Chapter 26
Nia
Nia sat at her desk, a smile tugging at her lips—that had been happening a lot today. As she jotted down notes, Ivy’s voice crackled over the phone. She’d started the day hiking to connect with nature, and somehow pivoted to planning the biggest charity gala for the end of the year mid-hike.
“You want to do a silent auction?” Nia repeated, straining to hear over the wind on Ivy’s end.
“I’m sure I can get Becket to volunteer,” Ivy said, undeterred. “Would you give up Lochlan for a night?”
Nia froze mid-sentence, her pen hovering above the page. “Wait. You’re not actually planning to auction people, are you?”
“For dates,” Ivy said breezily. “We’ll get influential people to volunteer!”
Nia scoffed. “Becket and Lochlan are not influential.”
“Lochlan is a prince. Becket is pretty. And a lawyer.”
“I mean, sure. Becket makes sense, he’s single and all,” Nia muttered. “But Lochlan is…”
Her voice faltered. She didn’t need to finish. Nia could practically hear Ivy’s grin on the other end.
“He’s what, Nia? Say it.”
Nia clenched her pen, staring down at her notes as though they could shield her from the truth. Lochlan is taken. That was true, privately. But publicly? To her father and everyone else? She was supposed to be finding ways to convince everyone she wanted to get rid of him.
A gentle knock broke through her spiraling thoughts. Nia spun in her chair, her gaze snapping toward the door of her office. Almost as if their conversation had invoked him—
“Lochlan is here,” she said softly, more to herself than Ivy.
“Does he look hot?” Ivy’s teasing voice came through the phone. “You sound like he’s standing there all tall and handsome and sweet.”
Nia’s cheeks warmed as she continued to stare at him. Yes, she thought, because of course he looked hot. She still hadn’t quite recovered from the memory of the night before. But something about him now was… different. Restless?
“I’m hanging up now,” Nia said firmly, cutting off Ivy’s teasing before it could escalate.
“Ask him if he’d be willing to be auctioned off at—”
Nia ended the call.
Lochlan’s mouth curved into that devastating half-smile, and for a moment, Nia forgot how to breathe. How was he even free to be shoved into this arranged marriage by her father? How had no one scooped him up yet?
If he ever ended up on an auction block, people would lose their damn minds.
“Auctioned off?” One dark eyebrow rose and his lips twitched.
“We can talk about it later,” she said, standing and smoothing down her dress. His eyes tracked the movement of her hands, slow and deliberate, before flicking back to her face. Her heart kicked up a notch—or ten.
Lochlan’s gaze shifted, landing on one of the pots clustered at one corner of her desk. With restless energy, he reached out, brushing his fingers over a rough-edged leaf. Nia leaned forward as red flowers bloomed under his touch, the vibrant color spreading like fire.
“Whoa,” she said, her voice soft with wonder. “I didn’t know it had flowers.”
“Episcia,” he said, lifting the plant with careful hands. “They bloom if they get enough sunlight.”
He walked it over to the table by the window, setting it down where the light streamed through. He lingered, his fingers brushing absently over the pot as though he was settling himself. His posture was relaxed, but Nia could still feel the tension rolling off him.
“I got it because the leaves reminded me of dragon skin,” she admitted.
Lochlan glanced back at her, his expression shifting, surprise softening the harsh angles of his features. “Most people only like pretty, easy things.” He stepped toward her slowly. “You’re pretty. But you’re not easy.”
Her grip tightened on the edge of the desk as she looked up at him, their shoes nearly touching. “You think I’m pretty?”
“You walk into a room and I forget everything else exists.” He toyed with a strand of her hair before adding, “I’ve never seen anyone carry their fire like you do. I misspoke, pretty doesn’t cover it.”
Her breath caught. “What brings you to this side of Stella Rune?”
“I had a book to drop off a few doors down,” he said casually, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I thought I’d stop by. I… needed a distraction.”
A distraction?
Before she could unpack the weight of his words, he stepped closer.
“I needed you,” he said, his honesty cutting through what little remained of her defenses.
The world tilted as his hand brushed her cheek and his lips met hers. There was no hesitation, no pause to question. He kissed her like it was instinct, like they’d done it a thousand times before.
Her hands slid to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she leaned into him. The kiss was sure and familiar, but still sent a jolt through her, as if she hadn’t already memorized the way he tasted.
