I can't stop thinking about his cock

Selina’s POV

I didn’t look back when Lucas walked away.

I didn’t have to. His presence lingered — not like perfume or memory, but like heat after flame, like the echo of a door slammed in a soundproof room. It hummed under my skin, low and bitter and intimate, and no amount of elegance or poise could dull the sharpness of it.

He had gotten inside my head. Mess with my fucking mind and all I want to do write now is to finish myself with a fucking finger!

Because that’s the thing about fated mates, about bonds written into bone — no matter how far you run, no matter how high you build the walls, they always know where to knock.

And Lucas didn’t knock. He walked straight through.

Jonathan returned with the wine I’d asked for and a smile I didn’t earn.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice low, eyes searching mine but all I can think of is his dick in me, filling me. But I knew he wouldn't match my energy right now, only one man. Lucas fucking Blackwood!

I nodded, too quickly. “Yes. Just—just a conversation.”

“With Lucas Blackwood?”

My silence was its own confession. He handed me the glass. I took a sip I didn’t taste.

“Do I need to be worried?” he asked softly.

“No,” I said.

Which was a lie. Not because he posed a threat to Jonathan. But because he didn’t have to.

Lucas wasn’t interested in hurting Jonathan.

He was interested in breaking me.

The gallery blurred after that.

Art I couldn’t see. People I didn’t hear. Laughter and footsteps and soft chamber music bleeding into meaningless background noise.

I smiled when I needed to. I nodded when prompted. I said all the right things, in all the right tones.

But underneath? My thighs were clenched. Not out of arousal. Out of betrayal.

Because my body — traitorous, instinctive, cursed with memory — responded to him in ways I couldn’t shut down. His voice alone had triggered something so deep, so embedded, that I didn’t even register the shift until I realized I was holding my breath… just because he’d looked at me.

Because he’d spoken my name like it was still his to say.

Back at the penthouse, I moved through routine like ritual.

Shoes off. Earrings placed back in their velvet box. Makeup removed in slow, precise strokes. Dress peeled off and folded like armor disassembled.

But I didn’t feel clean. I felt cracked. Not shattered. Not yet. Just… compromised.

And that was worse.

Because I knew the way he worked.

Lucas didn’t destroy in one blow.

He unraveled.

One thread at a time.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, towel around my body, steam curling up around me like a whisper I couldn’t shake.

“You’ll never be sated,” he’d said.

I closed my eyes.

The words repeated.

You’ll never be sated.

My stomach clenched.

I hated that he was right.

Not just physically — though yes, gods help me, there were nights my body reached for a ghost I no longer claimed — but emotionally. Spiritually.

He had been the one to sever the bond, to cast me aside in front of the pack, to tear my dignity from me like it had cost him nothing — and still, still, there were moments when I felt him under my skin like a second heartbeat.

I’d built a life without him. Raised a son in silence. Built a fucking empire in shadows. Protected everything that mattered with blood and teeth.

But he didn’t care about what I’d built. He wanted what he had broken.

I didn’t sleep that night. My body lay still, but my mind — my soul — paced.

Every word he’d said played back like a slow-burning tape. The ones meant to ignite lust. The ones meant to plant seeds of doubt. The ones that weren’t threats — they were promises.

And somehow, those were worse. Because Lucas never promised lightly. If he said I’d come to him, he believed it.

And if he believed it…I had to make sure he was wrong.

The next morning, I doubled down.

Meetings. Strategy calls. New security protocols. A background check on Harlow, just in case.

I buried myself in business like it was armor, like logic and profit margins could shield me from words that had sunk into my bloodstream.

I didn’t tell Vera what he said.

Not because I was protecting him.

But because I couldn’t say it aloud without validating its power.

Still, she noticed.

“You’re pacing again,” she said as she entered my office unannounced, tablet in hand.

“I’m thinking,” I replied, too fast.

“You only pace when you’re overthinking.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

I said nothing. She sat across from me. Waited.

After a beat, I caved. “He got inside my head and I can't fucking think straight without thinking of his cock.”

Vera didn’t need to ask who. Her jaw tightened.

“What did he say?”

I hesitated.

Then, “He said… I could have whoever I wanted. But I’d never be full.”

Vera’s eyes sharpened. “Bastard.”

“He’s not wrong.”

“He’s manipulating you.”

“I know.”

“Then why does it hurt?”

Because I still want him. But I didn’t say that part aloud.

That evening, after Damon had gone to sleep, I poured myself a glass of wine and stood by the windows again — the city beneath me humming like a beast sedated but never truly tamed.

I thought about the last five years.

About what I’d lost.

About what I’d kept hidden.

About the price of survival.

And then I thought about Lucas.

Not the Alpha. Not the billionaire. Not the name that turned heads in every corridor.

But the man who used to kiss my wrist before undressing me.

The man who once said my laugh could bring a forest to bloom.

The man who now circled me like a wolf that had remembered its favorite scent.

He wanted me to come to him.

To crack.

To surrender.

To need.

And I might.

But not because he demanded it.

Not because his voice left me trembling.

Not because my body remembered what my pride refused to feel.

No.

If I came back?

It would be on my own damn terms.