Chapter 666 | Devoted

Chapter 666: 666 | Devoted

I didn’t move. I found her clit and circled it, slow, then slower, and she started making noise. It wasn’t the performance voice she used for crowds, either. It was high and breathless and climbing, ah, ah, hnnh, each one a little louder than the last, her thighs clamping around my head until the world shrank down to her heat and her voice.

"The walls," I said against her, and she shuddered at the vibration.

"Maribelle can buy her own earplugs. Don’t stop, please, Lukas, please don’t stop."

I slid two fingers into her and curled them upward, pressing into the spot that made her spine arch clean off the mattress. The bed frame hit the wall with a solid thunk. Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle the noise, and a laugh bubbled out between her fingers, bright and startled and already breaking apart.

The laugh dissolved halfway into a moan, and the Sadism trait stirred at the back of my skull, stretching awake and leaning in closer to watch. I let it have one concession. I pressed harder with my fingers and sealed my lips around her clit, sucking just enough to send her careening over the edge.

Felicity came apart in under five minutes. Her heels dug bruises into my back. Her free hand twisted in my hair with enough force to make my scalp burn. "Lukas, Lukas, ohh, fuck, Lukaaas," she wailed, and the fairy lights across her ceiling flickered gold in rhythm with her pulse.

Her Aspect bled through the cracks in her concentration, painting Gerald the water stain a brief, startled shade of pink before the glow faded back to amber.

I didn’t stop immediately. I kept going, gentler now, until she shoved weakly at my head and collapsed back into the pillows, twitching, chest heaving like she’d run a sprint. The lace bra had been shoved halfway off one breast where she’d grabbed at herself in the final seconds.

"That’s not fair," she panted, staring at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed her. "That’s cheating. You read the room on me."

"I read people for a living, apparently."

"You read people for free, and I hate it." She propped herself up on her elbows, flushed from her cheeks all the way down to her sternum, and her gaze dropped to my belt. The wrecked look on her face shifted into something sharper. Hungrier.

"Pants. Off. I want the whole thing and I want to see your face while you lose."

I stood and got the jeans off. Felicity unhooked her bra with one hand and flung it across the room. It landed on Mr. Whiskers the stuffed rabbit, who accepted the indignity with the stoic patience of someone who had witnessed worse. She reached up, wrapped her hand around my cock, and pulled me down by it like a leash.

"Mm, hi," she murmured, looking down between us with the kind of focus most people reserved for exam questions. "I missed you specifically."

I opened my mouth to say something about her addressing my dick like it was a separate person, and she guided me against her entrance and sank down onto me in one long, liquid slide. Whatever I’d planned to say came out as a groan instead.

She was tight and soaked and so impossibly hot inside that my vision blanked out at the edges. Felicity’s head dropped back. Her mouth fell open on a long, shaking "Ohhh," that went on longer than her lungs should have physically allowed, her nails digging crescents into my shoulders as she took all of me and adjusted to the stretch.

"Okay," she breathed, the word shivering out of her. "Okay, okay. You don’t move. I’m in charge this time."

She rolled her hips, testing the angle, finding the rhythm. Slow at first, then picking up speed with a confidence that came from knowing exactly what she wanted and refusing to be shy about taking it.

The wet sound that rose between us with every grind down was obscene in the quiet room. Her breasts swayed with the motion, freckles scattered across the tops of them like constellations I could spend hours mapping. I reached for her waist to steady her. She smacked my hand away.

"I said I’m in charge, Belmont."

"You’re doing great, you know."

"Don’t patronize me while you’re inside me, it’s—ahh." The complaint dissolved mid-sentence when I lifted my hips to meet her next downstroke. She glared down at me with her eyes half-lidded and glassy, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in a way that was doing extremely dangerous things to my self-control. "That was rude of you. Do it again."

So I did.

The bed started knocking against the wall in a steady, damning rhythm. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Somewhere past the drywall I was pretty sure I heard Maribelle Kennedy whoop in what could only be described as enthusiastic support.

Felicity didn’t seem to care.

Or maybe she did and it only made her double down, because she was riding me like she had something to prove to God himself. Her hands braced flat on my chest over the second heartbeat, her blonde hair plastered to her neck with sweat, and every downstroke pulled a sound out of her that kept getting rawer and more unguarded. Ahh. Haah. Hnngh, fuck.

The interface flickered gold at the edge of my vision.

? Temptation Gauge: Felicity Hardy, 60%. Status: DEVOTED. Advisory: Heroine is maintaining illusion bleed at 31% during intercourse without conscious intent. This is not a performance. ?

I closed it. Felicity saw my eyes drift anyway, because of course she did, and she slowed to a grind and leaned down until her nose touched mine.

"You were reading something again," she whispered.

"I was thinking about you, Felicity."

"Liar. But you’re a good liar, so I’ll allow it." She kissed me, slow and wet, still moving on me, and when she pulled back her eyes were brighter than they should have been, a sheen across the blue that had nothing to do with sex.

"Lukas, I think I..."