[Still Night—Rynthall Estate, Behind Closed Doors]
The room was drenched in moonlight and sweat.
Lucien couldn't breathe.
Didn't want to breathe.
Not when Silas wouldn't stop kissing him.
Not when every brush of lips felt like a promise burned into skin.
"Your lips…" Silas murmured, voice thick and velvet-dark, as he dragged his tongue over Lucien's mouth, slow and greedy. "Gods, they taste so sweet."
Lucien flushed, breath catching as his head tilted away with instinctive shyness. "It's… it's because I ate cake," he mumbled, eyes fluttering closed.
But Silas wasn't done.
Not even close.
"Then let me taste more," he growled.
And before Lucien could protest—before he could even think—Silas was already kissing him again. Harder. Deeper. His tongue swept past Lucien's lips like he owned the right, like the sweetness there belonged to him now.
Lucien whimpered into it, fists curling against Silas's shoulders.
And then—heat. A rush of something heady. Thick, blue. Pheromones.
