Chapter 8
Elias
Iwake up to warmth.
Real warmth—not the heavy blankets Mara piles on me, not the heat vent that clicks on at random hours.
This is body-heat, alive and steady, radiating from behind me.
An arm is slung low around my waist, solid and possessive in a way that should terrify me.
Instead, it settles something restless in my chest.
Lucian.
The memory of last night hits me in flashes—the alley, the gunshot, the panic as I held him up, his blood on my hands, the car ride, stitching him up while he watched me with that unreadable expression…
and then the way he kissed me, slow at first, then hungry.
The way I kissed him back like I’d been waiting for it.
The way we—
I shut that thought down before it burns me alive.
The clock on the nightstand reads 6:07 a.m. Lucian doesn’t stir. His breathing is slow, deep. He looks younger like this, not softer, not exactly, but less carved by responsibility. Less like the Devil.
He looks… peaceful.
I shift carefully onto my back, trying not to wake him, but his arm tightens reflexively, pulling me closer. My body fits against his too easily, like he expected me to be here, like he wanted me here. It makes something flutter in my stomach, and I hate that I don’t immediately push it away.
For a long minute, I just look at him.
His hair is mussed, falling over his forehead. His mouth—the same mouth that kissed me senseless last night—is relaxed, almost gentle. His lashes are long, ridiculously so for a man who’s supposed to be terrifying.
How can a man like this run an organization built on blood?
How can someone who held me like I mattered also order men kneeling in front of him to be hurt? How do those things exist in the same person?
I don’t know the answer, and it scares me that I want to.
At 6:29, his breathing shifts. His fingers twitch against my stomach, and then he inhales slowly, waking.
I pretend to be asleep.
He moves behind me, stretching once—a quiet groan escaping his chest—before his arm pulls me fully against him, chin coming to rest against the back of my shoulder. His voice is rough with sleep when he speaks.
“You’re awake.”
I stiffen. “No, I’m not.”
A soft huff of amusement against my skin.
I turn to face him, and the morning light catches in his eyes—dark, still half-lidded, but alert in a way that reminds me who he is. His gaze travels over my face like he’s noting new details.
“Good morning,” he says.
It’s simple, unguarded, and somehow that makes it more dangerous.
“Does this mean you’re going to keep me in bed?” I ask, aiming for sarcasm but hearing the softness I didn’t intend.
He studies me a second longer, then gently tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. The gesture is shockingly tender.
“I could be convinced,” he murmurs.
Heat flares in my chest, not embarrassment exactly, but something close.
I clear my throat. “I should… probably get up.”
“Probably,” he echoes, but he doesn’t let go.
We stay like that until the clock reads 6:41. Finally, Lucian exhales and sits up. The sheet slips from his torso, revealing the bandage I wrapped around him. And all the scars beneath it.
Dozens. Knives, bullets, burns. His whole body is a map of violence.
I stare before I catch myself.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says quietly.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’re trying to decide whether to be horrified or fascinated.”
I swallow. “I’m not horrified.”
He doesn’t answer. He just watches me, jaw tight, like he’s waiting for me to ask what he doesn’t want to talk about.
So I do.
“Lucian… what was your childhood like?”
His entire body goes still.
I immediately regret it. I expect him to shut down, get cold, tell me it’s none of my business.
Instead, he looks away.
“Elias,” he says slowly, “there are parts of my life I don’t like remembering. Let alone sharing.”
“I get that,” I say gently. “But you asked me yesterday why I didn’t leave you in that alley, and I didn’t answer. So… this is me trying. I want to understand you.”
His throat works once. Then, to my surprise, he leans back against the headboard and lets out a long, tired breath.
“My father,” he begins, “believed pain was instruction. ‘A man who doesn’t fear is a man who doesn’t listen,’ he used to say.”
The bitterness in his voice is sharp.
“He taught us to obey before we could talk. I remember being six and having to stand still while he—” Lucian breaks off. His hand flexes against the sheets. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” I say softly.
His jaw tightens. “He broke my brother’s arm when he was eight. He… left marks on me that never faded. More than the scars.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He looks at me then, really looks, like he’s surprised I mean it.
He clears his throat. “I don’t want to be him, Elias.”
“I know,” I answer, and the truth of it surprises me.
He nods once, barely perceptible, then swings his legs out of bed. The moment is over. The walls come back up. I let him go; he needs the armor, and maybe I need mine too.
The rest of the morning is strangely normal.
Mara convinces me to help her bake cookies, though I suspect she mostly wants someone to talk to. I mix dough, she swats my hands when I taste too much of it, and the whole kitchen smells like cinnamon and chocolate. It’s the most peaceful I’ve felt since arriving here.
When the cookies are done, I arrange a plate and carry it toward Lucian’s wing of the mansion. For once, I feel… good. Light. Like maybe last night wasn’t a mistake.
I knock once and enter.
He’s at his desk, glasses low on his nose—which, honestly, should be illegal—focused on paperwork. His shirt is crisp today, dark blue, sleeves rolled up. The bandage is hidden beneath it, but he still looks tired in a way that softens something deep in me.
“I brought cookies,” I say, feeling awkward the moment the words leave my mouth.
Lucian looks up. And the hungry, slow smile that crosses his face almost drops the plate from my hands.
“Thank you,” he says, standing. But he doesn’t look at the cookies. He looks at me. All of me. “But I’m hungry for something else.”
Heat rushes through me. I swallow hard. “Lucian…”
He moves closer. “What?”
He’s close enough that I can smell him—warm skin, cologne, something darker beneath it. His eyes drop to my mouth.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” I manage, even as my body betrays me and leans in.
“You’re here.” His fingers brush my jaw, slow and deliberate. “That tells me everything.”
