Page 39 of The Reckoning
“Aries,” she pants, my name a benediction on her lips. “Oh God, don’t stop...”
I double my efforts, sucking her clit between my lips as my fingers pump relentlessly into her dripping core. Her thighs begin to tremble, muscles quivering with the strain of staying upright. I wrap my free arm around her hips, holding her steady as I push her closer to the edge.
“Let go, Lil,” I urge, words vibrating against her most sensitive flesh. “I’ve got you. Just let go for me.”
With a choked cry, she does, her second orgasm ripping through her with stunning force. I groan against her, the spasms of her release triggering my own without even touching myself like a fucking teenager. I pull back just enough to watch her fall apart, committing the sight to memory, branding it into my brain.
As the last tremors fade, I press a final, gentle kiss to her center before rising to my feet. She sags against me, boneless and sated, a dreamy smile on her face. I hold her close, supporting her weight as the water continues to cascade over us, washing away the evidence of our coupling.
“That was...” She’s apparently at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” I agree, knowing exactly what she means. “It was.”
We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other, basking in the afterglow. The rest of the world, with all its complications and ugliness, feels far away, held at bay by the steam and the spray and the bubble of intimacy we’ve created.
But reality can only be ignored for so long. A sharp knock on the door shatters the illusion, Arson’s voice calling out with impatient annoyance.
“If you two are finished, we have things to discuss.”
I sigh, pressing a kiss to Lilian’s forehead before reaching past her to shut off the water. “To be continued,” I murmur against her lips, a promise and a plea all in one.
She nods, eyes dark with understanding and unspoken emotion. We disentangle slowly, every slide of skin on skin a renewed temptation to ignore the intrusion and lose ourselves in each other again. But the moment has passed, the real world crashing back in with jarring insistence.
I step out of the shower first, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist before handing another to Lilian. She takes it with a grateful smile, drying off quickly and efficiently, all traces of the wanton seductress from moments ago hidden beneath a mask of composed detachment.
It’s a skill I recognize all too well, the ability to compartmentalize, to tuck away inconvenient feelings and desires behind a facade of control. I’ve spent my entire life perfecting that mask, wearing it like armor against the expectations and machinations of my family.
But with Lilian, the mask feels flimsy and transparent. Like she can see right through to the broken, angry, wanting parts of me that I try so hard to hide. It’s unsettling and exhilarating in equal measure, the idea that someone might know me so completely, might accept those dark corners without flinching.
I shake off the thought, focusing on the task at hand. Namely, dealing with my brother and whatever new complication he’s about to introduce into our already tangled web.
I dress quickly, not bothering with underwear or socks, just pulling on my jeans and T-shirt with sharp, efficient movements. Lilian does the same, slipping back into her own clothes, damp hair leaving wet patches on the thin fabric.
We exit the bathroom together, a united front against whatever waits on the other side of the door. Arson leans against the far wall, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing at thecorners of his mouth as he takes in our flushed faces and general state of disarray.
“Well, don’t you two look thoroughly…satisfied,” he drawls, the insinuation heavy in his tone.
I don’t rise to the bait, refusing to let him goad me into another display of temper. “What do you want, Arson?”
His expression sobers, the mocking amusement fading into something harder, more calculating. “We need to talk about Lilian’s mother. She’s been calling nonstop and texting your phone. I think Lilian needs to call her so she simmers the fuck down.”
TWELVE
LILIAN
“You might want to check this,” Arson says, handing me my phone as I step out of the bathroom in the clothes we quickly threw on, hair still dripping onto my shoulders. “It’s been blowing up for the past hour.”
I take it from him, careful not to let our fingers touch. There’s still too much electricity between us, too much rawness after what just happened in the shower with Aries. My body feels hypersensitive, aware of both twins in a way that should be unsettling but somehow isn’t. I don’t want to ignite either one unexpectedly. Part of me feels like I’m juggling a ticking time bomb…and the other part of me likes the power.
The screen lights up with notifications—seventeen missed calls and twenty-three text messages, all from the same contact: Mother.
“Shit,” I mutter, scrolling through the increasingly frantic texts. The last one, sent just ten minutes ago, is a simple but ominous: WHERE ARE YOU???
Three question marks. Mother never uses multiple punctuation marks. She considers it vulgar, a sign of emotionalincontinence. The fact that she’s broken her own rule speaks volumes about her state of mind.
“What does she want?” Aries asks, stepping up behind me. His hair is damp and tousled, his jeans so very low on his hips. The evidence of his captivity is stark in the harsh warehouse light—ribs too visible, muscles less defined than they once were, but still undeniably powerful. Still unmistakably him.
“The usual but at like level ten,” I explain, holding up the phone. “She’s been trying to reach me.”
