Chapter 3
Lucien
The touch of her in my palm was devastatingly soft.
That heavy weight seared into my hand, burning all the way up my arm until it nearly reduced every rational thought to ash.
Elora went rigid in my arms. A few seconds later she started trying to twist free, her waist moving involuntarily.
"Don't move." I leaned down, almost biting the words against the shell of her ear. "Unless you want me to put on a live show with you right here on the bar."
Her struggling stopped at once—except her ass settled against my crotch with just enough pressure to make itself known. Admitting that particular weakness was pure humiliation, but my body was brutally honest.
Elora felt it too. Her face flushed so hard it looked ready to bleed, the color spilling down her neck beneath the mask.
"Could you... please take your hand off me now?"
"I'd love to." I pressed a little closer. The warm scent of her—rain, white tea, and the faint salt of sweat—forced its way into my lungs and lit another fire entirely. "But if I let go right now, everyone will see you like this. Is that how you want to walk out of here?"
She didn't answer. She just bit down hard on her lower lip.
"Breathe." I locked my arm around her waist. "I'm not going to eat you."
"I have my doubts," she muttered.
I couldn't help the curl of my mouth. I shot Rocco a look; he nodded at once, grabbed a still-oblivious Enzo, and hauled him out.
My hand finally left her breast, and I already missed the feel of it. This wasn't the time to explore properly—but luckily, the night was still young.
She started struggling again.
"I-I should go home."
The words came out in a stammer. She kept her head down, tugging at my sleeve.
"No rush."
"What are you planning?" She eyed me warily.
"I'm taking you home."
"Am I supposed to say 'thank you, kind stranger'?"
"Smart girl." I looked down at her. "You're this drunk. Step outside alone and someone will be on you before you make it ten steps."
She lowered her head again, thinking for a long moment, then finally gave a tiny nod.
"Fine. Let's go, you bastard."
I kept my arm around her waist and guided her all the way into the car.
The doors shut. The engine started. Elora leaned quietly against the window, staring blankly at the streetlights.
She kept trying to press herself against the door; her rain-soaked dress clung to every lush curve, amplifying her allure in the dim cabin until it was almost unbearable.
My throat went dry again. The restless heat reminded me of the nightmare from a few hours earlier.
If I'd had a choice, I would have spent the entire night trading bullets with Colombian dealers inside a shipping container at the Red Hook docks rather than sit at that goddamn black-walnut conference table on the Long Island estate.
"Lucien, the family needs an heir." Marco Ferraro slammed his palm on the table.
"You're thirty-five. At your age, your father was already collecting protection money on the street with a gun in his hand.
Serena's health has never been good. Carlo wants the engagement settled—it'll lock in the alliance between the two families. "
"Alliance?" I said. "If I remember correctly, that shipment at Red Hook last week got mysteriously seized by the cops. Carlo's men were handling security."
The temperature in the room dropped to freezing.
Carlo Casalesi leaned on his snake-headed cane and smiled coldly. "Watch your mouth, Lucien. I took a bullet for your father once."
I gave a short, humorless laugh. "My father asked you to look after the family on his deathbed. He didn't ask you to shove your daughter into my bed."
If Natalie hadn't spoken up, I might actually have told Enzo to jam that cane down Carlo's throat. Once again, my mother managed to silence the marriage talk, but by the time I left the estate, the last frayed thread of my patience had snapped.
Honestly, if I hadn't walked into Crimson Whisper and seen Elora—soaked to the skin yet somehow still radiating something clean—I probably would have found some dark corner that didn't require a brain and drunk until dawn.
The car hit a hard bump; Enzo must have driven straight through a pothole.
"Can you fucking drive?" Rocco punched him in the shoulder. "Trying to make me puke?"
"Shut up," Enzo muttered. "Rain's too heavy, I can't see shit. If you hadn't insisted on that Bronx late-night spot, we'd already be in Tribeca."
The jolt sent Elora sliding straight into me. She landed against my chest, then shot upright a second later, fists clenched in my collar.
"Tribeca? Where the hell are you taking me? You said you were taking me home!"
