Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Erin
I’m standing at the door of the Red Shutters, a quaint stone cottage with ivy creeping up its walls and, surprisingly, dark green painted shutters at its windows.
A few days ago, we drove here from England, crossing the border into Scotland. I was eager to leave the gloomy moor and old cabin from my past behind. And the food. The granola bars were getting monotonous and stale.
Now, I’m standing at the kitchen window watching Gregory pretend to be reading in the garden, when we’re both really watching Lucian.
Lucian’s on a phone call. One that has his stone jaw clenched extra tight.
Today is the day Blaze is calling Lucian from New York. To let him know what the Bachman’s final decision on rebuilding their family’s Village.
Over coffee and fresh baked goods, Gregory filled me in on everything he knows about the Bachman family from his past visit. The family owns many estates, with the main three being their cherished Village, now gone; the Hamlet, and the Parish.
The Hamlet is a hidden town in Connecticut, located far outside the city and protected by a large stone wall.
They’re strong in numbers and have plenty of land around their walls to buffer an attack.
The island off the coast of Greece is named the Parish after the priest who originally sold the Bachmans the land.
Its natural isolation keeps it safe, with armed boats patrolling the waters around it.
The Village was the most vulnerable of their homes. The Morettis spent two decades planning, growing, and plotting their destruction of the Bachman stronghold in the city. And they succeeded.
Really, the only thing for me in New York is Cass and Ryan.
And they’re no safer there than I am.
What if the Bachmans decide to rebuild somewhere? Will he want me to come? How can I? I’m not family.
That yucky feeling creeps up inside me. The one that constantly tells me I’m not good enough for him, for the Bachmans. And that he’s the only one giving in this relationship.
What do I bring to the table?
Trouble.
Lucian ends his call. Gregory takes one look at Lucian storming towards the cottage and decides to stay in the garden and go back to his book. I move away from the window.
Lucian’s body is tight with rage, the phone clenched in one hand, his jaw grinding. But it’s his eyes that do me in—dark and burning with need.
For me.
To punish me for the risks I took last night.
He crosses the room in two strides, fast and lethal, like something inside him snapped the second he heard I was leaving again.
“So, they don’t want to rebuild in the city,” I say, stating what’s written all over his mood.
“No. They don’t. All our ties, our history? Since when do we cower?” He pushes his hair back, one hand on each side of his head. “Never mind.”
And his eyes settle on me.
“I believe we have a conversation to finish,” he says, voice gravel and fire.
I don’t answer.
The truth is in my silence. In the shiver rolling down my spine.
His hands cup my face, rough and trembling. He kisses me like he needs oxygen, like his life depends on anchoring me here. His lips crush mine, tongue sweeping in, teeth scraping, dominating.
Claiming.
I gasp against his mouth, and he deepens the kiss, his palm sliding into my hair to keep me still.
“You wanted to do this alone?” he growls, dragging his lips down my throat. “Then I need to remind you who the fuck you belong to.”
“I never forgot,” I whisper. “That’s why I did it. To protect you.”
His grip tightens. “You still don’t get it.” He spins me, slams the notebook off the table with a sweep of his arm. I’m bent over the table, the edge digging into my stomach, my ass in the air before I even know what’s happening.
Lucian yanks my leggings down, panties with them, tearing them past my knees with zero finesse. The roughness has me wet already, desperate and trembling. He unbuckles his belt with a sharp snap that echoes in the quiet cottage.
“Hands behind you,” he snaps.
I obey instantly. My pulse drums in my ears as I fold my wrists behind my back.
“No teasing. No gentle bullshit. You want to use yourself as bait? Then I’m going to mark you so the next time you reevaluate before you throw yourself into danger.”
The belt comes down hard and quick. Once, twice, then a third time. Everything happens so fast that my breath gets stuck in my lungs, caught in my throat, while my ass feels like a raging wildfire.
Then his hand comes down, spanking me, hard, leaving no bit of my curves neglected, no inch of my skin unpunished. Tears spark in the corners of my eyes, burning almost as hot as my ass.
My voice chokes off in the back of my throat. “Please—Lucian!”
He turns me to face him, then lifts me by the hips, planting me down hard on the edge of the table top. I wince as the hot stipes on my ass contact the cold wood. He fumbles open his jeans, dragging them low enough to free himself.
The head of his cock brushes my entrance, and my body clenches, aching for him. He doesn’t ease in. Doesn’t wait.
He drives into me with a brutal thrust that has me crying out.
My back arches. My wrists dig into one another behind me. “L-Lucian—”
“Quiet.” His hand snakes around to my throat, not choking—just holding. Anchoring. “You wanted this. You want to be fucked like you belong to me. You knew your choices last night would drive me to the brink. So, take it.”
Every thrust is deep and punishing. He sets a relentless rhythm, each motion hitting that perfect place inside me that makes my vision blur. The table rocks beneath us. Firelight dances across the ceiling. His other hand grabs my hip, holding me exactly where he wants me.
I moan, head tilting back. “Lucian—God—”
He lowers over me, breath hot on my ear. “You reach out to one of my men behind my back again—”
“I won’t. I swear—”
“Because you’re mine,” he growls, snapping his hips harder, grinding with each thrust. “You want something? You ask me. Me alone.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yours. I’m yours—”
His fingers find my clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles.
I explode around him.
My orgasm rips through me so fast and sharp that it steals every thought. My cry is broken, gasping, strangled by the pleasure wracking my body. I convulse on the table, but he doesn’t stop.
He slows. Deepens. Draws it out, riding the aftershocks until I’m trembling.
But he’s not finished.
Lucian flips me over in one motion—face down on the table, legs spread, ass in the air.
His palm smacks my ass so hard I whimper.
“Don’t think you’re done, babygirl,” he growls behind me.
He plunges back in, one hand gripping my nape, the other returning to my clit.
He brings me to the edge again. And again.
But he doesn’t let me fall.
He drags out the torment, whispering filth in my ear. “You beg for it, and maybe I’ll let you come again.”
“Please,” I whimper.
“Not enough.”
“Please, Lucian. I—I need it. I need to feel you.”
This time, when he fucks me, it’s with desperation. His hips snap into mine with furious intent. His cock throbs inside me, his hands bruising my hips.
When he comes, he spills deep with a groan that sounds like my name being broken open. He collapses over me, panting.
We stay like that for a long time.
Just skin and sweat and silence.
Eventually, he lifts me gently off the table and carries me to the couch. Wraps me in the coat he brought. The one I’ve let become my blankie. Kisses my forehead.
And says nothing.
And neither do I.
Because the words he’s waiting for me to say are too dangerous to say out loud. If I tell him the truth, if I tell him I love him, those words can’t be taken back.
And our world seems to be doing everything it can to keep us apart.