Chapter 28
LILA
T he elevator makes its way up to Dane's floor, each number lighting up with what feels like deliberate slowness. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
God, what am I doing?
A week ago, I would've laughed if someone told me I'd be in an elevator, panties stuffed in my purse, heading to a man's apartment like I'm delivering myself for dinner.
Yet here I am, following his instructions: 'Wear your hair down, and a dress and nothing underneath.
' The words alone sent heat surging through me when I read them.
The dress I chose is dark green, simple but not too casual, hitting mid-thigh. It feels both liberating and terrifying to have nothing underneath, the fabric brushing against bare skin with every movement. The cool air in the elevator makes me hyper-aware of exactly how exposed I am.
This is insane. I'm a graduate student, for Christ's sake. I have a Veritas interview to prepare for. And instead, I'm basically gift-wrapping myself for a man.
The elevator dings, and my stomach drops like I'm falling from a height, except in the best way possible.
"Get it together, Marks," I mutter, stepping into the hallway.
As I approach Dane's door, my legs feel like they're made of water. Before I can even lift my hand to knock, the door swings open. Dane stands there, eyes dark and hungry, looking at me like I'm something he's been starving for.
In one fluid motion, he pulls me inside, kicks the door shut, and engulfs me in his arms. The force of it knocks the breath from my lungs as my body collides with his solid chest.
"You're here," he whispers against my hair, his voice rough with something that sounds almost like relief.
His arms tighten around me, and I find myself melting into him, breathing in his clean, masculine scent. There's something about the way he holds me—like I'm precious but also like he's afraid I might disappear—that makes my chest ache.
"Did you follow my instructions?" His hand slides down my back, hovering just above where my dress ends.
"Maybe you should check," I say, my voice coming out huskier than intended.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gray eyes intense. "I plan to."
His hand moves lower, fingers tracing the hem before slipping underneath to find bare skin. The contact sends electricity up my spine.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and something about those two simple words makes my knees weak.
He backs me against the wall, his body pressing into mine, layers of fabric still between us yet the moment feels more intimate than being naked. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my lower lip.
His eyes search mine, some internal battle playing out behind them. The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. Dane Wolfe seldom does vulnerable. He's all steel and control and calculated moves. At least, that's what I thought.
"I need to tell you something," he says, his voice uncharacteristically rough. He steps back, running a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up in a way that somehow makes him even more attractive. Unfair.
"What? Are you secretly married?" I joke, trying to lighten whatever's happening.
He doesn't smile. "You're in my head, Lila. All the time."
My heart stutters. "Okay..."
"I've never—" He stops, jaw clenching. "This isn't normal for me. I find myself thinking about you when I should be working. I check my phone for your messages like some fucking teenager."
I swallow hard. "Are you trying to tell me I'm distracting you from your brooding detective work?"
His hands come up to frame my face, and there's something almost desperate in the gesture. "I want to protect you. From everything. It's becoming... consuming."
Holy shit. Is Dane Wolfe—emotionless, dangerous Dane Wolfe—trying to tell me he has feelings for me?
"I'm not sure what to do with that," I say honestly.
"Neither am I." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "I've spent most of my life keeping people at a distance. It's safer that way."
"Safer for who?" I whisper.
"For them." The words hang between us, heavy with unspoken history.
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I wonder if he can feel it. This is terrifying in a way that has nothing to do with being pressed against his wall in a dress with nothing underneath. This is the kind of terrifying that could break me if I'm not careful.
A man like him doesn't just fall for a girl like me. Men like Dane are temporary hurricanes that leave devastation in their wake. Aren't they?
"What exactly are you trying to tell me, Dane?" I force myself to meet his eyes, determined not to hide from whatever this is.
For a moment, his intensity is so overwhelming that I'm genuinely afraid of what he might say next. Then his expression changes from vulnerable to predatory.
His voice drops to a dangerous rumble that vibrates through my entire body. "That I'm crazy about you and tonight I'm going to tattoo my name so deep into your body that you'll never want to be fucked by anyone else but me."
Holy. Shit.
My knees tremble. No one has ever spoken to me like that—like I'm oxygen and they're drowning. Like they'd tear the world apart just to have me.
