The Library

Lilith

I wake up to the softest brush of fingertips moving through my hair. The first thing I feel is the pounding in my skull, a dull throb that makes me wince before I even open my eyes. My body is sore, aching in all the places I expect, but the haze of last night lingers in my mind like a blurred memory.

And then it hits me.

I remember the fire in my veins, the way I’d snapped at him, the way I threw my fist into his mouth, feeling the satisfying crack of impact. His lip had split, blood spilling over his teeth as he smiled, that wild, unhinged look in his eyes. I hadn’t expected him to be turned on by it, but he was.

“Hit me all you want, darling. Make me bleed. I will gladly bleed for you. But it’s going to cost you. Make damn sure you hit me hard enough for it to be worth it.” His voice had been thick with lust, his blood smeared across his lips before he kissed me, his mouth leaving streaks of crimson over my skin, marking me. It had sent a dark thrill through me, knowing I could make him bleed, knowing he was getting off on the violence as much as I was. The way he ripped that dress right down the middle, the one that I wore just to piss him off. I guess it did. And the way he looked at me-like I was the only thing that mattered, the only one who could push him to the edge like that.

I shudder at the memory, the raw intensity of it flooding back. His hands on me, his voice low and dangerous as he growled into my ear, asking if I wanted to fight or fuck. As if the two were intertwined in a way that only made sense with him.

I swallow hard, feeling the remnants of his punishment still on my skin, the way he took me after that. Hard. Brutal. But beneath the rage, there had been something else-something I didn’t fully understand until now. Ownership. He’d claimed me, not just with his words, but with his hands, his body. And I let him.

His voice echoes in my head, that promise he made as he fucked me. “I get off on the pain, . Every hit, every drop of blood—you fuel me. It makes me want to fuck you so hard it hurts, like the whore you are.”

I finally open my eyes, blinking against the soft light filtering through the room.

Sebastian is beside me, his fingers still gently running through my hair, his expression softer now, but no less intense. There’s a bruise forming on his jaw from where I hit him, and the sight sends a strange mix of satisfaction and arousal through me.

Last night wasn’t just about the fight. It was about everything that came after.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Sebastian’s voice is low and gentle, a contrast to the dark dominance that consumed him last night. He kisses me on the forehead, and I blink my eyes open, finding him sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, with a glass of water and pain relievers in his hand. The way he looks at me, the softness in his eyes, almost makes me forget about the brutal way he fucked me last night.

Almost.

I sit up, groaning as the pounding in my head intensifies. “God, my entire body hurts,” I mutter, reaching for the water.

Sebastian hands it to me without a word, his fingers brushing mine in a way that feels so sweet, so intimate. The kind of touch that makes me feel like I mean something more to him, like I’m more than just his to control. But I know better. He has his reasons for being so sweet right now, and they have nothing to do with genuine tenderness. He’s hiding something—something he did to me last night that goes far beyond the fucking.

I swallow the pain reliever, taking a deep breath before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My body aches, the soreness between my thighs a reminder of how rough he was, how much I wanted him. How much I still want him, despite everything.

“Take it easy,” he murmurs, watching me with those piercing eyes, but there’s a smirk on his lips. Like he knows something I don’t.

I stand, the sheets slipping off me, leaving me completely exposed. His gaze lingers, and I catch the way his muscles tense under his tattooed skin, the way his eyes darken with that same hunger from last night. I bite my lip, turning away from him, pretending like I don’t notice the heat in his stare.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” I say, my voice hoarse, from getting my throat fucked last night, as I make my way toward the bathroom. But before I close the door, I can’t resist looking back at him. He’s sprawled out on the bed now, leaning back against the headboard, wearing nothing but sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips. His hard, muscular body is on full display, covered in tattoos that only add to the dangerous edge that I can’t help but be drawn to.

He looks… perfect. So effortlessly sexy and powerful. I feel a strange warmth inside, a happiness that I don’t fully understand. Despite the ache in my body and the memories of last night’s intensity, I feel… safe. Happy, even.

