Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Erin
Carlos is waiting somewhere between old gates, dead credentials, and the ruined bones of Bachman Village.
Rafe has sent the leak. Gregory has mapped the delay. Blaze has sharpened his violence into something almost cheerful, while Saint Cleopatra of Eternal Patience has generously offered to stay with Cass and Ryan in order to tutor Ryan, who has been AWOL from school since who-knows-when.
Blaze hated the idea. But he agreed to let her go since he has a weak spot for Ryan.
As do we all.
Isobel has gone silent in that way that makes me think she’s either praying or remembering every bad decision she ever made.
And Lucian has agreed to let me appear with the controlled arrival team.
The man looks like compromise is swallowing glass. And like he may shatter at any moment.
So, when his hand closes around mine and he leads me down the hall, I do not ask where we are going.
The black door opens beneath his palm. Warm gold light spills out. Leather. Velvet. Silk.
The ocean throws itself against the dark cliffs below, savage and endless.
Lucian steps inside first, then turns back to me.
He doesn’t pull me in. He waits for me to step inside. Which seems rather scary right now.
I know going in this room means the stakes will be higher. We will go further. He will push me further. The man who wants to drag me behind ten locked doors and call it love stands in the doorway of the room he built for control and lets me choose whether to enter.
My throat tightens. “Don’t look so handsome,” I say, stepping inside. “It’s unsettling.”
The door shuts behind us with that soft, stomach-tightening click. No lock. Only choices.
His eyes move over me, slowly and dark and possessive enough to make my pulse stumble.
“We leave for New York soon,” he says.
“I know,” I say.
“You will be visible,” he says.
My stomach tightens with nerves. “I know.”
“Carlos will see you.” His jaw tightens.
“I know.”
His jaw tightens. “Stop saying that as if knowing makes it acceptable.”
“It doesn’t make it acceptable.” I step closer. “It makes it right.”
He looks away.
I grab his hand. “I’m not fearless, Lucian. I’m not walking into this because I have some death wish or because I need to prove I’m brave enough for you.”
His expression hardens. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
Silence.
I smile faintly. “That wasn’t rhetorical.”
“I know.” His thumb moves over my knuckles.
That is honest enough to reach me.
He lifts my hand and presses his mouth to my fingers. His eyes darken. Lucian’s voice lowers. “I brought you here because I want to give you something.”
I glance around the room, pulse quickening.
He leads me to the cabinet along the wall. The locked one. Of course.
He opens the drawer slowly, not taking his eyes off me. Inside, nestled against black velvet, are things that make my pulse jump.
A small bottle of lubricant. A slim wand with a dark glass handle. And beside it, several plugs arranged by size, each one smooth, elegant, wicked.
My breath catches. “Oh.”
Lucian watches my face. “You asked once what else happens in this room.”
“I ask many reckless questions.”
“I enjoy every reckless thing about you until you place yourself in harm’s way.” He stares. “Which you do. Often.”
I look back at the drawer. “And this is about danger?”
“No.” His voice roughens. “This is about choice.”
My pulse stutters.
Lucian takes out the smallest plug.
It rests in his palm, black and glossy, almost delicate. And terrifying.
His eyes stay on mine. “Tomorrow you will remember to listen to yourself. To Rafe. To the plan. And yes, to me when necessary.”
I look at the plug again. Heat curls through my stomach. “So this is a training exercise? For battle?”
His gaze drops to my lips. “No.”
My breath goes shallow.
His voice deepens. “This is me giving you something you can feel. A reminder that your choices matter. And you can’t go running headfirst into danger, even if you think you’re saving someone.”
He makes kink sound like strategy, strategy sound like devotion, and devotion sound like an order for me to obey.
“That was dangerously close to emotionally healthy,” I whisper, staring at the plug. “In the most twisted way.”
“You wear it because you choose to.”
The words land low in my body. Lower than they should. “Lucian.”
“If you choose it,” he says, “I guide you. I prepare you. I take care of you. And if you decide at any point you do not want it, I stop.”
The room is too quiet. Too warm. The ocean outside is too violent.
Inside this room, my own storm brews. Curiosity. Want. A little bit of nerves. A little bit of wickedness. The wind blows just right and I lift my chin. “Safe words?”
His eyes flash. “If you say, red?”
I answer. “You stop.”
“If you say yellow?” he asks.
“You slow down,” I say.
“Color now?” he asks.
I look down at the plug. Then back at him. And I say, “Green.”
The word sets him in motion. Lucian sets the plug, lubricant, and wand on the low table beside the bed.
Then he turns to me. “Undress.”
My body answers before my pride can make a fuss.
