She lingered over me like a storm that had finally passed — calm now, but still crackling with power beneath the silence. Her breath was soft against my mouth, her fingers buried in my hair as if she couldn't bear to let go. Her body draped over mine, supple and dangerous, like a velvet noose I wanted to hang from.
I didn't dare speak. Didn't even breathe too loud. I was suspended in the quiet of her control, still reeling from what she'd already done to me.
And then… the softness vanished.
Not cold.
Just contained.
She pulled back, slow as dusk, her eyes sharpening like twin blades unsheathed from silk. Her fingers dragged down the slope of my chest — not a caress, not quite — more like a claiming. Every brush of her nails across my skin sent my nerves skittering.
When her hand closed around the aching length of my cock, I twitched.
Still hard.
Still hers.
"You're trembling," she said, her voice low, purring, just this side of a growl. "And you're hard again."
I swallowed, my voice caught somewhere behind my teeth. "I—"
Her grip tightened. Not cruel. Not gentle either. Just enough to remind me she was in charge.
"Don't speak unless I ask a question," she whispered, her tone soaked in sin. "Or I will make you beg until your voice breaks."
A bolt of heat stabbed through me.
God, I loved her like this.
Sera sat up, straddling my hips, her thighs iron-strong and warm around me. She took her time — dragging her ruined panties down her legs with the grace of a queen shedding her war paint. The shirt hung off one shoulder, barely there, the collar loose enough to show the bite I'd left earlier.
When she peeled it off entirely, her hair spilled forward, shadowing her face in dark waves. And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.
She was everything.
A goddess.
A predator.
And somehow, impossibly, mine.
Her eyes gleamed. "You're not allowed to die on me again."
Then she rocked her hips once — a slow, deliberate grind that made me groan aloud — letting the wet heat of her slide against me, taunting.
"But if you do…" she murmured, lips close to my ear, "I'll drag you back just to fuck the soul out of you."
I whimpered.
Actually whimpered.
"Hands above your head."
I obeyed instantly, wrists locking together over my head without question. My body was hers — wrecked, desperate, addicted.
She leaned down, pressing her chest to mine, voice a blade wrapped in velvet. "You're going to stay very still while I ride you. And you're not going to come until I say."
I nodded, breath ragged. "You're cruel."
Her smile was all dark silk. "And you love it."
Then, with one slow push, she sank down onto me.
Hot.
Tight.
Perfect.
My vision nearly whited out.
God I'm in heaven.
She didn't move. Not at first. Just held me there, her breath brushing my jaw, her fingers trailing down my ribs — watching me tremble, watching me fight.
And then she began to move.
Slow.
Measured.
Like she was crafting a symphony and every roll of her hips was a note she played on my body. I was unraveling, shaking, teeth clenched so hard I thought I might break something.
"Sera—please—" I gasped, voice wrecked.
She placed a finger over my lips. "Still."
I whimpered again, jaw clenched, trying not to move, not to thrust up into that slick heat I could perish in.
She chuckled, low and pleased, riding me harder now, her rhythm brutal and beautiful, precise and cruel.
"You're so pretty when you suffer," she murmured, leaning back, her hands planted on my chest. Her hips moved faster, her moans deepening, raw and ragged.
I was dying.
Blissfully.
She was close.
So close.
I could feel it in the way her thighs tightened, in the tremble of her spine, in the broken little sounds she tried to stifle.
And then—
The door slammed open.
"Oh my God—WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!"
Sera froze.
Still locked around me.
I blinked in stunned silence as Tiffany stood in the doorway like she'd just walked into the apocalypse. Eyes wide, hand over her mouth like she could erase what she'd seen.
"Oh my God, you're not even under the covers—Cass, what the fuck?!"
Sera sighed.
Deeply.
Then, still straddling me — inside me — she turned her head with infuriating calm and said:
"Tiffany, darling. Knock next time."
Tiff shrieked. Actually shrieked. Then slammed the door so hard the walls shook.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Mortified.
I collapsed back into the pillows, groaning. "I'm never going to recover from this."
Sera, unfazed, leaned down and kissed me lazily, her voice still warm with amusement.
"You'll live," she whispered. Then added with a smirk, "Eventually."
A shiver ran through me.
Because I knew she meant it.
She was going to finish what she started.
And I was going to beg her for it.
Again.
And again.
And again.
----------------------------------
The air in Villa Dahlia still smelled like sex and sandalwood. Or maybe that was just Sera's robe clinging to my skin. She'd made me wear it down to breakfast like a pet.
I wasn't mad about it. Just… trying not to die.
The antique grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten as I limped into the sunlit dining room, my spine still debating whether to collapse or salute.
Tiffany was already at the long, dark cherrywood table. Barefoot. Braided hair half-frizzy. She was eating strawberries like this was any other morning.
It wasn't.
"Morning," I said, voice way too high.
She didn't answer at first—just squinted over her teacup. "Are you okay?"
"Peachy."
"You're walking like you got hit by a truck."
"Workout."
Her brows rose. "Did the workout involve screaming Sera's name like a prayer?"
I choked on air.
The chandelier above us flickered with a teasing golden shimmer. Villa Dahlia was laughing. Or sighing. Or maybe just reminding me she heard everything, too.
I slid into the seat opposite Tiffany and gritted out, "Can we please not?"
"I'm not judging," she said with a shrug. "I just didn't need to hear or see you begging. I was this close to calling a priest."
I dropped my forehead to the table. "Oh my God."
The dining room door creaked open—gently, like the house was setting the stage. And in she walked.
Sera.
Still glowing like sin and starlight. Her robe was deep wine velvet, open just enough to hint at bruises I knew were from my mouth. Her hair was loose, tousled, lips glossed, and every movement screamed dominance.
She didn't sit. She lounged.
"Good morning, Tiffany," she purred.
"Morning, Empress of Carnal Chaos."
I made a sound. It wasn't human.
Sera turned to me. "Cass."
I looked up, tried not to meet her eyes because if I did, I might combust. Or drop to my knees right there like last night. "Hey."
"That's all you have for me after last night?" Her voice dipped, velvet and threat.
Tiffany whistled low. "Y'all are nasty."
Sera just smiled and took a strawberry from Tiffany's plate, popping it into her mouth like she owned the whole damn world.
And she did.
"Darling," she said, glancing at me. "You're flushed. Is it the shame, or are you still recovering?"
I glared at her. She looked back, completely unbothered, eyes full of amusement. Beneath the table, her foot brushed my ankle. Soft. Possessive. Intentional.
My soul left my body.
Sera just hummed. "Dahlia's a romantic."
"Dahlia's a pervert."
"She's a reflection of her mistress."
"Exactly," Tiffany and I said in unison.
Sera threw her head back and laughed. That deep, dark sound that had shattered my spine against the bed frame six hours ago.
I hated this.
I loved this.
The toast popped.
I jumped.
Sera didn't even blink.