Chapter 4
Elias
The next few days, I hide in my room, a self-imposed exile.
The mansion is quiet without Lucian here, though I know better than to believe it’s empty.
Meals are brought to me, left silently outside my door; trays of food that feel more like bribes than sustenance.
I eat mechanically, stabbing at the meat and vegetables as if taste doesn’t matter.
Every bite is a reminder of the past few days, of the strange chaos of being here, of being under his roof and under his gaze, and of the kiss.
God, the kiss.
It shouldn’t have happened. I wanted to confuse him, make him question his own control.
That had been the plan, and yet instead, it did the opposite.
It confused me. I can’t stop replaying it in my head: the heat, the reckless want behind it, the way he had kissed back—brief, calculated, but enough to make me feel…
something I wasn’t supposed to feel. I try to shake it from my mind, but it lingers, stubborn as a bruise.
I hate it, and I hate myself for thinking about him in that way.
The first two days are easy enough to hide. I stick to the suite, open the curtains only a crack, and peek at the courtyard. But staying hidden isn’t living. I pace the room, bite at my nails, tap my foot against the hardwood.
I can’t help thinking about him. About the way he carries himself, about the room he occupies, the way he commands presence without raising his voice. The way he… Everything about him is infuriating and magnetic all at once.
By the third evening, the cabin fever gnaws too hard. I tell myself I’m going to leave the room, to pad down the halls and see the house, to stretch my legs. Lucian is supposed to be out. He tends to work from his city office during the week is what Mara tells me
The thought of crossing paths with him makes my chest tighten, makes my stomach tangle with nerves and some other feeling I don’t yet name. But I push past the fear. I need movement, a reminder that I am not completely captive to my own emotions.
I step out. The hallways are empty, the marble cold beneath my socks.
The quiet hum of the mansion feels alive in its own way, like the building itself is breathing, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
My footsteps echo softly, a whisper against the walls, and I feel the thrill of being alone in a house that belongs to someone else.
Someone dangerous. Someone I shouldn’t want to think about this way.
I round the corner to the drawing room and freeze.
Lucian. He’s home.
He’s not what I expected. Not at all. He sits in the chair by the fire, slightly slouched, tie undone around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt open.
The lamp illuminates him with a warm glow.
There are flecks of blood on the white fabric, small, dark reminders of some violent encounter I haven’t witnessed.
He looks…disheveled. Imperfect. Human. And I feel it immediately, a jolt that runs straight through me, stirring the same reckless heat from the kiss.
My pulse hammers. I shouldn’t be looking at him like this.
I shouldn’t feel drawn to the sight of him, to the set of his jaw, the careless strength in his hands, the subtle swell of muscle that tells me he’s always been in control of something—something I will never be.
And yet, here I am, frozen, wanting, trying not to want.
He notices me, and his eyes are sharp even when slightly glassy from whatever drink he’s had.
He leans back in the chair, one arm draped over the armrest. The firelight catches his face in a way that highlights the hard planes, the scarred edges of him, and the intensity in his gaze makes my stomach twist.
“Elias,” he says, his voice low, a little rough. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Are you well?”
Is he trying to pretend he isn’t covered in blood? Or is he actually concerned for me?
“I’m...fine. Wasn’t feeling like myself.” I close the parlor door, leaning against the wood.
Lucian nods, sipping his drink. “I often feel like that.”
My feet seem to gravitate towards him. “How was your day?”
His dark eyes regard me. Probably trying to see if I’m being earnest. “Today was…particularly hard. Had to discipline someone in my court. They were stupid, defiant. I couldn’t leave it alone.”
I tilt my head, daring, dangerous, defiance stitched into every line of my body. “Sounds familiar,” I say. “You’re just like your father.”
He flinches, ever so slightly, the firelight flicking across his expression. “I’m not,” he says, and the denial is sharp, clipped. “I am nothing like him. Nothing.”
I step closer, unable to resist. I can feel the heat in the room intensifying, the way the fire flickers shadows across his broad shoulders, the way his presence fills the space and presses against me.
“You are,” I insist. “You have his temper, his insistence on control. You may not want to admit it, but it’s there. Just like him.”
His jaw tightens, a warning, a promise. “Enough,” he says, frustration creeping into his voice. “Don’t test me.”
I can’t help it. The thrill of pushing him, of seeing him unravel slightly under my gaze, is too intoxicating.
I step closer. Closer. I can see the fine lines of his face, the way his eyes dart just a fraction, the tight set of his shoulders.
His temper flares like a flare shot in the dark.
I feel drawn in, testing limits I shouldn’t touch.
“Get on your knees, Elias,” he commands suddenly, and the authority in his tone sends a shock straight through me.
I pause, measuring. This is not a request. It’s not even a challenge. It’s a command. And yet, something about the order makes my pulse spike, makes the defiance within me want to rise and answer.
I comply. Slowly, deliberately. Kneeling before him is an act I hate to perform, but I do it with my eyes locked on his.
I want to see the storm in them, the fire, the unspoken desire to dominate, to control, to test. And in this moment, I recognize the complex layers of him: the man who demands obedience, the man who is flawed, human, and terrifying.
He studies me then, quiet and restrained.
His gaze is intense, penetrating, like he’s weighing everything I’ve done, everything I could do, and everything he wants to provoke in me.
And I feel it, the weight of him, the heat, the dangerous pull.
He’s a storm, and I am caught in it, but I do not regret a single step.
“I see that spark,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “You think you’re defiant, but you respond too easily.”
I don’t answer, not verbally. I let him have the observation, let him watch me, read me.