Still, I cross my arms. “You do know I’m capable of doing things without commands.”
“Yes.”
“And yet?”
“And yet.”
The nerve of him. The devastating, arousing nerve.
I undress, taking off everything. Lucian watches like he did the first time in this room. Like I am revealed to him.
His.
My skin heats beneath his gaze. He steps closer but doesn’t touch me yet.
His smile is wicked. “Still green?”
“Yes.”
I think…
Warm hands guide me to the bed. “Lie on your side.”
My stomach flips as I lie down on the black satin sheets, facing the window. The glass shows me bare and Lucian dressed, controlled, and watching me. Twisted is as twisted does.
God help us all.
The mattress dips behind me. His hand settles on my hip, warm and steady.
“First rule,” he says.
“Always with your rules,” I whisper.
His mouth brushes my shoulder. “You like my rules. You love my rules.”
“I like rules when I can break them creatively.”
“You will not be creative with this one.”
I smile despite the nerves climbing my spine. “Fine. What is the first rule?”
“You do not endure discomfort to please me.”
My smile fades.
He strokes his thumb over my hip.
“If it is too much, you say yellow. If you want it over, you say red. You do not grit your teeth. You do not prove anything.”
The ache in my chest is sudden and sharp.
Maybe because tomorrow I will have to prove things.
Maybe because this room is the only place where proving myself is not allowed.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Second rule.” His mouth touches the back of my neck.
I breathe out. “There’s more?”
There is always more. “What’s the second rule?”
The bed shifts as he reaches for the lubricant. The soft click of the cap makes my pulse jump. His hand returns to my hip.
“Breathe,” he says.
“I am.”
“No, you’re pretending to breathe.”
Annoyingly accurate. I pull in air. Slowly. He waits.
The man who wants to own the world waits for my lungs.
When his fingers touch me, they are slick and careful, not rushing, not taking. My body tenses from instinct more than pain.
He stops immediately. “Color.”
I swallow. “Green.”
His fingers move with more patience than I expect from a man built almost entirely of control issues. He doesn’t force or control. He coaxes. Small circles.
Soft pressure. Strange. Uncomfortable. Coming from a shameful place before him I never knew could be used like this.
A kiss to my shoulder. Another to the side of my throat. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”
Heat begins to replace nerves. Slowly. Embarrassingly. Completely. My body, traitorous little thing, decides curiosity is fascinating.
Lucian notices. Of course. His breath changes against my skin. “I love how your body responds to me. I love how wet you get for me, baby. You beautiful girl.”
That just makes it worse.
Overwhelmed, I close my eyes. My pussy clenches for him, wanting him inside me and my anal muscles tighten around the strange situation going on behind me.
His fingers move further inside of me. My muscles want to reject him, but he doesn’t allow it, pushing steady and firm.
“Still green?”
My voice is thinner now. “Green.”
“Good girl.” That praise slides under my skin and melts something; any pride I had remaining.
I am fully his.
His hand moves away for a second, and then the wand hums softly to life.
My eyes fly open. “Oh.”
Lucian’s mouth brushes my ear. “Too much?”
“It hasn’t touched me yet.”
“It touched your imagination.”
I swallow. “My imagination is dramatic.”
“Yes.”
He drags the smooth head of the wand along my inner thigh. A tremble instantly shoots through me. The vibrations make me pulse harder with need. He moves it higher, not where I need it. Not yet. But closer.
Just close enough that every muscle in my body waits for him.
He stares at me in the reflection. “Still green?”
“Mmm…” is all I can manage.
“Words, baby.”
“Yes. Green.”
The wand moves higher. Lucian uses patience like a weapon, and I am helpless against it. The hum touches the edge of want, and my breath breaks.
I grip the sheet.
He stills. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“I’m trying not to embarrass myself.”
His hand tightens on my hip. “There is nothing your body gives me that could embarrass you. It all belongs to me.”
The wand moves again, and this time the pleasure sparks so fast my hips jerk. “Oh my god.” I feel it before I even register what happened, the delightful ripples run through my core.
Lucian’s hand steadies me. “That’s it,” he says. “Let it happen.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“It is not easy for me to say.” His voice is rough now. “I am exercising heroic restraint.”
“You said that already—” My words turn into a gasp as he finds the perfect place, the perfect pressure, the perfect wicked rhythm that makes thought loosen in my head. Then his slick fingers return to my ass, gentle and patient, and the room tilts.
“Oh god, oh my god.”
It’s everything and too much all at once. Wet heat slicks my thighs as my pussy and ass simultaneously clench for him, and the plug is still yet to come. The wand eases away.
I make an involuntary sound of protest.