Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Lucian: Admit it, Doc.
That was the best meal you’ve had all week.
Olivia: I will admit no such thing.
Lucian: You didn’t stop eating for a solid ten minutes.
Olivia: That was survival.
You invaded my house and force-fed me.
Lucian: Force-fed? I literally set a plate in front of you and watched you inhale it.
Olivia: Semantics.
Lucian: Whatever helps you sleep at night.
Olivia: Not whatever.
Specifically, you’ve left, and I no longer have to deal with your presence.
Lucian: Ouch. You wound me.
Olivia: I just don’t understand why you had to take Sarah with you.
She was enjoying her stay at my house.
Lucian: You know, most people would say “thank you” after a home-cooked meal.
Not demand I leave my girl.
Olivia: Most people don’t break into their neighbor’s kitchen like it’s their personal playground.
Lucian: Most people don’t live next to me.
Olivia: Lucky them.
Lucian: Listen, if you let me help, I might let you keep Sarah occasionally.
Olivia: What’s the ulterior motive behind this?
Lucian: You seriously don’t trust anyone.
Olivia: You’re new to me, and I have yet to figure you out.
So, no, I don’t trust you.
Lucian: But you trust my dog.
Olivia: She let me rub her belly for twenty minutes.
Didn’t even move. Just pure bliss.
Lucian: That’s because she’s conning you.
Olivia: Conning me?
Lucian: Yeah.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
She plays the sweet, innocent, “I’m just a little Vizsla” card, and you’re completely under her spell before you know it.
Olivia: Maybe you just don’t have the magic touch.
Lucian: Oh, sweetheart.
If I put my hands on you, you’d never question my touch again.
Olivia: This conversation was going so well, and you just ruined it.
Ruined it.
Lucian: Ruined it?
Or made it a hell of a lot more interesting?
Olivia: You wish.
Lucian: I don’t need to wish.
I know.
Olivia: You have an unhealthy amount of confidence in your .
. . “touch.”
Lucian: I have the track record to back it up.
Every stroke? Precise.
Every move? Expertly timed.
You wouldn’t stand a chance, Doc.
Olivia: Oh my God.
Lucian: What?
Just stating facts.
Olivia: Facts require proof, and thank God I will never be able to verify any of your claims.
Lucian: Never say never, Liv.
You might find yourself in a .
. . compromising position someday.
And when that happens, you’ll beg to be my next case study.
Olivia: I’d rather perform my own lobotomy.
Lucian: That’s a lot of effort when all you’d have to do is let me make you forget everything else for a little while.
Olivia: I am not discussing this.
Lucian: Fine. We can talk about something else.
Like how you were looking at my hands earlier.
Olivia: I WAS NOT.
Lucian: You so were.
Olivia: I was watching you butcher my kitchen.
Lucian: Sure, let’s go with that.
But I saw how your eyes lingered when I was kneading the meat—real slow, firm.
Strong grip. Skilled fingers.
Olivia: Oh my God.
Lucian: And then when I was rolling up my sleeves .
. . The way you swallowed?
Thought I wouldn’t notice?
Olivia: Have I mentioned you’re delusional?
And your sleeves were already rolled up.
Have you considered writing fiction?
That could be your second career if the football thing doesn’t work out.
Lucian: I’ll ignore the last part of your text (but that hurts, Olivia).
My point is that even when you deny it, you’re thinking about it now.
How those same hands would feel on your skin.
How easily I could?—
Olivia: I’m busy, leave me alone.
Lucian: Or I could keep going .
. . Because I bet if I were whispering this in your ear, you would forget what you’re doing.
Olivia: I’m so unamused.
Lucian: You’re turned on.
Don’t deny it. You’d be too busy trying to keep quiet if I were there.
Trying not to let that little gasp slip when I drag my fingers down your spine, grip your hips, pull you flush against me.
Olivia: I AM DELETING THIS CONVERSATION.
Lucian: No, you’re not.
You’re holding your phone tight, heart racing, thinking about it.
Olivia: . . .
Lucian: That’s what I thought.
Olivia: I’m going to ignore you.
Lucian: And somehow, I believe that if I knocked on your door right now, you’ll beg me to stay.
Olivia: If you show up at my door, I’ll simply ignore you.
Good luck staying outside my door.
Lucian: That sounds like a challenge.
Olivia: It’s a warning.
Lucian: Mmm. We’ll see.
Be ready for me, Liv.
I don’t like to be kept waiting.
Olivia: I have to wake up early.
Lucian: You’re no fun.
Olivia: I’ve been telling you that, and yet, here you are, still texting me.
Lucian: Because I know what’s underneath all that resistance, sweetheart.
You like the push and pull.
You like the teasing.
And if I had my hands on you right now, I guarantee you tell me to wait.
Olivia: You think very highly of yourself.
Lucian: I don’t think.
I know.
Olivia: And what exactly do you know, Lucian?
Lucian: I know that if I were standing in front of you right now, I could have you naked in under two minutes.
Olivia: That’s bold.
Lucian: It’s honest. I’d start slow to mess with you.
Maybe brush my fingers over your shirt’s hem, making you squirm while I look you in the eye.
Then I’d drag it up, inch by inch, feeling your skin heat under my touch.
I bet you’d shiver when I get to your ribs, try to pretend you’re unaffected, but your breath would hitch—just a little.
Olivia: . . .
Lucian: And then I’d have your bra off, and, fuck, Liv, I’d take my time.
My mouth would be on your skin, teasing, tasting, sucking those perfect tits while my hands roam lower.
I’d strip you bare, get you trembling before I even touch you where you need it.
Olivia: Good bye, Lucian.
