her eyes narrowed at the sight of him and without a word, she stepped onto the balcony and swung the doors shut behind her.
…
Elain was having a terrible night.
It hadn’t started that way. She had been determined to actually enjoy herself at Starfall this year and had done her very best to make sure that nothing could go wrong – had spent the entire day in the garden, providing herself with the peace she’d need to get through all the socialisation that came with the holiday. She’d picked out her favourite dress and let Nuala and Cerridwen decorate her hair with ornate, golden pins, had looked in the mirror and found her appearance pleasing. She’d even familiarised herself with the guestlist, so she wouldn’t be anxious about forgetting anybody’s name or being the cause of any awkward moments.
All of that had flown out the window at the sight of her accursed mate, talking with Amren’s paramour.
Elain knew that he’d be there, of course. Feyre, her ever-dutiful sister, had seen fit to warn her weeks in advance that Lucien may attend the festivities. Had even asked Elain’s permission to invite him in the first place, to which Elain had agreed with a pretty, pasted-on smile and a hint of guilt.
It had been over a year since she’d seen the male, and she had been sure that she could withstand one night in his presence, if only to make Feyre happy.
Elain had done her best to cleave Lucien from her, and she’d thought she’d done a fine job of it. It was clear now that absence had done much of the work for her: when faced with the male, Elain’s heart had felt as though it’d burst in her chest.
The feel of Azriel’s forearm had faded away into nothingness at the sight of him, and she hated him for it.
It didn’t help that he looked so unfairly handsome, long hair braided down his back and clever eyes bright. He looked nothing like the men that Elain had once daydreamed about – the sheer inhuman beauty of his features was one of the very first things about him that had frightened her. He was dressed in a well-fitting and exquisitely embroidered jacket in a green colour that set his hair aflame and made the bronze of his skin glow.
He had looked tired, though: wherever Lucien had been for the past year, it hadn’t been kind to him. He was still beautiful, of course – that was an immutable fact that Elain was forced to concede: the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Lucien was beautiful – but he looked wan and thinner than she remembered.
Azriel had noticed that she had noticed Lucien, because of course he had. His words had faltered, and Elain had been fortunate that Lucien had chosen to tear his eyes from hers at that very moment, because she was able to force a smile onto her face and beam up at Azriel, gesturing for him to continue.
He had, though the mood had changed between them. Elain and Azriel had been dancing around each other for too long – her pride still stung the memory of that humiliating moment during Solstice - and she had hoped, as she’d been picking out her dress and choosing matching underthings to go beneath it, that the dance could finally come to an end tonight.
That was another thing that her mate was making more difficult for her. It was so hard to move on from him – was it even moving on, when they had scarcely exchanged a few words between them? – when anyone she might’ve wanted to move on with was so hypercautious around her because of him.
Elain was sick of it. Had she been any other female, an unmated female, Azriel would’ve found his way into her bed long ago. Wouldn’t have called their connection a mistake, like it was something small and easily fixed, something he could take back.
Elain didn’t want to take any of it back.
It was that fury at the sheer injustice of it all that made Elain press herself against the shadowsinger’s chest, feigning a laugh at something he’d said. She felt Azriel freeze beneath her, felt the broad muscles of his chest tense. His hands found her shoulders and gently pulled her back, regarding her with a sincerity that made her seethe.
“Are you okay, Elain?” he asked seriously.
Elain forced her smile brighter and she knew it was convincing, because he and everyone else had fallen for it before. “Of course I am. I’ve just had a little too much to drink.” She hadn’t. The idea of alcohol made her stomach churn, too afraid of being caught unguarded and open in this party full of strangers. “Shall we go somewhere more private?”
She watched the bob of Azriel’s throat as he swallowed. Watched it eagerly, hungrily. Wanted to lick a line up the long column of his neck, to suck and bite at the place where it met his jaw.
He led her to a secluded little alcove, away from the party. Elain had successfully resisted the urge to look back to see if Lucien was watching her still and was stupidly proud of herself for it.
Elain was standing closest to the wall and Azriel to the door and she felt small and fragile when faced with the bulk of him. He was so handsome, with his classically beautiful features like something out of Nesta’s romance novels, and the magnificent wings that swooped out from his shoulders.
Her sisters, in a rare moment of comradery, had both giggled about what the size of an Illyrian’s wingspan said about the size of other parts. Elain was eager to see if the stories were true.
She smiled coyly up at him through her lashes, and he smiled back, in that soft way that he seemed to reserve just for her. She felt drunk on it, almost, on the idea of him, arousal burning low in her core and a buzz filing her ears, drowning out the sounds of the party.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said softly. He was always soft with her.
She flushed, the sincerity of it making her insides prickle. She stepped towards him, tilting her face upwards with her best smile and willing him to lean down and finally kiss her.
