Chapter 35 – Appetite and Chaos
Lux tried not to think about that.
Tried.
But that thought—that cursed, smug thought—echoed somewhere in the back of his skull even as Naomi kissed down his chest like she was reading scripture in reverse.
Silk hit the floor. Lace followed. Then the straps.
Then her lips.
He barely had time to process the way she straddled him, her thighs warm and trembling, her breath shallow, her fingers tangled in his hair like she was clinging to the edge of a very expensive, very forbidden cliff. Her dress was half-off, pooling around her waist like a puddle of night, and she was on him before he could say anything clever.
Not that he wanted to.
Because Naomi Delacour—delicate, proper, soft-spoken Naomi—was riding him like her inheritance depended on it. Like the pact hadn't just awakened some legacy skill, but cracked open something else inside her. Something darker. Wilder. Hungrier.
And Lux?
He let her.
For a while.
Let her move, hips rolling with a rhythm that made him suck in a breath. Let her lean down, her lips brushing over his chest, his collarbone, his ribs. Let her moan into his skin, warm and high and desperate, every sound fueling something deeper in him.
But Lux wasn't built to be ridden for long.
He was a Vaelthorn.
A Greedborn.
A demon of sin and appetite and chaos.
So when her fingers trembled just enough—when her nails dug into his shoulders, when she gasped his name like a broken prayer—he moved.
Flipped her.
Pressed her down.
And took control.
The headboard hit the wall. The lights flickered once. Somewhere across the suite, a mirror cracked from the mana pressure alone.
Lux didn't slow down.
Didn't even pretend to.
His grip on her waist was solid, commanding, like he was carving his name into her bones. He moved like a beast unleashed, all molten heat and jagged edges, his breath heavy and his body coiled like he was made of fire and sin. Naomi cried out again, and again, until she couldn't form words anymore—just pieces of them. Just syllables. Just his name.
Her voice rose.
Her nails scratched.
She wasn't the quiet heiress anymore.
She was something feral. Beautiful. Desperate.
And he drove into that sound like it was the only thing that could silence the chaos in his blood.
All night.
All damn night.
He kissed her everywhere. Bit down just enough to make her shiver. Whispered against her skin—dark things, sweet things, promises and threats tangled together until she couldn't tell if he was seducing her or devouring her soul.
It was a claim.
And Lux?
He claimed every inch of her.
By the time the moon dipped and the sky began to shift, Naomi was no longer riding high on adrenaline or pride or even lust.
She was just…
Ruined.
In the best, most stupidly luxurious way.
Her body collapsed into his arms like a song at its final note—sweaty, shaking, blissfully breathless. Her skin glowed faintly, still echoing his magic, and her fingers twitched like they were trying to remember how movement worked.
Lux held her.
Didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
He was still buzzing. Still high on it. Her scent. Her voice. The way she'd screamed his name with every thrust like it meant something more than just pleasure.
Because maybe…
Just maybe…
It did.
—--
The morning came.
Not that Lux noticed at first.
Because he was still sprawled across the silk-strewn, war-torn battlefield that used to be a bed. A very expensive bed, by the way. Enchanted for weight distribution, sound dampening, and stress-resistance.
Thank Hell for that, honestly.
Even the pillow looked like it had survived something traumatic.
Lux groaned into the sheets.
Not from pain. Just… stunned.
Because that was the best damn sleep he'd had in—what, a hundred years? Maybe longer. And that was saying something, considering he technically didn't even need sleep most of the time.
But whatever happened last night? Naomi riding him like the apocalypse was coming and her inheritance depended on it?
Then him returning the favor like an untamed warhorse from a cursed prophecy?
Yeah.
That hit harder than melatonin-laced demon wine.
He stared up at the ceiling.
Eyes half-lidded.
A slow, goofy grin crept up the side of his face.
He'd forgotten what this felt like.
That weird, floating sensation.
The kind of sleep that wrapped around your spine and whispered.
'Hey, maybe life's not that bad. Maybe taxes don't exist. Maybe heaven can wait and hell's on holiday.'
Lux blinked again. The sunlight poured in aggressively from the glass panels. Way too intense. He squinted.
"Damn. Is it noon already?"
He stretched—arms behind his head, abs flexing out of habit—and then tilted his head to the side.
Naomi was still asleep.
Curled in the sheets, half-covered in golden morning light, her breath soft and even, her lips slightly parted like she was dreaming about something scandalous.
Or maybe just remembering last night.
Lux chuckled.
"For Hell's sake," he muttered to himself, voice still raspy from lack of use, "this is the first time I slept like I never paid taxes."
The laugh almost slipped out louder.
He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep it down.
He didn't want to wake her.
Not because he was being noble or whatever. But because Naomi looked peaceful. And terrifyingly beautiful in a 'don't-touch-or-you'll-fall-in-love-again' kind of way. Her mark had faded back into her skin, but he could still feel the faint signature of it humming through the room. Like the air remembered their night better than either of them.
Lux rolled out of bed. Barefoot. Shirtless. Hair a mess.
The smile refused to leave his face.
He padded across the cool marble floor, muttering to himself like a man coming down from an adrenaline high.
"Okay… coffee. Need coffee. Something that says 'good morning, you survived carnal chaos.'"
He yanked on a pair of pants—black, loose, slightly wrinkled from being flung across a chair sometime during round two. Or maybe three. He lost count.
The rest?
Nah.
Let the abs breathe.