He broke away just enough to rest his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. “You make it hard to think,” he murmured, his voice unsteady.
Her laugh was soft, shaky. “Then don’t think. Let me be a distraction.”
His eyes closed briefly, his expression torn between restraint and surrender, and then he kissed her again—deeper this time. His hands slid down to the back of her dress, fingers gathering the soft fabric.
“This damned dress,” he muttered against her lips, frustration laced with desire. There was a mixture of reverence and urgency in the way he tugged at it, like the dress had been taunting him all day.
She felt everything—too much and just enough. Confidence surged through her veins, different from the usual self-assurance she carried. With him like this, needy and open, she felt untouchable. Like a siren pulling him under, leaving him powerless to resist.
“The dress, it’s magic,” she whispered when they finally broke for air, her voice low and teasing.
Behind Lochlan, shadows uncurled, fast and fluid, racing across the window and snapping the curtains shut.
Stella Rune vanished in an instant, swallowed by darkness and silence.
The only light came from the scattered lanterns and candles she’d placed around the office.
Their flickering warmth painted the room in gold.
“Mmm.” He leaned in to claim her mouth again, but she tilted her head back, just out of reach. His brow furrowed, his gaze locking on hers, making her pulse trip.
Satisfied with his attention, she slowly grasped the ties at her waist that kept the dress wrapped around her. With a quick tug, the fabric gave way, falling open like a spell undone.
“Damn.” The word came out rough as his eyes swept over her. Her bra, a light silk that shimmered in the low light, paired perfectly with matching underwear that left little to the imagination. Semi-sheer tights clung to her thighs and waist.
His hands slid slowly up the length of her legs, palms gliding over the soft mesh—practical, she’d told herself this morning. Nothing about it felt practical now. All she could focus on was the way his fingers lingered, his grip firm enough to make her breath hitch.
“Do you have another pair of these?” he asked, his tone almost too casual, but the intensity in his gaze gave him away.
“Yes?” she managed to whisper.
The seams tore before she fully registered his movement, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Her gasp turned into a soft cry as he swept her onto her back atop the desk, his hands firm yet careful.
He froze.
“I didn’t mean—” His eyes widened slightly, as if startled by his own boldness. “I just… acted. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
She lifted her head, breathless, and curled her fingers around his forearm. “You should,” she murmured. “That was hot. Don’t stop unless I ask you to.”
His gaze locked onto hers, dark and blown wide with want. He stared down at her, breath shallow, lips parted, every inch of him taut with restraint and need.
“What do you want to do next?” she asked, her voice low, coaxing.
It sent a thrill through her, the way he studied her like he was learning a new kind of magic—careful, focused, awestruck.
Her breath hitched as his thumb traced the silk covering her nipple, teasing her through the delicate fabric.
She arched toward his touch, her pulse thrumming with a rhythm only he could conjure.
He played her body like a spellcaster weaving quiet, potent magic.
His hand tightened at her waist, anchoring her as his attention dipped lower, the air shimmering between them, charged with unspoken power.
She pushed herself up on her elbows, her breaths uneven as she watched him descend, the contrast between his calm precision and the raw desire in his eyes leaving her dizzy.
When his lips pressed against her through the thin silk of her underwear, it wasn’t tentative. It was deliberate. Maddeningly restrained. Her body ached again, every nerve lighting up as he kissed her there, his breath hot against her.
“Is this alright?” he asked, his voice rough, hungry.
Her heart skipped, words catching in her throat as she nodded quickly, unable to do anything else.
But he wanted words, she remembered that as he punished her with a nip to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, making her cry out.
“Yes,” she gasped, her head falling back, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “Goddess, yes.”
One sharp twist, and her underwear tore free in his hands, the ripping fabric a delicious sound that sent shivers down her spine.
“Loch!”
There was no time for protests—not that she had any—because his mouth was on her.
His tongue pressed against her slick heat, and the first moan rumbled from his chest. The low, guttural sound reverberated through her, unraveling her inch by inch.
Her knees shot up reflexively, her body yielding to the tidal wave of pleasure surging through her.
He paused, just slightly, lifting his head enough to ask, “Am I doing this right?”
“Yes,” she breathed, hips moving toward him. “Don’t stop.”
That was all he needed.