Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lucian
All my thoughts, every ounce of my energy in this moment, go to my babygirl, to Erin, to the sweet, strong, stubborn, stunningly beautiful woman before me.
Erin stands barefoot on the rug with her arms crossed, her hair still damp from the shower, and wearing that flannel of mine. The sight draws a slow, territorial ache through my chest. She looks small in it.
She can already tell by my face that it’s bad news; her chin’s raised as if she’s weighing whether to fight me or kiss me.
Her voice is small, trying to hide her anger. “We can’t leave today, can we?”
I cross the room and stop close enough to warm her. “Rafe and I think it’d be best if we stay a little longer.”
“I trust you.”
“You’re safer here,” I say. “And Gregory is, too.”
She says, “He’s the one you need to keep an eye on. I still can’t believe he wandered out behind the bar like that.”
“See? I have to keep you both from wandering into any more gunfire.”
Right now, Gregory is in the woods at the makeshift gun range, learning to shoot with two of my men. I’ll feel much better about my brother’s safety when he’s trained with weapons, something I never thought I’d permit.
Her blue eyes go worried. “Can you please be the one to tell Cass we’re not coming today?”
“Sure. I’ll protect you from your big sister’s wrath.” I grasp the collar of my flannel shirt around her neck and draw her nearer. “But if I’m doing the talking, then I get to decide how you use that mouth of yours.”
Color warms her cheekbones. She doesn’t look away. “And how’s that?”
“On me.” My voice drops, gravel and heat. “Or counting for me. Even better.”
She bites her lower lip. “Counting what?”
“How many times I spank your sexy ass.”
I should be making calls and looking for Carlos. Investigating what Rafe has just told me. Finding out the truth.
But Erin has a storm inside her that matches the one in me, and if I don’t ground it, I’ll blow the roof off this place with rage and unrestrained desire.
I need her right now. I need to be close to her.
She touches my chest. The oversized shirtsleeves hang over her hands. “I…want that.”
“Say it like you mean it.” I brace her hips, feeling her warmth. “Tell me what you need.”
Her throat works. “I need you to take control,” she breathes out, barely a whisper.
I tilt her chin until her eyes meet mine. “Safe word?”
“We’ve never used one.”
“You’ve never been this naughty.”
“I won’t need it.”
“I’ll give you time to think about one. You use it, and we stop. Doesn’t matter if you think it’s nothing. You say it, I listen.”
“Okay.” The tension in her shoulders relaxes, and I haven’t even touched her yet.
“Good girl.” Those two words ignite her like a match.
Her breath stutters. “Lucian.”
Gregory isn’t here. The place is guarded. We’re the only two in the cottage, and for now, we are safe.
I lift the hem of the flannel and peel it up. She pulls her arms out of the sleeves with my help. She wears a soft black shirt and leggings, hugging her body. My hands move over her.
She is warm, alive, and mine.
Outside, the wind claws at the eaves.
“Over the arm of the couch,” I tell her. “Hands on the cushion, feet planted. You keep them there until I say otherwise.”
She moves obediently and quietly, heat emanating from her. The couch faces the ever-burning fire in the fireplace. I stand behind her and take a moment to observe. The curve of her ass in black spandex makes my mouth go dry. I know she wears no panties under her leggings; she never does.
I run my palm over one cheek, lightly testing. She presses into my touch, stretching like a cat.
Her voice is unsteady but yearning. “How many?”
“Ten you count. Then whatever I want after that.” Her exhale is shaky. I lower, mouth to her ear. “You count for me. You lose count to ten, we start over.”
A shiver ripples through her. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re out of time.” I rest my hand on her lower back, anchoring her. “What is your safe word?”
“Green.”
I laugh. Green means go—her attempt at stubbornness without disobedience.
I raise my hand and let the first slap land on a sweet spot high on her right cheek. The sound is sharp, and the heat is instant. She jolts, then softens under my hand.
“One,” she gasps, surprise bright.
The second, on the left, echoes through the room. “Two.”
“Now, let’s lose those leggings.”
I hook my fingertips into the waistband of her pants. She shimmies her hips to help as I pull them down over her curves, resting the band of clothing at her mid-thigh.
She shivers as the cold air brushes over her bare skin. I bring my palm down on her naked ass, the sound of skin meeting louder than before. She inhales. “Three.”
“Good girl.”
I keep my cadence steady and unhurried. I want her with me, her mind settling into the ritual—the rise and fall, the count, the breath. Her skin warms beneath my hand, pink blossoming. I watch how her fingers curl into the cushion, how her spine stretches out.
The world narrows to her and me. And I bring my hand down again.
