Chapter 35
I come with a cry, back arching off the desk, thighs shaking, vision going white at the edges as Lucian’s mouth works me through it like he owns my pleasure—because he does.
God, he does.
And when I finally collapse against the cool wood, breathless and panting, I manage to gasp out between whimpers, “Honestly? Waiting this long to have my pussy eaten might be the dumbest decision I’ve ever made.”
Lucian chuckles against my thigh, deep and indulgent. His hands are warm on my hips as he pulls back, dark eyes dragging up my body like he’s memorizing the wreckage.
“I agree,” he says, low and amused.
He helps me down gently, guiding me off the desk and into his lap. I straddle him instinctively, curling into him as he pulls me into a kiss—slower now. Softer. Still possessive, but with something unspoken lingering just beneath it.
I could stay here forever. Wrapped in him. Drenched in sweat and something that feels dangerously close to… more.
But I have to ask.
I hesitate first, trailing a hand down the front of his now half-buttoned shirt, drawing invisible lines over the ink beneath.
“Not to make this weird,” I murmur, still breathless, “but when do I get cleared for contracts?”
His fingers still on my thigh.
And just like that, the air shifts.
The warmth in his eyes fades, replaced with that unreadable storm-gray mask he wears so well.
I don’t even need him to answer to know I’ve touched a nerve.
“I mean,” I say quickly, trying to make it sound light, “most of the other girls have been cleared by their sponsors. A few already started first contracts. I’ve been putting up with your shit for weeks now.”
That earns me the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Instead, he leans forward, grabbing the leather folder off his desk and stuffing it full of contracts and paperwork like I’m not still in his lap. Like my question is a line he didn’t want me to cross.
“We’ll talk about it soon,” he says.
My stomach dips.
“Soon?” I echo.
Lucian’s jaw ticks as he flips the flap closed on the folder, his focus suddenly laser-pointed on anything but me.
“See if you’re ready for your first real contract,” he adds, standing and setting me aside like I’m light as air. Like I’m temporary.
I stay sitting on the edge of his desk, trying to hide how hard that lands. How deep it cuts.
So that’s it? A lesson?
Training?
I adjust the strap of my dress, the silence between us louder than anything he could say.
But I see it. The truth he won’t speak. The tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curl too tightly around the leather folder. The flicker in his eyes when he doesn’t think I’m looking.
He’s lying.
This isn’t just training.
It hasn’t been for a while now.
I’m not expecting some fairytale declaration. I’m not na?ve. But this is more than just sex. More than just punishment and control. He touches me like he needs me. Kisses me like he’ll die if he doesn’t.
And yet he won’t admit any of it.
Not yet.
But that’s fine.
Because I’m not going anywhere.
And if he won’t say it?
I’ll make him feel it.
One way or another.
He doesn’t look at me when he speaks next.
“The conversation’s over, Sienna.”
Cold. Final.
He grabs his jacket from the chair, slipping it on with ease. The fix of his buttons, the adjustment of his collar—it’s all too precise. Too composed. Like if he lets one detail slip, the entire mask might crack.
“I’ve got to report to the Capitol. Clear some mess with permits.” He says it like it’s nothing, but I know better.
Lucian Vale doesn’t deal with permits . He deals in shadows, in leverage, in threats whispered into the dark. This is a man who controls his empire with brutal efficiency. Whatever this is—it’s not paperwork.
“You’ve been busy with permits a lot lately,” I say carefully, studying the sharp line of his jaw.
He finally glances at me.
His expression is unreadable. “It’s under control.”
But it’s not.
I can feel it.
It’s been off for a while now. The tension in the building. The way security has doubled, tripled. The whispered conversations between Jaxon and Killian. The way Lucian disappears more frequently, only to come back looking a little more tired, a little more dangerous .
He’s keeping something from me.
Something big.
He walks to the door, his hand resting on the knob before he stops and turns halfway back.
“I won’t be at the sponsor luncheon tomorrow.”
My brows lift, surprised. “Oh?”
“More permit issues.” His voice is clipped. Detached. But I hear what he’s really saying.
Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.
Well.
That’s adorable.
Because I already know exactly what I’m going to do at the sponsor luncheon tomorrow.
And Lucian Vale?
He’s going to fucking hate it.
* * *
I t’s the first day of summer, and the weather has the audacity to be perfect.
The kind of warmth that kisses your skin, the kind of breeze that carries secrets. My skirt flutters with it—light blue chiffon, soft and floaty, like innocence stitched into silk.
A lie, of course. But it’s a beautiful one.
The glass doors open as I step onto the Ledger’s upper patio, and sunlight floods everything—illuminating the marble, the curated florals, the carefully dressed sponsors and companions mingling like this is nothing more than a garden party.
But for me?
It’s a chessboard.
