Selene’s POV
I stumbled back to my room, door slamming behind me, heart pounding like I’d sprinted through the damn woods, not just down a hall. Lucien—shirtless, sweaty, that blonde pinned under him—kept flashing in my skull, sharp as a claw to the gut. I leaned against the wall, breath ragged, muttering, “Get a grip, Selene, he’s a bastard,” but my brain wasn’t listening. It was stuck—his firm ass flexing as he moved, those six-pack ridges glinting with sweat, every muscle in his back rolling like he was built to break things—or bodies.
I slid down, ass hitting the floor, and pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to scrub it out. Didn’t work. That image burned hotter—his scars crisscrossing that stupidly perfect chest, the way his arms flexed, pinning her like it was nothing. And then—damn it—my mind went lower, picturing what I didn’t see. His pants had been tight, zipper straining, and I couldn’t stop wondering—how big, how hard, what it’d look like free, thick and ready. My breat