A moment passed. Something cold settled in Elain’s chest, a heavy paperweight of dread that made her rock back on her heels and furrow her brow.
“I’m sorry,” Azriel said, and to his credit, he did sound wrecked. Her heart dropped. “I can’t, Elain. I can’t.”
Tears immediately stung at her eyes and she wiped them away, as furious with herself as she was with him. “Yes, you can!” she said, loud in the little alcove. “It means nothing.” There was no need for her to specify what it was. “I want this. I want you.”
Azriel shook his head, something too close to pity in his gaze, and Elain snapped. She didn’t bother letting him reply, uninterested in any platitude that might leave his mouth, and pushed him aside, leaving the alcove and returning to the party.
Pure rage burnt through her veins, and it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Is this how Nesta had felt, with Death at her fingertips? Elain felt as though she could move mountains with the passion surging through her.
She felt dizzy with it. The rage was so fierce and so potent and there was so very much of it; she could feel it buzzing in her fingertips and her beneath her eyelids and deep in her chest, wrapped around her heart. The rage made it beat faster than it ever had before. If she didn’t do something with it, she was sure that it would crack through her skin and set the River House alight.
She should’ve yelled at Azriel some more, but it was too late to go back now. No doubt he would spend the rest of the evening stewing in that alcove with nothing but his shadows for company.
She wanted to be alone too, but where would she go? Her absence would be quickly noticed and as much as she’d like to sulk in her bedroom, she wanted even less to draw unwanted attention.
She stalked through the party, almost blind with anger. Anyone could have spoken to her, and she’d have no idea – she certainly wouldn’t have responded. The warm air inside the River House was stifling, felt thick and heavy in her lungs.
Fresh air. That’s what she needed. A moment alone with nothing but the cool night’s air as company.
Her feet took her to the edge of the festivities, near the doors that housed several of the viewing balconies. Starfall was not set to begin for quite some time, so they should mostly be empty.
She took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself, but the scent of cinnamon and apples and crackling flame reached her nose and her anger blazed anew. No matter how many years she lived, no matter how much time they spent apart, she’d never be able to forget that Cauldron-damned scent.
She inhaled again, feeling almost feral in her fury, a wild animal tracking prey. Her gaze settled on one of the doors and she knew that her mate was behind it.
Her mate, the cause of all of these problems. Her mate, the one who had been there when she’d been forced under the cold, oppressive waters of the Cauldron. Her mate, the first face she’d seen in this horrible new world when the Cauldron had spat her out and Made her into something mishappen and wrong.
She clenched her jaw and flung the balcony doors open, fuelled by the burn in her blood.
…
Elain looked upset and any other emotions Lucien might’ve felt at the sight of her fell away in the face of that.
“Are you okay, my lady?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound strained. His cock had thankfully softened in response to the onslaught of her emotions, though it did give a traitorous twitch at the sight of her, eyes tempestuous and chest heaving.
Elain did not reply. She just stared at him, two bright spots of colour on her cheeks and looking so beautiful it made his heart ache.
“Elain-,” he started, and watched as her face contorted into what could only be wrath.
In two quick steps, she was before him. He hadn’t been so close to her since he’d wrapped her in his coat after she’d been Made.
He opened his mouth to speak, feeling a little helpless, and she shoved him backwards, a two-handed push to the chest that sent him reeling back a few steps. The places her hands had touched burnt underneath his clothes.
“Elain-,” he said, shocked, concerned, alight with the feel of her hands on him.
“Just stop,” she seethed. She shoved him again, and the rails of the balcony behind him dug into his back, thankfully high enough to keep him from toppling over. She prowled to him, predatory, until her chest was nearly pressed to his. Lucien swallowed.
“Stop,” Elain repeated, even though he hadn’t said anything. Then, she kissed him.
Lucien’s vision went white. Every sense was overloaded, in disbelief that Elain was kissing him, she was kissing him, her soft lips on his and her chest pressed against his chest and he felt as though he’d die right there, his heart was beating so fast and blood roared through his ears and for a ridiculous, dizzying moment, he was worried that his knees might buckle.
The kiss was not soft or gentle or anything like what he’d imagined their first kiss might be. He’d spent – hours, probably, a thought that sent shame skittering up his spine – fucking his fist and imagining the way Elain’s full, pink lips might press against his own. Sometimes it was innocent and hesitant, almost chaste. Sometimes he imagined something hot and passionate and sensual, his hands on the swell of her hips, her leg wrapped around his waist. Sometimes – he rarely indulged in these fantasies, in fear of cheapening them – it was even romantic, and she would stare into his eyes, both of them, without fear or reprehension, and cradle his face in her small, soft hands, and she would first press a kiss to his forehead, then his cheekbones, one then the other, before finally, his lips.