There’s a thrill in standing so close to danger, in the collision of power and defiance.
I can’t help the small shiver of excitement that runs through me, the way my body reacts even as my mind insists I should hate him for the thrill he causes.
He shifts in the chair, loosening his tie a fraction more, the shirt open at the top, revealing the hard planes of chest and collarbone.
And despite the danger, despite the tension, despite everything I should be feeling besides desire and fascination, I feel a thrill.
I feel drawn to him in ways I cannot name, ways I am not ready to admit.
“Elias,” he says finally, his voice low, deliberate, carrying the weight of a command that is equal parts threat and fascination. “You understand the rules here. And yet you test me. Why?”
I tilt my head, just slightly, my chin lifting in that defiant way I know annoys him. “Because testing you is the only way to see if you’re real. To see if you’re…human.”
The words hang in the air, and I can see them land in his eyes. He tightens his jaw, frustration and something else flickering in the depths. Irritation? Curiosity? Hunger? I cannot tell. But I can feel it, and it makes the heat in the room pulse between us.
I remain kneeling, steady, though every muscle in me wants to flee or strike—a mixture of fear, defiance, and thrill that makes my pulse hammer in my ears.
Lucian watches me, studies me, as if this is some test, some game, and the more he looks, the more I feel the pull of him, the dangerous weight of his presence, the intoxicating gravity of the man who has the power to command and terrify at once.
I see his eyes flicker, momentarily softened, a glint of something almost vulnerable behind the mask of control.
And in that instant, I feel a warmth spread through me—a rare, dangerous thing.
His control, his energy, the reckless confidence he carries into every corner of his life… it’s infectious.
The room seems to shrink around us. The firelight flickers across his face, across the hard angles, across the flecks of blood, the loosened tie, the open shirt.
I feel the thrill of attraction, undeniable and sharp, mingling with the heat of our tension.
I am drawn in despite myself, even as my mind screams caution, even as every instinct warns me of the danger of being here, kneeling, fascinated.
And yet, I cannot step away. Not yet.
I tilt my chin higher, meet his gaze without flinching, letting him see that I am defiant, unbroken, and curious in ways I cannot fully name. And for a moment—a dangerous, electric moment—the boundaries between us feel thinner than they should.
He exhales slowly, shifts in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Fine,” he says, the word low, approving, dangerous. “For now.”
I stay where I am, kneeling, pulse hammering, mind spinning. The room is quiet but charged. The warmth of his presence, the defiance in my own body, the thrill of attraction and danger all intertwine, making the space between us feel alive with possibility.
And in that moment, I realize, with a thrill I cannot deny, that I am exactly where I want to be; caught between fear and fascination, obedience and defiance, drawn to a man I am supposed to resist, kneeling before the one who makes me feel alive in ways I cannot yet understand.
The fire flickers, shadows dance across the room, and the night holds us in a suspended, tense silence. I do not move, and neither does he. We exist in the space between control and surrender, power and attraction, defiance and acknowledgment.
“You can go now,” Lucian says as he puts his glasses on and opens his book, ignoring my relinquishment of power.
“What?” I gape
“You’re free to return to your room.” Lucian looks down at me, a smile threatening his stern look. “Unless you need something?”
Fucking asshole.
“I…” I was hoping you would kiss me, use me, fuck me.
Lucian places his book down. “Tell me what you want.”
I freeze, mouth open.
“Answer your master, Elias.”
He did not just call himself that. Can you just assign yourself as master just like that?
I take a look at him. Glasses low, shirt unbuttoned to reveal sculpted pecs. Large thighs straining against his dress pants. I feel my cock get hard in my pants. Yeah, he can call himself that.
He pushes his thumb past my lips and against my tongue. “You have to learn to use your words.”
I suck greedily, my hands sliding up his thighs. It’s like a switch has been turned on, and now all I want to do is touch him. Taste him.
I press my thighs together, trying to receive any friction.
Lucian hums a low laugh. “Were you hoping I would bend you over my chair, sweetheart?” He switches out his thumb for two fingers, forcing them down my throat. “Or do you want to be choking on my cock right now?”
Tears leak from my eyes.
Lucian smiles. “Play with your nipples, Elias. You’ll feel better.”
My hands push up my shirt without hesitation, pinching and prodding myself until I’m dry humping Lucian’s leg.
He whispers dark things to me while kissing my cheeks, removing my clothes, smoothing my hair. Until I’m naked, kneeling at his feet.
“Touch yourself, sweetheart.” I can see the outline of his thick dick in his pants, but he doesn’t go to touch it.
My hand starts working my cock, making goosebumps scatter across my skin.
Lucian inhales deeply, spreading his legs farther apart. “Pretty boy, finger yourself for me.”
Without hesitation, I slip a finger into my mouth, drenching it with saliva, never breaking eye contact with the devil as I start to pleasure myself greedily.
Lucian’s eyes have softened, his voice saying dirty praises like black silk.
“Do you want to come?”
“You’re putting on such a good show for me.”
“What a pretty slut you make, Elias.”
His words undo me until I’m moaning just from his eyes watching me.
“Can I—?” I gasp.
“Yes.” He answers.
I come all over my chest and hands. A streak staining Lucian’s dark pants.
I’m shaking from the thrill, and now I feel regret swallowing me whole.
Lucian stands, a smiling tugging at the corner of his lips. He grabs a tea towel from the bar cart and cleans me off. Once he’s done, he tosses the towel to the floor and goes to the door.
“Sleep well, Elias.”
He leaves me alone, naked and damp, still kneeling before his chair.