"Listen, sweetheart. Tonight is not the night you want to see your sister."
She froze. Then it was as if someone had cut her strings; she just collapsed.
"I... I..."
I cupped her face. "So tonight I'm giving you a place to hide."
Her eyes went red. The moisture in them caught the flickering streetlights. She stopped fighting and gave the smallest of nods.
The car stopped beneath a Tribeca high-rise. I led her into the elevator. When the apartment door opened, she stood in the entryway, looking around awkwardly. Her soaked shoes left dark prints on the carpet; she shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable.
I picked up a pair of slippers and held them out. She exhaled in relief, slipped them on, and stepped into the living room.
"Go shower. Get out of those wet clothes." I was already undoing my cufflinks as I walked toward the bar. "I don't keep women's clothes here. You can wear something of mine for now."
"Th-thank you..." She blushed and followed the housekeeper, Anthony, toward the bathroom.
I poured myself a bourbon and carried the glass to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the city lights were nothing but smears of color dissolved by rain.
I drained the glass in one swallow.
The liquor was fierce, but it couldn't touch what was in my head. All I could feel was the weight of Elora falling into me, the soft give of her under my palm, replaying again and again like a brand still burning.
Patience has never been my strong suit. Desire is usually simple—want it, take it, finish it.
This woman was different. She didn't even know my name, yet she'd seen straight through years of insomnia and every mood I tried to hide.
She'd even pleaded for the drunk who'd harassed her in the bar. People like her didn't belong near me.
Fuck. I yanked my tie loose and undid the top button of my shirt.
It didn't help. The heat only burned hotter. Listening to the continuous rush of water from the bathroom, I could picture every droplet tracing the same curves my hand had already mapped—sliding down that arc, over her waist, over the swell of her ass, disappearing into that hidden place.
I poured another drink and told myself I'd only brought her here to give her shelter.
I'm a terrible liar, especially to myself. From the moment she took that first sip, I'd been calculating exactly how to make this woman mine.
Half an hour later, the bathroom door opened.
Elora stepped out wearing my robe. The sleeves swallowed her hands completely; the hem hung past her calves. She'd tied the belt in a clumsy, loose knot that barely kept the front closed. Those beautiful amber eyes looked soft and a little dazed from steam and exhaustion.
She had no idea what she looked like. That complete lack of self-awareness was more lethal than any deliberate seduction.
"Thank you." She hugged her wet clothes to her chest and took tiny steps toward me. "Once these dry, I'll—ah!"
The hem of the robe caught under her foot. She pitched forward. I closed the distance in one stride and caught her.
The already-loose belt gave way completely. The robe slid off one shoulder, baring an unbroken expanse of smooth skin—collarbone, shoulder, the exact curve my palm had covered in the bar—now fully exposed. I could see every last water droplet that hadn't finished drying.
She cried out and scrambled to pull the robe closed again, hands shaking so hard she couldn't even manage the lapels.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"
I scooped her up in one motion. She gasped and locked her arms around my neck.
I pinned her against the glass. She trembled, instinctively curling toward the only source of heat in the room—me.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" I braced one hand on the glass above her head, boxing her in with my body. "Falling into my arms with your clothes 'conveniently' falling open."
Her eyes went wide, panic spilling over.
"I didn't!" She shook her head hard. "I really just tripped! I swear! I've never tried to seduce anyone in my life. Someone like me—how could I even—"
I caught her chin. "I already told you. You're beautiful."
"You're-you're drunk."
"I've never been more sober in my life." My thumb brushed slowly across her lower lip. "From the very beginning I've been thinking about how to take you apart and devour every last piece."
Her breathing stuttered.
"You don't have to do a single thing, Elora." My hand trailed down the line of her jaw, over the flushed column of her throat. "Just stand here and breathe. That's enough."
The hand she had pressed to my chest gave a weak shove—barely enough to move a feather.
"Now," I said, eyes locked on her parted lips, "give me one reason to stop. Otherwise I can't promise you'll be able to walk straight tomorrow."
She didn't pull away. I saw the hunger in her eyes clearly.
"You asked for this."
