Chapter 4
LUKE
The cellar door swings shut behind her, and I smile.
She thinks she's found refuge. A place to hide, to catch her breath, to figure out her next move. She has no idea that she just walked into the heart of my trap.
I bring my fingers to my lips—the same fingers that were buried inside her no more than a few minutes ago—and taste her again. Rich and sweet, with that edge of salt from her sweat. The flavor goes straight to my fucking cock, making it strain until it’s almost painful.
Patience. I need patience.
But fuck, it's hard to be patient when I can still hear the echo of her scream as she came. When I can still feel the way her pussy clenched around my fingers like it never wanted to let go. When I know exactly what's waiting for both of us in that cellar.
I circle around the building, moving through the rows of vines toward the back entrance. The cellar is built into a hillside, the main door facing the vineyard while a service entrance opens onto a small courtyard hidden behind a stone wall. She'd never find it unless she knew to look.
And she doesn't know to look.
The night has grown colder, the February air biting at the exposed skin of my forearms where I've pushed up my sleeves. I barely feel it. My blood is running too hot, my entire body focused on one thing: her.
I think about what I left in the cellar this morning.
The candles—hundreds of them, arranged throughout the space to create a warm, flickering glow.
The red velvet chaise lounge I had delivered from an antique dealer in Napa, positioned in the center of the room like a throne.
The wine, carefully selected from my private collection.
The grapes and dark chocolates arranged on silver platters.
And the black heart balloons, of course. Clusters of them in every corner, tied to wine barrels and draped across old wooden beams. They're the thread that connects every part of tonight's experience—a dark Valentine scattered throughout my hunting ground.
She's probably seeing it all right now. Standing in the doorway with her eyes wide, trying to make sense of what I've created for her.
The thought makes me move faster.
I reach the back wall of the cellar and find the hidden entrance—an old service door camouflaged by climbing ivy. The wood is weathered but solid, the hinges recently oiled. I made sure of that when I was setting up.
The door swings open silently, and I slip inside.
The back room is small and dark, used for storage—empty wine crates stacked against the walls, old equipment gathering dust in corners. But through the doorway ahead, I can see the glow of candlelight and can hear the soft ambient music I programmed to start when the main door opened.
And I can hear her.
Her footsteps are hesitant, uncertain. She's moving through the space slowly, probably trying to process what she's seeing. I imagine her face—that gorgeous expression of confusion and awe she gets when she’s surprised.
She doesn't know it's me. Not yet. She's probably terrified, trying to reconcile the romantic setup with the masked predator who just hunted her through the vineyard.
I want her off-balance with her mind spinning with questions while her body still hums with the orgasm I gave her.
I move through the storage room and position myself in the shadows just inside the main cellar.
From here, I can see her—a vision in red silk, standing near the antique table where I've laid out the wine and grapes. The candlelight plays across her skin, turning her into something ethereal. She doesn’t quite look real.
My girl.
I still can't believe she's mine.
She reaches out to touch one of the black balloons, her fingers tracing its heart-shaped curve.
I watch the goosebumps rise on her arms, whether from cold or anticipation I can't tell.
Her red hair is wild around her face, tangled from running, and there's a smudge of dirt on her cheek from when I pressed her against the post.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I let her explore for another moment, let her take in the velvet chaise and the wine bottles and the careful arrangement of everything I've built for her.
Then I step out of the shadows.
"Welcome, my love."
She spins toward my voice, her whole body going rigid with fear. Her eyes are huge in the candlelight, darting from my masked face to the door she came through to the shadows behind me, searching for escape routes.
There are none. Every exit from this cellar leads through me.
I pick up the wine glass I left waiting on the table—a deep red cabernet that cost more than most people's car payments—and take a slow sip. The wine is rich and dark, notes of black cherry and oak rolling across my tongue.
"Did you really think I'd let you escape?"
She backs away from me, her hip bumping against the chaise lounge. "How did you—the door—"
"Secret entrance." I set down the wine and take a step toward her. Then another. "I know every inch of this place. Every room, every passage, every hiding spot." Another step. "You were never going to escape me. This was always where you and I were going to end up."
Her back hits the stone wall. Nowhere left to retreat.
I close the distance between us slowly, savoring every second of her fear. She's trembling again—that fine vibration I felt when I had her pressed against the post. But her eyes aren't just afraid. It’s darker.
Hunger.
Want.
She wants me, even though she doesn't know who I am. Even though I've done nothing but terrify her since the moment she woke up in this vineyard. Her body recognizes mine on some fundamental level, responding to me with an eagerness she can't control.
That's what makes this work. That's what makes it perfect.
I stop inches from her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. Close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat, to smell the lingering scent of her arousal mixing with wine and candle smoke.
"I don’t understand what you want from me?" Her voice is barely a whisper. “Why me?”
I reach out and cup her jaw, tilting her face up toward mine. My thumb traces across her lower lip, and I feel her sharp intake of breath.
"I already told you." I lean in, letting my lips brush against her ear. "Everything."
I pull back and take her hand, leading her away from the wall and toward the chaise lounge at the center of the room. She comes willingly, her resistance crumbling with every step.
I sit down on the velvet and pull her onto my lap, positioning her so she's straddling me, the silk of her dress hiked up around her thighs. The position puts her face level with mine, her hands braced on my chest for balance.
She's not wearing underwear anymore. I tore those off in the vineyard. Which means there's nothing between her bare pussy and the rough fabric of my pants except a few inches of air.
I can feel the heat of her, even without direct contact. I can smell how wet she still is.
I reach for the wine glass I set aside and take a long drink, letting her watch as it flows into my mouth. Letting the anticipation build.
Then I grip her jaw again, tilting her head back.
"Open."