I shut the bathroom door behind me, leaning against it for a moment. The room is quiet except for the sound of my own breathing. But as I push away from the door, I feel a sharp pain on my pussy. I wince, rubbing my hand over it. It’s sore, much sorer than it should be. He slapped it hard last night while he was fucking me. My first thought is that maybe he slapped it harder than I remember, but the pain is too sharp, too specific.

I move to the mirror, my heart suddenly racing with a sense of unease. I turn to face the mirror, rubbing my hand over it, and that’s when I see it.

His name. Branded into my skin. On my fucking pussy! It’s across the entire top of it, low enough that it’s only seen if I’m not wearing underwear, and right above where the split starts. Are you fucking serious? He brANDED me.

A scream escapes my throat, loud and piercing, before I can stop myself. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I whirl around, my heart pounding in my chest, and yank open the bathroom door.

“Sebastian!” I yell, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief.

He’s already standing there, leaning casually against the doorway like he’s been expecting this. And the smirk on his face—the pride, the smug satisfaction—makes my blood boil. “Yes, ? I’m right here, you don’t need to yell.” He says, as if this is a fucking game. Maybe to him it is.

“You fucking branded me?!” I shout, punching his chest, my hands shaking as I point to my pussy, where his name is now permanently marked into my skin.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. In fact, he looks downright pleased with himself. Fucking amused.

“I told you I would,” he says, his voice calm and controlled, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “After your little bullshit games last night, you needed to be reminded who you belong to.”

My body trembles with anger, but also with something else. Something darker. Something that turns me on more than I care to admit. I’m furious, and yet… I’m also wet. Soaked, actually, at the thought that he marked me. That he claimed me in a way no one else ever could.

“You… you branded me,” I say again, but this time, my voice is weaker, more breathless. My body is betraying me, reacting to him even as I try to cling to my anger.

“And that’s not all I did,” he says, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. He moves in behind me, his hand grazing my naked hip, his breath hot against my ear. “After I tied you up, fucked your mouth and pussy, and then fucked your mouth again so you could taste yourself… I did brand you. But I also put a tracking device in you.” He moves his lips from my ear to the back of my neck, gently moving my hair out of the way while he kisses the spot. I know that’s the spot because it fucking hurts when he touches it.

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. “You what?”

His lips brush my ear again, sending shivers down my spine. “Now, no matter where you go, I’ll always know where you are. If you want to play games, , let’s do just that. You can run, baby, but I will always find you.”

The words send a jolt of fear and arousal through me, twisting together in a way that makes my pulse race. He’s not just claiming me physically—he’s controlling me. Completely. And the terrifying part is how much I want it. How much I crave this dark, possessive side of him.

Before I can say anything, he presses a quick kiss to my forehead. “Enjoy your shower,” he says, his tone almost mocking. “And scrub carefully on that beautiful pussy.” He slaps my ass cheek, the sting making me gasp, before he walks out of the bathroom, leaving me standing there, trembling.

I hear his phone ring from the bedroom. He answers it before walking out of the room, his voice short and clipped, but I know he’s aware I’m listening. Every word out of his mouth is calculated, every move designed to keep me on edge, to keep me wondering. He’s in control of everything, and it drives me insane that I want to let him be.

Standing there, before stepping in the shower, still processing everything that happened. My body is sore, still tender from the way he took me last night, but I can’t stop the rush of warmth that spreads through me at the thought. His mark on my skin, his name forever seared into me—it’s all so intense, so overwhelming, but at the same time, it feels right. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I walk into the bedroom and grab my phone, needing a distraction from the flood of emotions threatening to drown me. A small smile creeps onto my face as an idea pops into my head. I open up Facebook, thinking it’ll be funny to look him up. Sebastian Ashford . The thought of him even having a Facebook seems ridiculous, but curiosity gets the better of me. I quickly type his name into the search bar, half-expecting nothing to come up.

But there he is. His profile is neat, professional-almost too polished, like it’s a carefully constructed version of him.

The exterior, the part he shows the world.

Business updates, networking, some pictures that look perfectly normal. It’s so different from the real him, the man who has this dark, consuming fire that no one else seems to see.