This was nothing like anything he’d imagined. This was all teeth and tongue and viciousness. She nipped at his lower lip, and he groaned into her mouth, then reached out to pull her hips flush against his own. She ground into him eagerly and he couldn’t stop the sounds pouring from his lips to be swallowed up by her own, sure that he sounded stupid and pathetic and desperate but unable to hold back.
Elain kissed like she owned him, like she knew that he was hers, always hers, knew that she could take everything he could give to her and then demand more. He wanted to give it all to her, give her everything. Would give her everything, so long as this didn’t stop.
Elain pulled away from the kiss and left Lucien trembling. He was glad for the pressure of the railing against his back now, his legs unsteady.
Her eyes were trained on his lips and he watched her hand flit up to his face, felt her delicate fingers press against his lips. He watched her face, those wide brown eyes, as she traced his slightly open mouth with her thumb, his breaths coming in choppy, ragged pants. When her thumb slipped into his mouth, he let out a breathy whine, then closed his lips around it and sucked.
…
Now that the line had been crossed, Elain couldn’t stop.
Didn’t even want to stop.
Years of desire pooled in her core, and she rubbed her thighs together beneath her dress, more aroused than she’d been in her life. She’d never felt this way, not with Azriel, not even with Graysen in the few times they’d made love before everything had been ruined.
She felt drunk on it – she’d reduced this powerful male to moans and whines with nothing but a few kisses. Even now, she could feel him against her stomach, so hard just from this that she could feel him even through the layers of their clothes.
And Lucien just looked at her with those eyes, one russet and one gold, so beautiful and so fae that she was reminded, again, of the anger that had made her seek him out in the first place. She pulled her thumb from his mouth but kept her fingers tight around the bottom of his face, enjoying the way his breath came in gasps.
“Elain-,” Lucien choked out, and was that all he could say? Elain, Elain, Elain. Everybody spoke about what a skilled courtier he was, about his wicked silver tongue, but it seemed that she had reduced him to something far more base.
Elain pressed her palm flat against his mouth. His skin was smooth and hot to the touch, and she dug her fingers into his cheek and jerked his head up, exposing the long, bronzed line of his neck.
“Shut up,” Elain hissed, grip so hard on his face that she could feel the pressure of teeth and bone. He cried out, muffled against her hand and she felt the flicker of his tongue against her palm. Liquid desire flooded her sex.
She dragged her teeth along the column of his neck and bit at his pulse point, worrying her teeth just above the collarbone. The scent of him, warm cinnamon and flame, was strongest here, and Elain’s head spun with it. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply.
He let out a growl and his grip on her hips tightened. With a force that made her heart skip a beat, Lucien guided her backwards until Elain’s rear was flat against the closed door, held firmly shut by her weight.
“Let me touch you, please, Elain, please, please, let me make you feel good,” he begged, dipping his head down to press a series of wet kisses against her neck. He licked up her throat and caught her pleased moan with his lips, capturing hers in another kiss.
He slotted his thigh between hers and she ground against it greedily, desperate for some pressure against her aching centre.
They kissed for several minutes, only pausing for Lucien to break away to beg her to allow him to pleasure her anew. She was ready to allow it the very first time he’d asked, but there was something so fucking good about hearing him plead like that, voice broken and raspy, catching on her name. Each time he’d ask, the very idea of making her feel good would leave him gasping and rutting hard against her belly.
Eventually, the heat in her core grew too strong and like a magnanimous queen, Elain nodded her assent and watched a broad smile flood his face. It was an expression she’d never seen on him before and somehow, it felt more intimate than the kisses had.
She expected him to slip his hands between their bodies to find her core, or to even pull the neckline of her dress down to expose her breasts.
Instead, he dropped to his knees before her on the unforgiving stone floor. He looked up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, pupils blow wide, mouth red and kiss swollen. Seemingly waiting for her approval, he paused until Elain nodded again and then his hands found her hips, pushing her more securely against the door. He rucked her skirts about her thighs, the gossamer layers spilling through his hands, and let out a pained groan at the sight of her lacey, delicate lilac undergarments.
She was feverishly glad that she had decided to wear them, even if that reaction a different male than the one she’d initially intended to see them.
Her skin prickled as he pressed a soft kiss against the pale skin of her inner thigh, her world narrowed down to that one, tiny point of contact. Graysen hadn’t done this for her before; he had been more interested in taking his own pleasure between her thighs than granting any for her.
Elain cried out as he pressed his face against her clothed core, inhaling deeply. She could feel how wet she was, could feel how her underwear was soaked and her inner thighs slid against each other. Her knees trembled and she splayed her hands back against the door for purchase.