Lucian: No, you’d say more.
And when you do? I’ll drag my fingers between those thighs and find you soaked.
You think I’d tease you then?
Maybe. Maybe I’d take my time, stroke you slow, just enough to have you gripping my shoulders, panting in my ear.
Or maybe I’d drop to my knees, push your legs apart, and lick that sweet little cunt until you’re coming so hard you forget your damn name.
Olivia: Lucian.
Lucian: Say it like that when I’m between your legs, and I’ll make sure you don’t stop screaming it.
Olivia: I—I can’t believe you’re doing this.
Lucian: I’m just making sure you’re ready for what’s coming.
And trust me, sweetheart, when I get my hands on you, you’re not walking straight for days.
Olivia: You are so full of yourself.
Lucian: Baby, I’ll have you so full of me, you won’t be able to think straight.
Olivia: I’m ignoring you.
Lucian: Nah, I know you’re picturing it.
I’d start slow. Real slow.
Backing you up against the nearest wall, pinning your hands above your head because I know you’d try to fight me for control—at least at first. You like to be in charge, but you’ll let me be in charge.
Once you feel just how hard I am pressed against you?
You’d melt for me.
Olivia: Lucian .
. .
Lucian: Nah, sweetheart, you wouldn’t be saying my name like that.
You’d be gasping it.
Moaning it, begging me to touch you.
And, fuck, I’d take my time.
Kiss that pretty mouth of yours until you’re dizzy, drag my tongue down your neck, suck on that spot right below your ear that makes your knees weak.
O livia: You should try posting this on some website and leave me alone.
Lucian: Don’t interrupt me, or I’ll have to start again.
You’re ruining this moment, baby.
Olivia: You’re ruining my night.
Lucian: I’m making it a lot better.
More interesting.
Olivia: No, you’re not.
Lucian: Where was I?
Have I dropped to my knees?
Maybe, but let’s take it from there.
After that, I’ll spread those gorgeous thighs and take what’s mine.
My tongue on your clit, my fingers stretching you open.
Slow at first, just enough to tease, to feel how wet you are for me.
Then deeper, harder, curling my fingers just right while I fuck you with my mouth.
You know what you’ll be saying?
Olivia: Nothing. I’m bored.
Lucian: I bet you’re wet, just thinking how I’m going to make you come really, really fucking hard.
You’ll be seeing God when I’m done with you.
I’d keep going until you can’t hold yourself up, until your thighs are shaking, until you’re grabbing my hair and grinding that perfect pussy against my face as you need it.
And when you come? When you scream my name, body writhing, legs clenching around me?
I won’t stop. I’ll make you take it.
Over and over.
Olivia: That’s almost impossible.
Lucian: Not for me. I’ll make you come as many times as you allow me.
You’ll take my fingers, my tongue, and when I have you wrecked and desperate?
When you’re dripping for me, begging for more?
I’ll stand, wrap your legs around my waist, and fill you the way you were meant to be filled.
Deep. Hard. With my name falling from those pretty lips like a prayer.
Olivia: You need to take a breather.
The fumes from the paint in my house may be having a weird effect on you.
Lucian: Don’t fight this, baby.
Just know that when I’m inside you, breathing is gonna be the last thing on your mind.
Olivia: Selective reading again.
Lucian: Oh, I’m reading between the lines.
I bet you’ll be soaking wet if I go there right now.
Maybe you’re pushing those fingers inside that wet cunt.
Yes, I think that’s what you’re doing.
Olivia: You’re so arrogant.
Lucian: No, I’m right.
You want to pretend that this .
. . this attraction between us doesn’t exist. It’s okay though.
I have all the time in the world and I can wait for you to realize we could be great together.
Olivia: So, now we’re dating?
Lucian: No, I don’t date or any of that shit, but I could use a good friend.
A friend who I can fuck regularly.
A friend who’ll let me tie her up, spread her out, and use her pretty little body exactly the way she needs.
Olivia: Excuse me?
Lucian: Don’t play innocent now.
I bet you like being restrained, don’t you?
A little rough, a little controlled.
You’d love the feeling of silk around your wrists, and your ankles, keeping you right where I want you while I take my time devouring every inch of you.
Olivia: . . .
Lucian: Fuck, I can see it.
You’d fight at first, squirm, and try to get the upper hand.
But the second I slide my tongue between those thighs?
The second I have you dripping for me, begging me to let you move?
You’ll give in. Let me take over.
Let me wreck you the way you’ve been craving.
Olivia: How did we go from let me help you paint to .
. . this?
Lucian: I’m just getting started.
I have the feeling that you like it when it’s a little dirty, don’t you?
When you feel filthy.
Filthy because that makes you a good girl.
You’ll want when I slap that perfect ass and drag you to the edge, only to pull back at the last second.
Olivia: . . .
Lucian: I’d edge you until you’re shaking.
Until you’re pleading.
Until you’re so fucking desperate for me that you’d do anything I say.
And then? Then I’d slide my cock into that soaked little cunt, slow and deep, making you feel every inch.
Olivia: You’re an absolute menace.
Lucian: But if you allow it, you’ll absolutely love it.
Olivia: You’re wrong.
Lucian: Prove me wrong.
Let me tie you up, make you scream, have you so wrecked that you forget anything exists outside of me fucking you into oblivion.
Olivia: No.
Lucian: Be honest, Liv.
Your hand is between your thighs right now, isn’t it?
You’re soaked. You’re rubbing that pretty clit, wishing it was me.
Olivia: I need to block you.
Lucian: No, you need me.
So stop fighting it.
Open that door. I promise, sweetheart—once I get inside, I won’t stop until you’re begging me to keep going.