My pulse thunders. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re terrible at pretending you don’t want this.”
His mouth is on mine before I can answer—slow at first, coaxing, then deeper when I open to him. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and the room tilts.
I kiss him back, helplessly, hungrily.
The plate of cookies hits the desk with a soft thud I barely register. Lucian lifts me slightly, sitting me on the edge of the desk, his lips trailing to my jaw, my throat.
“Lucian—”
He groans softly against my skin. “Say my name again.”
Heat floods through me in a dizzying wave. I grip his shoulders, feeling the strength beneath his shirt, the way he trembles just barely when I rake my fingers through his hair.
“Lucian.”
He kisses me deeper, harder, until my breath breaks.
The world narrows to his mouth, his hands, the way he holds me like I’m something he’s wanted longer than he’ll admit.
His forehead presses to mine.
“Elias,” he whispers, voice thick, “tell me to stop if you want me to.”
“I don’t,” I breathe.
“Thank god.” His mouth swallows mine.
I groan against him, my hands fumbling with his belt.
“Trying to skip the foreplay?” His voice teases against my neck.
“Wasn’t last night foreplay?” I shove my hand in his pants and find his already hardening cock.
“I guess you’re right.” He sighs, grazing his teeth over my collarbone. “You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes.” I pump his cock.
He kisses my lips. Once. Twice. “What will you do to get what you want?”
I’m unbuttoning my shirt with one hand, trying to rush the process. “Anything Lucian, please.”
He hums against my mouth, his lips curved into a smile. “Reach into my pocket.”
“I think I’m already touching what you’re hiding in your pants, Luc.” But I reach into his pocket anyway to find that damned red ribbon. The fabric used to mean domination but now...
Well, I guess it still means domination, but in a sexy way.
“Okay. What do you want me to do?” I ask carefully.
Lucian sits down in his chair. “Take your clothes off and tie a bow around your dick.”
I snort. “No way!”
“Oh, but I thought you wanted to be fucked?” He plays with his own cock. It’s large and veiny. The tip beading with cum makes my mouth water.
“I do.” I shed my shirt.
“Then wrap it up, sweetheart. Or I’ll just edge you and leave you horny and aching for the rest of the day.” His smile is wicked, taunting.
I unbutton my pants angrily. “You’re the devil.”
“That is what other’s call me, yes. But the only words I want to hear out of your mouth are master.” He leans forward, sliding my pants off. “The occasional daddy will do, too.”
“Fuck you.” I snatch the ribbon from the desk and wrap it around the base of my cock, tying it into a perfect bow. “Happy?”
His handsome face is delighted and hungry. “Almost.”
Lucian opens his desk drawer, pulling a bottle of lube out. He takes my hand and squirts the gel onto my fingers. “I want to watch for a little while.”
“This is humiliating,” I bite.
His eyes level with mine, tucking himself away. “Then, don’t do it.”
I stare at him. I want to choke him. I want to kiss him. Jesus, I want him to fuck me more than I want to play hard-headed.
I lean back against his desk, making a show of shoving off useless supplies. My flaccid penis looks small wrapped in the red ribbon. I spread my legs so he can get a good view and slip my fingers in.
I gasp against the intrusion. I’ve been so restless all day, I just want him to use me.
“Oh!”
His hands are on my thighs, spreading me further. “Does it feel good, sweetheart?”
I pinch my nipple, and my cock starts to strain against the tight ribbon. Holy fuck.
“Yes, master.” I moan and groan until I can’t think.
“You’re doing so well, Elias.” His tongue traces the seam of my now straining dick.
I push another finger into my hole as Lucian leans back in his chair. I can see the outline of his large penis pressing against his dress pants. But he doesn’t make a move to touch it.
“Can I see?” I pout.
His mouth curves into a sly smile, his eyes dark and dangerous as he watches my fingers. “You wanna get off from seeing me?”
I nod frantically. Another groan slipping from my mouth.
Lucian pulls himself out, letting his dick breath the hot smothering air we’re both in.
My brain goes blank. Is my mouth salivating? Jesus, I need to be put in a mental institution or something. Because the way this man is looking at me, the way his body is responding to mine... I can’t bear it.
“Luci—master, can I please be fucked now? Please. Oh god, please,” I beg.
Lucian lunges towards me. Suddenly, I’m flipped onto my stomach. My toes barely touching the hardwood floor. And then he spears into me.
It’s like a bomb has gone off. White flashes in my eyes, and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears. Lucian is so big it hurts, but I need him anyways. I want the pain. I want the pleasure it promises.
“Say thank you for making you prep for me,” he says, his hips itching to thrust.
“Thank you! Thank you!” I’m delirious from the feel of him straining inside me, and the ribbon keeping me in place.
And then he begins to move. Lucian pounds his hips against my ass cheeks like a delicious punishment.
My nails scrape the polished wood of the desk, trying to keep myself linked to reality.
“Such a good boy,” he praises. “You’re so beautiful. So needy. Jesus Christ.”
It seems he’s only barely holding on as well. His words scatter across my back.
“Lucian! Oh, please, harder. Harder, please.” I want to arch my back. I want to touch him. I want to trace his scars with my tongue, but I’m pinned underneath him.
“Can I come inside you, sweetheart?” He groans.
“Yes, yes. Please.” His cock hits all the right spots. I want to feel warm. I need to be soaked with him.
“I’m going to—fuck! Ah!” I pant against the desk.
I feel Lucian’s hand massaging my cock. “Go ahead, you know I love to clean up the mess.”
He tugs the bow, making me shriek. “Fuck!”
I come hard just as he slams so deep inside me I fear it’ll tear me in half. I feel a wet heat coat my core.
I collapse against the desk and pass out in total bliss.