Lucian is gone. "Permit issues," he said with that flat, clipped tone that always means don’t ask . He’s off playing king of the shadows while I’m here— queen by default .
And queens?
They don’t sit on the sidelines.
Trainees aren’t allowed full contracts until they’re cleared by their sponsors. But a soft contract ? One made with another sponsor—especially in Lucian’s absence?
Technically allowed.
And I plan to exploit every inch of that loophole.
Because the last time we had a mixer, Mr. Langston let something very interesting slip. A little comment, a passing remark that I tucked away like a dagger behind my back.
You know, Sienna… you were the top bid, right? We all wanted you. But Lucian pulled you before the decision went public.
He took me for himself. Made me believe no one had wanted me. That I was lucky he gave me a chance at all.
And maybe he thinks I should be grateful for that.
But today?
Today, I rewrite the narrative.
I scan the patio with a practiced eye—polite smiles, half-full champagne glasses, silk dresses and well-tailored suits. Then I see him.
Mr. Langston.
Early forties. Greying at the temples, but sharp in a navy linen blazer. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Handsome in a wealthy, clean-cut sort of way. The kind of man who collects assets for fun. Finance, if I remember correctly. Quiet power.
But for my purpose, he’s perfect. An older man, even more so than Lucian. Also handsome. Also rich. Also one that likes to dominate.
He’s talking to one of the senior companions. Laughing politely.
I wait until she’s called away before I begin moving toward him but he’s already spotted me.
Mr. Langston lifts his glass in a quiet acknowledgment, his eyes trailing down my body in that professional, not-so-professional way some men have perfected. I cross the patio toward him with a soft smile, the breeze tugging playfully at my skirt, brushing it against my thighs.
“Miss Knight,” he greets, ever the gentleman. “Summer looks good on you.”
“And you, Mr. Langston,” I reply, letting my tone land somewhere between flirtation and grace. “It’s a perfect day, isn’t it?”
He smiles, sipping from his glass. “I assume training under Lucian Vale has been… instructive?”
“I only wish it were a little more hands-on, ” I murmur, reaching for the champagne a server passes behind him. “But he’s very busy, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
That does the trick.
Langston leans in slightly, voice dropping as if he’s the one initiating something forbidden. “Well… some sponsors do make arrangements for a few opportunities with trainees they didn’t win. If the interest is mutual, of course.”
“That would be wonderful,” I say, stepping a little closer. My bare shoulder brushes against his arm resting on the bar, and I make no move to correct it.
As if on cue, the wind lifts the hem of my skirt a bit too high. I reach for it—but so does he.
His hand grazes down the curve of my hip, steadying the fabric, lingering longer than he should before pulling away.
“It is a beautiful dress on you,” he says, voice low. “Though I imagine everything is.”
I glance up at him, lashes low. “Perhaps dinner?”
Langston’s smile deepens. “I’d love that. I can log it into the system. Tonight, if you’re free.”
I tilt my head, eyes gleaming. “Well then… I’m all yours. Lucian’s out of town, after all. I think it’s safe to say my sponsor won’t be needing me.”
And that’s when I feel another presence join us.
A man steps into our orbit like he’s always belonged there. I haven’t seen him before. Not at any event, not in any file.
Which is strange.
Because events like these are exclusively for Ledger sponsors. But perhaps he is a new sponsor. I hear they are evaluated as each group of trainees moves on, before a new orientation begins.
“Apologies for interrupting your conversation with the striking Miss…?”
His voice is smooth. Rich. Intentional.
“Knight. Sienna,” I say, offering my hand.
He takes it delicately, shaking it like we’re on the edge of something that doesn’t need words yet.
“Miss Knight,” he repeats. “I couldn’t help but overhear—you’re being sponsored by Lucian Vale?”
“I am,” I answer, still holding his gaze. “It’s been… very educational.”
His smile sharpens. There’s something about it that feels too knowing. Like he’s seeing beneath my skin. Like he’s already decided what part of me he’ll bite first.
“You must be a remarkable Companion to catch the attention of Mr. Vale himself,” he says, eyes trailing just a little too long.
Langston clears his throat, polite but firm. “If you don’t mind, Miss Knight and I have a few things to discuss.”
“Of course,” the man says smoothly, still holding my hand with a reverent touch. “Forgive me. My name is Dominic Salvi. ”
The name is unfamiliar.
But the energy ?
It prickles.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Salvi.”
His lips brush my knuckles, slow and deliberate before he finally releases me. “I do hope we’ll have the chance to speak again. Soon.”
“Perhaps.”
I turn with Langston, letting him guide me across the patio—but I feel Dominic’s eyes on me the entire time.
Burning.
Watching.
Something about his feels electric and I catalog it away to look at his file later. If I’m scouting out possible clients to ruffle the feathers of my brooding sponsor, that man would meet the mark.