“Three.” Her voice steadies.
“Four.” It’s lower.
By “Seven,” her breaths are coming in soft, needy pulls.
I run my hand over the heat, and she moans involuntarily, a sound that goes straight to my cock. I move her legs a little wider with my knee; she responds obediently, exposing herself. She’s wet. The sight takes my breath away.
“Eight.”
“Nine.” Her voice trembles. She’s in it now.
I give her the tenth harder, a satisfying crack that leaves my palm stinging.
She cries out and pushes into me, shameless, seeking. “Ten,” she shudders.
I reward her with a caress of my fingers, my skin slipping against her sweet wetness.
She pants. “Please.”
“Please, what?” I want her to say it, to ask.
“More.”
I let my hand rest lightly on the back of her neck, not pressing, just there. “Such a good girl when you remember your manners.”
I slide a finger inside her. I lean forward, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “You need my cock?”
“Yes.” She quivers around me.
I tighten my hand on her nape, grounding her, then take my finger away. “We’ll stay quiet. So many men outside.”
I give her five more quick hits, switching cheeks so the heat spreads evenly, and she’s trembling with desire. “You’re doing perfectly.” I insert two fingers into her slickness, and it drives her crazy.
She presses her forehead against the cushion, a curse catching in her throat. “Please.”
“Spread your legs for me.”
She obeys, arching with trembling legs. “Lucian, I—”
“Not yet.” I slide my fingers over her again and circle her clit just enough to make her gasp. She whimpers. It’s music. I pull my hand away and bring it down again in a firm slap that has her biting the cushion to quiet her cry. Heat blooms across her skin. “So pretty.”
I drop to my knees behind her because I need to taste her. I kiss the curve of her, tongue teasing, inhaling her scent. When I lick between her cheeks, she ignites with a shocked moan. I give her two more, soft, open-mouthed kisses covering her pussy, ones that make her shake.
I stand because if I stay there, I’ll lose myself before it's time.
“Hands stay where they are,” I tell her, tugging my belt open, zipper down. My cock is hard enough to hurt. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” she breathes, fingers tightening around the sofa. “I want you. Please.”
I curl one hand under her belly to guide her into the position I want and push inside with a slow, claiming thrust. We groan in unison. She is hot, slick, and impossibly tight around me, and for a moment, the only thing that exists is our connection.
And that’s exactly what I need right now.
“Fuck,” I grind, forehead dropping between my shoulder blades as I anchor inside her. “You feel—so—fucking—good.”
I begin to move, hips rolling, maintaining my punishing but controlled rhythm. The green shutters could blow off the windows. I wouldn’t notice.
I stroke her warm, punished ass, and she moans, leaning into the push and pull. She’s close. I can tell by how tightly she squeezes.
I hold her hips steady. “Who decides?”
“You,” she gasps. “You do. Sir.”
“Good girl.” I drag two fingers down to her clit and circle deliberately. Her whole body clenches. “Not yet.”
“Lucian, I can’t—I’m—”
“You can.” I press my mouth to her shoulder, teeth grazing her skin. “You’ll come when I tell you. Breathe.”
She tries. She holds back for me.
“Now,” I growl into her neck, and she breaks like a storm. The orgasm rips through her in a full-body quake that tears a shout from her throat. I hold her, one arm locked around her waist, the other working her clit as she rides it.
She tightens around me, and I follow her over the edge with a low curse, white flashes behind my eyelids.
We breathe. That’s all we do for a long moment—breathe, the two of us, lost in each other.
“You did perfectly,” I murmur, kissing her, and she kisses me back. I lift her and carry her to the cushions as if she weighs nothing.
She tucks herself into my side with a sigh. A happy sound that makes me want to trap her inside these four walls forever. Just us. No one else.
And no danger.
But that’s not our life. And that’s not this world.
Satisfied for the moment, I hold her. Tight. And I try to prepare myself for what I have to face next.
There’s nothing left for us in New York right now.
One day, I will rebuild our Village, I swear to it, but for now, Blaze and his family are looking into our next possible destination.
I don’t want to risk travel, not with Carlos on the loose, so our other strongholds are off the table for the moment. Staying put at Red Shutters with the Kings’ protection is our best bet for now.
For now…
Still, something is coming, and here, I thought I’d finally clawed my way out of hell.
My chest tightens. Rafe and I both understand how dangerous Carlos is. But now, my worries extend beyond him.
If Isobel is alive...
There are so many questions.
A whirlwind of emotions churns in my heart, my mind a tornado of memories and doubts. Thunder echoes in my head like a drumbeat.
A battle is coming for me. For us. Unstoppable.
And the storm rages on.