For a moment, I pause, biting my lip as I hover over the “ Add to Relationship ” button. It feels like such a silly, trivial thing, but a part of me wants to do it just to see his reaction. Will he even care? I doubt he even checks this thing, with how carefully constructed his life is on here.

Fuck it.

I tap the button and add him, a small smirk playing on my lips. I half-laugh to myself, imagining how he’ll react.

Probably won’t even notice. Or maybe he’ll give me that knowing look, like I’m just playing some harmless game.

I step into the shower, letting the hot water pour over me, but my mind is racing. The brand on my skin burns under the spray, a constant reminder of his claim on me. And the tracking device? My stomach twists with the thought. He’s marked me, he’s tracking me—he owns me in every way.

And yet… I’m falling even more in love with him because of it. The conflict inside me is unbearable, but I can’t deny it. I want him. I want this. Even if it means giving up control, giving up every piece of myself.

After getting out the shower that did nothing to clear my mind, I half way dry off as I walk into the kitchen, still in just my towel, I freeze when I see the notification.

Sebastian Ashford has accepted your relationship request.

My heart skips a beat. I stare at the screen, not sure what to think. He actually accepted it? I didn’t think he even used Facebook like that. But he did.

My head is spinning as I process what this means—he’s okay with the world seeing this. He’s okay with people knowing.

I glance up, and there he is, standing at the stove, cooking breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world. He’s shirtless, his tattoos stark against his skin, the muscles in his back rippling as he moves. It’s almost surreal-this domestic moment right after he branded me like I’m his property.

Sebastian turns around, a smirk playing on his lips as he wipes his hands on a towel. “Enjoy your shower, darling?” he says, his voice low and filled with amusement. “I see you’ve been busy.”

I blink, trying to gather myself. “You actually accepted?”

He chuckles, setting down the towel and walking over to me, his eyes dark with that familiar intensity. “Of course I did. You want the world to know, right?” He pulls me close, his hand slipping around my waist, fingers brushing the brand on my pussy. “I’ve already claimed you, . I don’t care if Facebook knows. I want everyone to know. You’re mine.”

I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest as he leans down, brushing his lips over mine. “You want to make it official on Facebook? Fine. But remember, I’ve already made it official in ways that go far beyond that.”

His lips trail down my neck, sending shivers through me, and I melt into him, feeling the weight of what he’s saying. It’s not just about a status. It’s about the life we’re building-the dark, twisted connection between us that no one else can touch.

As he pulls back slightly, his eyes lock onto mine, and the intensity there makes my breath catch. “You’re mine, ,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the edges of his name on my skin. “Now and forever. Everyone can know it, but you’ll always feel it.”

A rush of emotion surges through me, and for the first time since last night, I feel a strange sense of peace. He’s claimed me, in every way possible, and I’m not running from it anymore. I’m his, and he’s mine.

He turns back to the stove before he looks over at me as I approach, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re going to move in with me,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I stop in my tracks, my heart racing. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, turning back to the stove as he didn’t just say something insane. “You’re moving in. It’s time.”

I stare at him, my mind spinning. He’s serious. He’s not asking—he’s telling me. And part of me wants to agree immediately, to fall into this life with him. But another part of me—the part that’s still struggling to understand everything he’s done—pushes back.

“I’ll move in,” I say slowly, my voice steady, “but only if you start giving me answers. Like Ty does with Anna. No more secrets.”

He glances over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Answers, huh?”

“Yes,” I say, standing my ground. “I deserve to know what’s going on.”

He lets out a low chuckle, turning to face me fully. His eyes are dark with amusement, but there’s something else there, too—something dangerous. “If you want answers, , you’re going to have to work for them.”

I know exactly what he means, and the thought makes my nipples harden under the towel. He knows it, too. His smirk widens as he watches my body’s reaction, and I feel the heat pooling between my legs.

“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head.

He just laughs, turning back to the stove. “And you’re still here, aren’t you?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t deny it. I am still here. And the truth is, I don’t want to be anywhere else.