A CROWN OF THORNS AND DEFIANCE

The palace corridors were quieter at night—silent and heavy, as if the walls themselves held their breath. But there was nothing quiet about the way Lucien touched her.

Even now, as Estella lay tangled in his silk sheets, her body still buzzed from the way he had claimed her. His hands, rough and possessive, left marks she would wear for days. And yet, despite the ache between her thighs, her defiance burned just as bright.

Lucien's arm draped lazily across her waist, his fingers tracing absent patterns against her bare skin. For a man who ruled empires, he looked surprisingly at ease—his silver eyes half-lidded, dark hair falling carelessly across his brow.

But she wasn't fooled.

He was watching her. Calculating.

And gods help her—she was doing the same.

"You're awfully quiet," he murmured, his voice smooth and rough in all the right ways. "Did I finally fuck the fight out of you?"

Estella let out a soft, mocking laugh, tilting her head to meet his gaze. "You wish," she said sweetly, shifting just enough to drag her nails lightly down his chest. "I'm just wondering if all emperors are this easy to tire out."

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous heat. In a flash, he was on her—rolling her beneath him, his weight pinning her to the bed.

"You want to test me again, little rebel?" His voice was low, thick with promise. "Careful. I'm still hungry."

"Poor thing," she mocked, despite the heat blooming low in her belly. "All that power, and you still can't keep up?"

Lucien's lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. "You're going to regret that mouth," he warned, his hand sliding down between her thighs.

She arched her back as his fingers brushed against her still-sensitive core, teasing her with deliberate slowness. "I'm still waiting to regret it."

His fingers spread her open, dragging through the slickness he'd left inside her. "So wet," he murmured, almost to himself. "Still stretched from the way I fucked you."

A sharp blush burned her cheeks, but she refused to let him see her flustered. "I thought you said you were going to ruin me," she taunted, her voice breathless but still sharp. "You're doing a lot of talking, Your Majesty. I expected better."

His laughter was low and sinful. "You really don't know when to shut up."

"I thought you liked it."

Lucien's mouth crushed against hers, swallowing whatever smart remark she had next. His kiss was fierce—hot and consuming—like he wanted to burn his way into her bones. And gods, she hated how good he tasted.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted between her thighs, the thick length of him brushing against her entrance.

"You're still so tight," he murmured, dragging himself along her sensitive folds. "Does it still ache, Estella? Knowing I'm the first to stretch this pretty little cunt?"

Her nails bit into his shoulders as a shudder rippled through her. "Don't flatter yourself," she hissed, though her body betrayed her—hips rising to meet him.

Lucien chuckled darkly. "Let's find out how much more you can take."

He thrust into her in one slow, devastating stroke, stretching her all over again. Her breath hitched at the sweet ache as he filled her completely, dragging against every sensitive place inside her.

"Still unimpressed?" His voice was a dangerous whisper against her ear.

"Yawn," she said, though the tremble in her voice betrayed her.

Lucien growled softly, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, little rebel," he promised. "Until you're begging me to stop."

"Bold of you," she gasped, arching into his thrusts. "To assume I'll ever beg."

His pace grew rougher, harder—the sharp slap of skin on skin filling the room. "You'll beg," he murmured, his teeth scraping along her jaw. "You always do."

And gods—he wasn't wrong.

The pleasure built too quickly, that sweet, devastating pressure curling tighter inside her. Every thrust hit deep, his hands holding her exactly where he wanted her—helpless beneath the force of him.

"You feel that?" he groaned, grinding his hips against hers. "This perfect little body was made for me to ruin."

She bit her lip hard, refusing to give him the moan caught in her throat. "Funny," she panted. "I'm still—still not impressed."

Lucien's laughter was dark and dangerous. "Let's change that."

Without warning, he hooked her legs over his shoulders, opening her even wider. The new angle had him driving impossibly deep, and she couldn't stop the broken moan that spilled from her lips.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I knew you'd break eventually."

"I'm—I'm not—"

But her words shattered as his fingers found her clit, rubbing firm, tight circles that sent a flash of white-hot pleasure through her body.

"You're close," he said, his thrusts growing harder. "I can feel it—this sweet little cunt is about to come all over my cock."

And gods—he was right.

The pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped, and her entire body trembled as her orgasm crashed into her. She cried out his name, her pride breaking as waves of ecstasy rolled through her.

Lucien groaned as her body clenched tight around him, chasing his own release. With one last, bruising thrust, he spilled deep inside her, his breath ragged against her skin.

For a long moment, the room was nothing but the sound of their panting breaths, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air.

Lucien's grip softened as he brushed a lock of hair from her damp forehead. "Still unimpressed?" he murmured, a lazy, satisfied smile curving his lips.

Estella, despite the tremor still lingering in her limbs, tilted her chin up with a defiant gleam in her eye. "I've had better."

His laughter was warm and low, sending another shiver down her spine. "Sweetheart," he said softly, brushing his lips along her throat. "I'm just getting started."

---

Meanwhile…

Valeria stood at the far end of the corridor, watching the closed doors of the emperor's chamber.

Her nails dug into her palms, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

That wild little bitch. Estella. She should have been a passing amusement—a fleeting distraction. Yet here she was, still in Lucien's bed.

And worse—he was keeping her.

But Valeria wasn't going down without a fight.

If the little rebel wanted to play—Valeria was more than ready to burn her to the ground.