Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
LUCA
She smiled now, and I fucking loved it.
The only difference was—this time, when she did, we didn’t force ourselves not to smile back.
She stood near the window, phone pressed to her ear, laughing at something someone had said. Her voice was soft, a little breathy, and every now and then she’d touch her hair like she wasn’t fully aware of how hypnotic she looked doing it.
I was sitting on the edge of the couch, watching her like I didn’t have anything better to do—because I didn’t. Not when she was in the room.
She was wearing pale pink satin again. A different cut than the other night—this one sweeter, softer, somehow even more dangerous.
Thin satin straps tied in delicate bows rested on her shoulders, the fabric clinging tighter across her chest this time.
Cream lace traced up one side like a corset, crisscrossed just enough to tease flashes of the skin beneath.
The back was open—bare, exposed—like an invitation.
My mouth went dry just looking at it.
It bothered me.
Not the satin—that? That was perfect .
It was the fact that she was smiling for someone else. Laughing for someone else. Giving them that voice, those eyes, the tiny sway of her hips as she walked.
I wanted it on me.
On us.
And the worst part?
I didn’t even know who the fuck she was talking to.
I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to care. But I did.
She hadn’t said a word about the other night. About what Bastion and I had done. How we touched her.
Bastion figured she’d blame the drugs. A side effect of blurred lines and soft highs.
But I’d seen the way her mouth opened for us. The way her thighs trembled. How she leaned back into Bastion’s chest like she belonged there.
She didn’t regret it.
She turned slightly, still on the phone, her hand brushing the windowpane like she was half-listening. Half here.
If only she knew.
If only she knew the only drug we were high on was her.
She paused mid-conversation, her expression tightening. “I can’t,” she said into the phone, softer now. “No—I’m still not allowed off Academy grounds. It’s part of the lockdown thing.”
Her eyes flicked to the window.
“Yeah,” she sighed, shifting her weight. “It sucks. I know.”
She didn’t say it with venom. Just acceptance.
But the kind that stung—like she was getting used to cages.
It was a condition Bastion had added last week—right after we figured out she had plans to meet someone in town for lunch. Some heir, probably. Someone who didn’t know how she took her coffee, or the way she got nervous when the thunder got too loud .
So, he just made a quiet call.
The restriction came through officially. A rule like all the others. Looked regular. Standard. As if it was coming from the Academy administration.
Not from two men tightening their grip around her without saying a word.
Bastion even had the reception send a copy of her lockdown terms to her email. It looked completely, impersonal.
She had no idea it was us.
And maybe that was the worst part—how easy it was to orchestrate.
How easy it was to pull the strings of her world without her knowing we’d threaded our fingers through every one.
She gave a small nod to whoever was on the phone, murmured something I couldn’t hear, then reached up and rubbed at her shoulder.
That’s when I moved.
Took the opportunity for what it was—a crack in her defenses.
She didn’t hear me approach. Didn’t flinch when I stepped behind her.
I didn’t say anything.
Just gently pulled her hand away and replaced it with mine.
My palm against her shoulder. Thumb easing into the knot at the top of her back.
She went still.
Finally and slowly —she relaxed into my touch.
Her body leaned back the smallest amount.
Trust, without even thinking about it.
I didn’t push.
Not yet.
But I was done watching from across the room .
I guided her gently toward the corner of my bed, my hand firm on her waist. Fuck. She felt amazing.
She followed without a word.
Still on the phone and holding some half-heard conversation but her body obeyed mine like it knew what it wanted more.
She sat, that satin clinging to her, made my mouth dry.
My blood thrum.
I moved behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders—thumbs digging in gently, easing the tension I knew she carried like armor. The reason she had an addiction to yoga, as if that could save her.
She kept talking.
But her replies were shorter now.
Less energy.
Less laughter.
More breath.
Just the way I liked her.
As I brushed her hair to one side— exposing her neck —I felt the shift. Her spine straightening. Her breath slowing. Her body giving in without even knowing it was happening.
My fingers worked into the muscles at the top of her back, and my other hand drifted lower—brushing along the side of her waist, tracing the silk of her dress.
Satin.
Fuck.
The way it slid beneath my fingers.
The way it clung to her shape.
My hand flattened slightly, pressing into her ribs—not quite possessive.
Not yet.
But mine all the same .
She still hadn’t told us how she felt about what happened the other night. Now I had my answer.
