His tongue was sinful.
His grip was unrelenting.
His words destroyed her.
Ariel twisted beneath him, her body betraying her with every shudder, every tremble, every sharp gasp that slipped from her lips.
She was determined not to break.
Determined to hate this. Hate him.
But Luciel never fought battles he couldn't win.
His lips moved lower, lower, his breath hot against her inner thigh, teasing but never giving.
Ariel's fists clenched the sheets, her body tight with resistance, but the anticipation—the unbearable, agonizing waiting was already breaking her resolve.
She needed him to touch her.
But he took his time.
His tongue flicked out, barely grazing her, sending a shudder through her already weakened frame.
A cruel chuckle rumbled against her skin.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice laced with mockery and amusement.
Ariel's breath hitched.
Another flick.
Another light, teasing caress.
She whimpered, her thighs twitching.