Before I can respond, he spins me around, pressing me face-first against the wall. There's a metallic clicking sound, and something cold circles my wrist, snapping shut with a definitive click.
Handcuffs. He just fucking handcuffed me.
I should be terrified. I should be outraged. But instead, I'm so turned on I can barely breathe.
"Is this okay?" he asks, his lips brushing the back of my neck.
I test the restraint, feeling the solid metal against my skin. I'm not trapped—I could say no and he'd release me instantly. That knowledge is what makes me nod.
"Use your words, Lila," he commands softly.
"Yes," I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "It's okay."
He tugs gently on the cuffs, leading me away from the wall. "Then come with me."
I follow him through his apartment toward the bedroom, the handcuffs creating this thrilling balance of vulnerability and anticipation. Each step makes the fabric of my dress brush against places that are already aching for his touch.
"You know," I say, trying to sound casual despite the hammering of my heart, "most guys just text 'u up?' at midnight. Your approach is a bit extra."
He glances back at me, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. "I'm not most guys."
"Clearly," I mutter, but there's no bite to it.
I hesitate at the threshold. Once I cross it, something's going to change between us. This isn't just sex anymore—it's surrender, it's the ultimate trust, it's...
Fuck it. Whatever this is, I want it more than I've wanted anything in a long time.
I step into his bedroom, just for Dane to hold me back and place me right under the doorframe.
I barely have time to process what's happening when Dane reaches into his pocket and pulls out a second pair of handcuffs. The metallic click as they close around my free wrist makes me turn to jelly.
"Two pairs? Someone came prepared," I say, trying to joke while my heart threatens to burst through my chest.
It's only then that I notice the chin-up bar secured to the doorframe above my head. Wait, is this some kind of fitness test? Is he trying to tell me I should work on my upper body strength? Because honestly, I'm more of a yoga girl. Pull-ups are what I do when I reach for a tall cupboard.
"Um, if you wanted a workout buddy, you could've just asked," I joke nervously.
Dane doesn't answer. Instead, he lifts my arms above my head and secures the handcuffs to the bar with practiced efficiency.
The motion stretches me upward, nearly forcing me onto my tiptoes.
My arms are fully extended overhead, the metal biting into my wrists just enough to remind me I'm completely at his mercy.
Holy shit. I'm actually handcuffed to a doorframe in Dane Wolfe's apartment.
If Tessa could see me now, she'd either high-five me or stage an intervention. Possibly both.
"Can you breathe okay?" Dane asks, his voice a mix of concern and something darker that makes my stomach flip.
"Yeah," I manage, though my breathing is anything but okay. It's shallow and quick, my chest rising and falling rapidly under my dress.
He steps back, eyes traveling slowly from my raised arms down to where the hem of my dress has ridden up dangerously high. The look on his face is pure predator—hungry, focused, and utterly captivated.
"You're beautiful like this," he says, circling me slowly. "Stretched out. Waiting."
My legs tremble slightly, partly from the position and partly from the way his gaze seems to touch me physically.
I test my restraints—secure but not painful.
I'm completely immobilized, yet somehow I've never felt more powerful than I do right now, watching Dane's careful control fracture at the edges just from looking at me.
"So what now, Detective?" I ask, aiming for sarcastic but landing somewhere closer to breathless. "Is this where you interrogate me?"
Dane only gives me a crooked smile, the kind that makes my stomach drop like I'm on a rollercoaster. Then he kneels in front of me, and holy shit, the visual alone nearly makes me moan.
"Spread your legs," he says, his voice low and commanding.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "That's not exactly the most romantic request I've heard."
"I'm not going for something entirely different right now." He places his hands on my ankles, firmly adjusting my stance, spreading my feet to brace against the doorjamb.
Jesus Christ. I'm completely vulnerable now, my arms stretched overhead, legs spread, with only the thin fabric of my dress between his face and my wet, wet core.
The position and his hungry expression makes me feel both incredibly powerful and utterly helpless—a contradiction that sends my pulse racing.
"Is this how you treat all your dates, or am I special?" My voice comes out breathless and shaky.