…
…FUCK.
He lowers the camera just enough to show the bandaged wound, but he's angled back on the couch in a way that exposes his entire abdomen—defined, lean muscle under faint bruising. The shot is technically medical.
Technically.
I still want to punch myself in the face.
"See?" Lucius asks, voice dripping with pure sin. "Healing nicely."
"That—" I clear my throat because my voice comes out too thin, "that's good."
"Is it?" he purrs. "Feels much better when you say it."
I blink. Hard. "Lucius, don't make this weird."
"Oh, bunny," he says, lifting the camera back up to his face, "we passed 'weird' when you stripped on the phone with me."
"I did not strip—" I stop when I remember that I did, in fact, strip. "I only did it because you couldn't see me."
He smirks at me. "Sure, but you still took off your clothes while moaning about how annoying I am."
"I was not moaning," I object awkwardly.
"You moaned, Ophelia."
"I did not—"
