Chapter 51: The Morning After the Apocalypse
[Rynthall Estate—Private Duke’s Chambers, Midnight-ish]
Lucien groaned softly, his body still trembling, his chest rising and falling in shallow waves.
"I said slow..." he murmured, dazed and breathless, one hand limp on the sheets, the other still clutching at Silas’s wrist like he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to hold him back—or pull him in harder.
Silas didn’t answer right away.
He was too busy pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along Lucien’s thigh—trailing fire with every brush of his lips, his large hand sliding up to cradle Lucien’s knee again.
"I am being slow," Silas said innocently. "Much slower than the second round."
"That’s not—hnnngh—what I meant—"
Lucien let out a tiny yelp as Silas adjusted his grip, easing his hips back into position, guiding one of Lucien’s legs up over his shoulder again. Lucien’s thighs twitched from oversensitivity, and his belly gave the faintest flutter—whether from nerves or Wobblebean wiggling at early stages, it was unclear.
Silas paused.
His hand came to rest on Lucien’s belly again—his expression softening for the briefest moment, a smile ghosting across his face. "Still okay?"
Lucien nodded, face flushed, hair damp with sweat. "Y-yeah. Just... gentle. Please."