I could feel it in the way she leaned back into me now.
I could feel it in the way her words faltered when my thumb found the base of her neck.
I held the knot there, thumb pressing gently into the tension.
“ Breathe, ” I whispered, close enough that my lips brushed her ear.
She did.
Slow and soft.
Like her body already knew who it belonged to.
That’s when I heard it.
A voice on the other end of the line— male , laughing, easy. He said something, but I didn’t catch it all.
Didn’t matter.
It was a man.
That was enough.
My jaw tightened.
I didn’t care who he was. Didn’t care how she knew him. What pissed me off was that he had her attention— even for a second.
My fingers kept moving. Slower now. More deliberate. Working the knot of tension between her shoulder blades while the rest of my palm slid down, brushing over satin, catching on lace.
She was going breathless under my hands. Her answers turning to soft hums and half-whispers, like she’d forgotten she was supposed to be talking at all.
He must have noticed.
“You fall asleep on me or something?” the guy asked, joking.
A better man would’ve stopped there .
A man with self-control wouldn’t have done it.
But I’m not a better man.
And when it comes to her— I don’t pretend to be.
I leaned in just a little closer.
Loud enough for the mic to pick up every word as my fingers hovered over the delicate satin bow on her shoulder.
“Hey baby, can I undo your strap so I can get in better?”
There was a beat of silence—on both ends.
The best part?
She just nodded, completely dazed from my touch.
“ Yeah, ” she whispered, like it was obvious. Like nothing else mattered.
Like she’d forgotten who was still on the line.
I slid the satin bow loose with one hand, letting the strap slip gently down her arm.
Her skin was warm. Flushed.
My hand returned to her bare shoulder, smoothing down the curve of it with quiet devotion.
That was the thing about control.
Sometimes the most dangerous kind was soft.
That’s when the fucker on the phone yelled at her.
Sharp. Loud.
It snapped her out of the dazed state she’d sunk into—out of my touch, my control, out of the spell I’d wrapped around her with my hands.
She tensed under me immediately.
The soft curve of her spine went rigid, her head lifting as if she’d forgotten where she was—remembered only when shame hit.
I heard him, loud and clear now.
Questions barked down the line. Rude. Accusatory. Ugly in a way that made my jaw lock.
“ Are you serious right now? ”
“ Who the fuck is there with you? ”
“ You think I’m an idiot? ”
My fingers stilled against her bare shoulder. She didn’t move to pull away, but I could feel the way her breath shortened.
She wasn’t scared.
But she was ashamed.
And that made something dark in me twist.
Because no one got to talk to her like that.
Not in my presence.
Not with my hands on her body and her pulse still thudding from the way I touched her.
It took everything in me— every scrap of control I had left —not to rip that fucking phone from her hand and end the call myself.
Instead, I leaned forward again, voice low but razor-sharp.
“ Tell him you’ll call him back, ” I said against her ear, almost gentle.
But she could hear the threat buried in it.
Bastion would’ve snapped the phone in two.
Me? I was patient.
But if she didn’t end it soon, I wouldn’t be.
She made up an excuse and ended the call.
Quick. Breathless.
Not even looking at me when she did it—just muttered something about needing to go, about a meeting or a curfew or some other gentle lie.
But she said it fast.
And she said it first.
And that made my chest rise harder.
Eased some of the anger clawing its way up my throat.
Because when given the choice—between that prick and me .
She chose obedience.
She chose me.
I exhaled slowly and let my hand run down the line of her spine, knuckles soft, grazing the pink satin that still clung to her.
She shivered slightly.
But not from cold.
“Your back’s tight,” I said quietly, brushing her hair to one side again. “Shoulder pain’s referencing down… you’ve been holding tension here.”
She nodded, still avoiding my eyes.
Guilt lingered on her face, like she wasn’t sure if she’d disappointed me.
I leaned in and pressed my mouth to her temple, letting her feel how steady I was now.
How much calmer I was since she ended that call.
“You don’t need to explain,” I murmured. “You did the right thing.”
Her breath caught.
“Lay down for me,” I added, voice softer now. “Let me take care of it.”
She hesitated only for a second—then slowly shifted, slipping her legs onto the bed as I guided her down. The curve of her hips settled into the mattress, and I followed her with my hand, palm grazing her back, down to the small of it.
Fuck.
That satin. That skin.
And the way she just let me touch her.