Chapter Four: Owned by the Emperor

The air was thick—heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and something far more dangerous.

Lucien still hovered over her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his breath warm against her neck. Every inch of her body throbbed—from the ache between her thighs to the bruises his fingers had left on her hips.

And yet…

Estella smiled. Sharp. Defiant. Because no matter how thoroughly he'd claimed her body, he hadn't touched the fire burning inside her.

Lucien's thumb traced lazy circles along her bare thigh, his touch possessive as he pulled back to study her face. His silver eyes, still dark with lingering hunger, gleamed with something else—satisfaction.

"You're mine now," he said softly, like it was law. Like her body's surrender meant anything else belonged to him.

Estella let out a soft, breathless laugh, stretching beneath him like a satisfied cat. "Yours?" She arched a brow. "I must've missed the part where I agreed to that."

His smile was slow—dangerous. "You agreed the moment you let me inside you, little rebel. I'm the first man who's ever touched you like this. The only one who ever will."

The sheer arrogance of him made her blood boil. And gods—he was too fucking good at making her want to claw at him and pull him closer all at once.

"You're awfully smug for a man who couldn't even make me beg," she shot back, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Lucien moved fast—too fast for her to react. In one smooth motion, he grabbed both her wrists and pinned them above her head again, his body pressing her deeper into the silk sheets.

"You're pushing me," he murmured against her ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "And you forget—I love it when you fight me."

Estella's heart pounded as his hips rocked against hers—slow and deliberate, the thick length of him brushing against her oversensitive core. A delicious shiver rippled through her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a moan.

"You call that a fight?" she taunted, lifting her chin. "I've had rougher nights scrubbing the damn floor."

Lucien chuckled softly—but there was nothing warm about it. "Poor thing," he mocked. "Guess I'll just have to fuck you harder."

And then he did.

Without another word, he drove himself back inside her—one long, rough thrust that tore a gasp from her lips. There was no softness left in him—just raw hunger, just possession.

"You feel that?" he growled, his mouth hot against her throat as he filled her again and again. "Every inch of me inside you—stretching you open—owning you?"

Her pride burned, but not nearly as much as the pleasure streaking through her veins. "I feel something," she panted, her nails raking down his back. "But ownership? Try harder, Your Majesty."

Lucien's answering growl sent heat curling low in her belly. "Careful," he warned, pulling almost completely out before slamming back inside her. "You're already trembling for me."

"You wish." But gods—her body betrayed her, clenching around him as he thrust deeper, rougher, until her thoughts blurred at the edges.

Lucien caught her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging just hard enough to make her whimper. "Such a filthy mouth," he murmured. "Maybe I should put it to better use."

"Do it," she challenged, tilting her head to meet his gaze. "Or are you scared I'll bite?"

His laughter was low and wicked. "Sweetheart, I hope you bite."

And then, without another word, he pulled out of her and flipped her onto her stomach. Before she could catch her breath, he hauled her hips up, spreading her wide for him.

"You wanted rough?" His voice was a dark promise as his hands gripped her waist. "I'll give you fucking rough."

The first thrust was brutal—deep and unrelenting, forcing a broken moan from her lips. Her fingers curled into the sheets as he set a punishing rhythm, his body slamming into hers with raw, possessive need.

"Still think I can't handle you?" he rasped, one hand sliding up to wrap around the back of her neck. "Because from where I'm standing—you're already falling apart."

Her whole body burned—pleasure and pain tangled together in a dizzying haze. And still, she refused to break.

"You're full of yourself," she managed, though her voice trembled as he thrust deeper. "I'm still—"

Lucien cut her off with a sharp slap against her ass—enough to sting, enough to make her moan despite herself.

"Still what?" he demanded, his grip tightening. "Still pretending you don't love the way I'm fucking you?"

Her pride clung stubbornly to the edge—but gods, he felt so good. Too good. Every rough, deep thrust sent sparks racing through her veins, her body stretched wide and aching for more.

"I hate you," she gasped, pushing back against him with everything she had.

"Good," he growled, bending low until his teeth scraped her shoulder. "Then hate me while I make you come again."

His fingers slipped between her thighs, finding her clit and circling it in slow, ruthless strokes. The combination of his touch and the relentless thrust of his cock sent her spiraling toward the edge—too fast, too hard.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his voice rough with pleasure. "This perfect little cunt was made for me."

Estella's whole body trembled as the pressure coiled tighter and tighter. "I—I'm not—"

"You are," he cut in, his pace relentless. "You're going to come all over my cock—and you're going to say my name when you do."

And gods, she couldn't stop it.

Her release slammed into her, raw and violent, her whole body shaking beneath him as she cried out—his name on her lips, torn from her throat despite every ounce of pride she held onto.

Lucien cursed softly, his grip bruising as he chased his own release. With a final, punishing thrust, he buried himself deep, spilling into her with a low groan.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just the sound of their ragged breathing echoing through the chamber.

Lucien's hand slid to her waist, pulling her back against his chest as he nipped at her ear. "Not so mouthy now, are you?"

Estella, despite the way her body trembled, tilted her head back to meet his gaze. "I'm just saving my strength," she said sweetly. "Next time—you'll need it."

His laughter was soft—dangerous. "Next time?" He pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. "Sweetheart, I'm nowhere near finished with you."

And from the way his body stirred against hers, she knew it was far from a threat.

It was a promise.