Chapter 434 – The Devil’s Son Lose His Mask (18 )
Her fingers stroked him again—long, slow, deliberate. Not enough. Just enough.
His whole body tensed beneath her.
"You’re terrible at therapy," he grit out.
"No. I’m perfect." She pressed a kiss above his navel. "You’re just a terrible patient."
Her hand moved again, coaxing, playing, testing every reaction.
And he gave her plenty.
Sharp exhales. His hips twitching. His throat tightening with every slow stroke. The way he looked at her—half furious, half desperate—made her heart flutter and her pride bloom like wildfire.
This was the man the courts feared. The CFO who bent contracts with a smile. The prince who could drown empires in gold and walk away spotless.
And now?
Reduced to breathy curses and shuddering restraint beneath her palm.
She loved it.
Sira leaned up again, crawling up his body, trailing her tongue over his chest as she went. She could feel his pulse—thudding hard beneath his skin, faster now, uneven. Good.
Lux caught her halfway up, his hands gripping her waist with enough force to make her gasp.
"You’ve had your fun," he said, voice like gravel and silk. "My turn."
"Oh?" she breathed, lashes lowering. "I thought I was leading this session."
Lux flipped them again, fluid and fast—Pride t Greed in a tangle of limbs and stolen air. Sira’s back hit the sheets, her hair splayed like a crown over his pillows. She stared up at him, breathless and glowing, and laughed.
"Didn’t expect you to still have that much energy," she teased.
His hands slid up her sides, his expression molten. "I’m an incubus. I don’t run out."
"Mmm," she humd. "Good. Because I’m not done with you."
"Neither am I."
He kissed her again—deep, consuming, and she lted under him like she’d been made to fit this exact mont. She dragged her nails down his back, felt him shudder above her, and grinned against his mouth.
Sira was falling, but not in fear. Not in helplessness.
In pride.
Because she got to see him like this. Because she made the Devil’s son lose his mask. Because even if he was the demon of Greed, she was the one he let take more than anyone else.
Lux hovered over her, breath uneven, eyes burning brighter than the candlelight around them. His hair had co loose, strands falling across his face, catching the glow like threads of molten light. The room slled like cedar, heat, and want—the scent of sothing that had been denied too long and finally allowed to live.
Sira’s hand brushed his cheek. "There you are," she whispered, smiling like she’d just summoned a god.
He caught her wrist and pressed her palm to the pillow. His voice was low, almost rough. "Don’t look at like that."
"Why?" she asked, breathless. "Because you like it?"
He didn’t answer. He kissed her instead—hungry, unrestrained, tasting her laughter until it broke into a soft, startled sound. His other hand found hers and pinned that one too. For once, she didn’t resist. Pride demons rarely surrendered, but this wasn’t defeat. This was invitation.
He pushed his cock inside hers and moved with intent, not polished seduction but sothing deeper, ssier. Every breath he exhaled trembled against her throat. Every movent had weight, like a dam finally cracking open. The rhythm between them built until it wasn’t rhythm anymore, it was release, storm, apology.
Sira arched beneath him, the candles flickering in sync with her gasps. Her head tilted back and the sound that escaped her throat made him freeze for half a heartbeat. Because it wasn’t just pleasure—there was sothing human in it. Sothing that asked, ’Are you still with ?’
He was.
Too much, maybe.
Lux pressed his forehead to hers. His words ca out hoarse. "This isn’t supposed to feel like this."
Sira opened her eyes, eting him in the half-light. "Like what?"
"Like—" He cut off with a sharp inhale, frustration and wonder twisted together. "Like I’m not trying to win."
Her smile was small this ti. Not triumphant. Just knowing. "Maybe stop fighting, then."
That broke sothing in him.
He kissed her again, slower now, deeper. His grip on her wrists softened, then tightened again when the flood of emotion hit too hard. Each motion after that was more urgent, less elegant. His control slipped and she didn’t just allow it—she guided it. Every breath she took against his ear was permission. Every touch said, ’I’m not afraid of you.’
And that undid him more than anything.
The sound of their breaths filled the room—uneven, overlapping, punctuated by the soft creak of the bed and the dull thud of his heartbeat against her chest. The world narrowed to heat and skin and the faint tallic tang of magic in the air. His aura flared around them, gold edges fading into crimson, until even the shadows looked gilded.
Sira’s nails dug into the sheets. Her pride was in every sound she made—defiant even in pleasure. She refused to look away from him, refused to let him retreat into detachnt.
"Look at ," she whispered.
He already was.
Lux’s gaze locked on her face like he was morizing every breath, every shift of her expression, every trace of sin and softness tangled together.
And then—sothing shifted.
It wasn’t just lust anymore. It was need. The kind that had nothing to do with the body and everything to do with the ache behind the ribs. He’d spent centuries teaching himself control—asured touch, calculated pleasure, everything neat and profitable. But this? This was ruin. This was worship disguised as desire.
He moved faster now, harder, not out of aggression but desperation. Each motion carried all the things he hadn’t said, all the nights he’d drowned in silence, all the fury and longing that had nowhere else to go.
Sira t him with equal force, her breath coming in broken laughter and curses that sounded more like prayers.
When he pinned her wrists again, it wasn’t dominance. It was survival. He needed the anchor.
"Lux," she breathed, voice trembling. "Stop thinking."
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