I leaned down and kissed her without mercy.
The moment my lips touched hers, she gasped. I swallowed that sound, letting it fuel the fire already burning through me.
Her mouth was soft, trembling. I traced her lower lip with my tongue before biting down gently. She whimpered, and that small sound made something primitive snap inside me.
I pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide. "Last chance to stop this."
She stared at me for a heartbeat. Then her fingers tightened in my hair. "Don't stop."
That was all I needed.
I kissed her again, harder this time, demanding. My hands found the loosened robe and pushed it off her shoulders. The fabric pooled around her feet, leaving her bare against me. She shivered, whether from cold or anticipation, I didn't care.
Her skin was still damp from the shower, warm and impossibly soft. I traced the curve of her waist, feeling her muscles tense under my touch. When my palm cupped her breast, she arched into me with a broken moan.
"Sensitive," I murmured against her throat. My thumb brushed over her nipple and she gasped. "I'll remember that."
Her hands fumbled with my shirt buttons. She was clumsy, impatient. I helped her, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it aside. When her palms pressed against my chest, fingernails digging in slightly, heat shot straight to my groin.
I lifted her. Her legs wrapped around my waist instinctively, and I carried her to the couch. She landed on the leather with a soft sound, hair fanning out around her flushed face.
Beautiful. Absolutely devastating.
I kissed down her neck, teeth grazing her collarbone. She writhed beneath me, making these small, desperate noises that drove me insane. When I took her nipple into my mouth, her back arched clean off the couch.
"Oh god—"
I sucked harder, my hand sliding between her thighs. She was already wet, ready. The knowledge nearly undid me.
"You feel that?" I pressed against her entrance with one finger. "You want this."
"Yes." Her voice cracked. "Please."
I slid two fingers inside her. She was tight, hot, and when I curled them just right, she cried out. Her hips bucked against my hand, chasing more friction.
"That's it," I growled. "Take what you need."
She was falling apart already, thighs trembling, breath coming in short gasps. I worked her higher, watching her face twist with pleasure. When she came, it was with a choked sob, clenching around my fingers.
I didn't give her time to recover. I unbuckled my belt, shoving my pants down just enough. Her eyes went wide when she saw me.
"Don't worry." I positioned myself at her entrance. "You can handle it."
I pushed in slowly. She was still sensitive, oversensitive, and every inch made her whimper. When I bottomed out, we both groaned.
"Fuck." The word tore out of me. She felt incredible, like silk and fire.
I pulled back and thrust in again, harder. She gasped, nails raking down my back. The sting only pushed me further. I set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving her deeper into the couch.
"Look at me." I gripped her chin. Her amber eyes were glazed, unfocused. "I want to see you when you come again."
She nodded frantically, unable to form words. Her legs tightened around me, pulling me impossibly deeper.
The angle was good but not enough. I pulled out, ignoring her sound of protest, and flipped her over. She braced herself on her hands and knees, looking back at me over her shoulder.
Perfect.
I entered her again from behind, this time hitting even deeper. She cried out, head dropping forward. I fisted one hand in her damp hair, tugging her head back.
"You feel that?" I thrust harder. "That's all me."
"Yes, oh god, yes—"
Her voice broke on a moan. I could feel her tightening around me again, getting close. I reached around, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and rubbed in tight circles.
She shattered. Her whole body locked up, a scream catching in her throat as she came. The sensation of her clenching around me was too much.
I followed her over the edge with a guttural sound, hips jerking as pleasure whited out my vision.
For several moments, there was only heavy breathing and the rain drumming against the windows. I pulled out carefully, watching her collapse boneless onto the couch.
Her hair was a mess, skin flushed pink, marks from my fingers already blooming on her hips. She looked thoroughly ravaged.
And I wasn't nearly done with her yet.
I gathered her into my arms, carrying her toward the bedroom. She made a small, exhausted sound but didn't protest.
"Where are we going?"
"The bed." I kicked the door open. "The couch was just the warm-up."
Her eyes widened. "Warm-up?"
I laid her down on the sheets, crawling over her. "I told you. I'm going to take my time with you."
And I meant every word.