Lucien pressed another set of kisses up her thighs, alternating between sides and growing closer and closer to her sex. She gasped when he licked a line up the centre of her slit over her underwear, the long-awaited touch to her clit sending her hips bucking forward. He did it again, groaning against her, and she pressed herself against his mouth, wanting – no, needing, more. His long, clever fingers took hold of her underwear and pulled gently, a suggestion, and the idea of him taking them off sent a thrill coursing through her veins.
“Please, can I?” he asked.
“Yes,” Elain whispered, and he tugged her underwear down her thighs, baring her fully to him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, a reverent murmur, and despite herself, Elain flushed. She would’ve been far too shy to allow Graysen to see her like this, even if he had been inclined to give her pleasure in this way – they’d always made love in the dark, often tangled in sheets to preserve some sense of modesty. She felt exposed now, stripped down and cut open, but any anxiety she might’ve felt at the vulnerability faded away in a burst of white-hot pleasure as he bought his mouth to her.
She cried out again, unable to stop herself and not wanting to besides. It felt so good, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, at her own hands or somebody else’s. He seemed to know exactly how to touch her, how to use his mouth to bring her to ecstasy. He focussed most of his attentions on her clit, licking and sucking the little bud into his mouth with a gentleness that made her whimper. The hands holding her skirts aloft rubbed soothing little circles into the flesh of her hips, their strong grip keeping her steady even as her legs threatened to give out underneath her.
She wanted more. Wanted to have all of him, to feel everything.
She buried her hands into his flame-red hair and tugged him forward, forcing his face deeper against her cunt.
They both moaned at the feeling, and Elain threw her head back at the way the sound vibrated against her. She dug her fingers into his hair and twisted, holding his head steady as she ground herself against his face. She was so wet that she could feel the easy slip of his features against her, the line of his nose and his open mouth, panting against her, the way that his tongue tried to find her clit even with her erratic movements.
She looked down, eyes foggy with lust, and saw that he was touching himself, pants unbuttoned to reveal a gloriously hard, thick cock, red with desire and weeping at the tip. She ground against him harder at the sight and watched as his cock throbbed, his hand stuttering against the length as though too much stimulation against it would make him come.
The sight only heightened her arousal and she moved against him faster. His free hand, the one that had been at her hip, reached around and pulled her leg over his broad shoulder, before coming to rest at the curve of her buttock. The new angle opened her up even more for him and she moaned, feeling liquid heat beginning to build in her belly.
He squeezed her ass and pulled her pelvis towards him, stilling her movements. She was powerless to stop him, that heat building higher and higher, a tension ready to snap. Elain felt dizzy with it.
She watched, entranced, as his hand moved faster and faster on his cock. He was moaning against her cunt, and she was moaning too, hands twisting in his hair so hard that she’d ruined his neat braid. The heat built into a crescendo, higher and higher, and Elain let out a strangled sob as it crashed, the tension snapping in a glorious wave of molten pleasure that only grew as she watched Lucien’s grip seize at the head of his cock as he came all over himself, spilling into his hand.
The orgasm stretched on, each beat stronger than the last. His ministrations against her never stopped, though they grew gentler as she came down from her peak. Her hands dropped from his hair, fingers stiff, and fell to her sides.
Elain’s mouth was dry. She swallowed to moisten her throat, but it didn’t help. The fervour that had overtaken her was gone and she was cold now, her skin tingling in the cool night air.
It was too much. All of Elain felt overstimulated, like a live wire. She pulled her skirts back over her thighs and let her leg drop from Lucien’s shoulder, but the feeling didn’t go away – worsened, even, and a gaping pit seemed to open up inside of her, splitting her in two.
She suddenly wanted to do nothing more than cry.
Lucien was still on his knees before her, an expression on his face that she could name but was too afraid to do so. If she gave it a name, called it for what it was, that would make all of this real.
“I’m sorry,” she said, voice cracking on the words. “That was -,” a mistake, she thought, and grew cold at the memory of Azriel saying those exact words to her. “I’m sorry,” she repeated feebly, and pulled her eyes away from Lucien’s face before she would have to see his expression change.
She swallowed again. Kept her head bowed.
Elain turned away and pushed open the doors, leaving her mate alone on the balcony.
…
Lucien sat on the stone. It was cold beneath him and his knees, tucked against his chest, felt stiff and bruised.
He sat there for what felt like a very long time.
As the air swelled with the sound of joyous music and the colourful spirits of Starfall began their yearly journey across the night sky, Lucien stood. He brushed down his clothes and went inside, finding the House empty, all of its occupants busy watching the celestial display outside.
He wondered if Elain had joined them. Imagined her with her family, dress pulled back over her thighs, washed clean of what they’d done.
He imagined her smiling up the stars. Tried to imagine her happy.
He found that he couldn't.