Surviving the Apocalypse: All I Want Is to Find a Husband-Chapter 162: Lucian’s Other Side [M]

Medeia’s breath came in ragged gasps, her toes curling as Lucian’s lips traced a heated path over her skin.

His tongue circled her nipple before he sucked it into his mouth, slow and deep, drawing a desperate moan from her lips. Her back arched instinctively, pressing herself closer to him, silently begging for more.

Lucian’s hands gripped her hips possessively, holding her in place as he worshipped her with his mouth, teasing and tasting until her skin felt feverish under his touch.

When he finally released her nipple with a wet pop, he didn’t stop—his kisses trailed lower, down her stomach, each brush of his lips making her tremble with anticipation.

"Spread your legs for me." Lucian commanded, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. His gaze remained locked onto hers, unwavering, dominant, as he moved lower—closer—to where she wanted him most.

Hell, he was so hot when he got like this.

That firm, unshakable dominance made her pulse race, made her head spin.

In the beginning, he had been gentle—so careful, as if he were afraid of breaking her. She’d adored his tenderness, his reverence, but over time, she found herself craving something ... more.

Not that sex with Lucian wasn’t incredible—oh, it was heaven—but a little extra spice wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe a firm hand pinning her down.

Maybe the sharp sting of a spanking.

Maybe the intoxicating thrill of being tied up, completely at his mercy.

Like she had said before, centuries of hard and rough sex had ruined her for anything too soft. Vanilla just didn’t do it for her anymore.

No, that didn’t mean Lucifer was better than Lucian. Hell no.

Her ex-husband had been the worst kind of monster, and Medeia would rather die than let him lay a finger on her again.

Lucian, though ... Lucian was different. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Maybe it was because she knew he would never actually hurt her. With him, she felt safe—cherished. That’s why she loved it when he took control. Because no matter how rough he got, no matter how much he made her beg, she knew he’d never push her past what she could handle.

And that kind of trust?

That kind of power?

It was intoxicating.

She trusted him so much that she wanted to surrender—to let him take her apart and put her back together again.

With Lucian, she could give in completely, knowing he would catch her every time.

That was the difference. That was why, even when he pinned her down, even when he commanded her with that low, authoritative voice, she thrived under his touch instead of fearing it.

She’d spent days building up the courage to tell him her desires, already expecting that he wouldn’t be into that kind of thing.

But when she finally told him, he’d surprised her.

"Maybe I could try it," he said.

Medeia hadn’t expected those words to come back to haunt her.

Because now? He wasn’t just trying it—he was owning it.

Lucian—the man who carried himself like a saint, who looked almost too pure to indulge in anything sinful—turned out to have a darker side after all.

Of course, he had never—and he adamantly promised he never would—throw her onto the cold, hard ground or leave even the slightest wound on her beautiful skin.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t play with her in other ways.

Lucian had learned quickly, adapting to what made her shiver, what made her breath hitch, what made her melt completely beneath him.

He might not be the type to go too far, but he had no problem making her beg—just as long as it was in pleasure, not pain.

And Medeia loved it.

She loved the way he pinned her down with just his gaze. The way he murmured filthy things in that deep voice as if he were simply stating facts. The way he took his time, drawing out every little reaction until she was trembling with need.

Tonight was no different.

"Such an obedient girl," Lucian murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as his lips trailed down the soft skin of her inner thigh.

He bit down—not too hard, just enough to make her gasp, just enough to leave a mark that only he would ever see. A private claim, a secret reminder imprinted on her skin.

Medeia whimpered softly, spreading her legs wide apart. She arched her back slightly, pushing her breast out.

Lucian ran his thumbs along the curve of her buttocks, spreading her open just enough to admire her wet, pink core.

Lucian leaned in, placing a teasing lick along Medeia’s dripping honey pot.

He tasted her—savored her—the tip of his tongue circling her clit before pulling it between his lips with just enough pressure to make her shudder.

Medeia gasped, her fingers tangling into his hair, desperate for something to hold onto. "Fuck, Lucian ..."

Lucian chuckled as he watched Medeia squirm beneath him, feeling a bit desperate.

Without warning, he slid two fingers inside her, burying them to the knuckle. Medeia gasped, her back arching as he curled them just right, pressing against that sweet, sensitive spot that had her seeing stars.

His lips found her clit again, wrapping around it as he sucked, slow at first—teasing—before increasing the pressure. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm, thrusting in and out of her slick heat, unraveling her completely.

Medeia trembled beneath his touch, her body reacting instinctively, chasing that sweet release he was mercilessly teasing her with.

Lucian smiled faintly, his lips brushing against her heated skin as he eased a third finger inside her, stretching her just enough to make her whimper.

Her breath hitched, her hands gripping the blankets as waves of pleasure coursed through her. She was right there—on the brink—just a little more, just a second longer—

And then he stopped.

Lucian fucking stopped.

His fingers stilled inside her, his mouth pulling away, leaving her trembling and unbearably empty.

Medeia’s eyes snapped open, her breath ragged as she stared down at him in disbelief. "Lucian," she panted, voice dripping with frustration, "what the hell—"

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