Chapter 26
Lucio
I shouldn’t be here.
I should’ve let her run. Should’ve left her to stew in her own fucked-up obsession, let her pretend she still has some semblance of control.
But I don’t do should. I do what I want, and right now, what I want is her.
And she should’ve locked her fucking window.
The room is dark when I slip inside her room like I belong here.
Because I do. She made me belong here the second she decided to carve out a space for me in her mind, in her life. Watching. Following.
She’s obsessed. And I don’t think she even understand just how much I’ve let her get away with. The scent of cupcakes and something sharper wraps around me, seeping into my lungs. I breathe it in, exhaling slowly as I scan the space.
Princess is asleep. Curled beneath her sheets, her breathing deep, even.
For someone so careful, so calculated, she should’ve known that I wouldn’t take no for an answer, not after everything. She should’ve known that I’d find my way in. That’d I’d come for her.
I slide her window shut without a sound, moving toward her bed—silent, measured, watching the way her body shifts under the covers. The thin strap of her lilac nightgown has slipped from her shoulder, exposing the soft curve of skin beneath.
I don’t touch her right away. I just stand there watching. Waiting. Her breathing is even, but her body is too still. She’s not really asleep.
I reach out, trailing my fingers down the length of her leg beneath the sheets, and her breath hitches.
She wakes up wrong. Not startled. Not afraid. She knows it’s me.
She turns, eyes meeting mine in the dark, her lips parting on a slow inhale. “Lucio.”
I smirk. Not surprised. Of course she isn’t.
“Wake up, Princess.” I lean down, gripping her wrist and forcing her up.
I spot the bathroom door slightly ajar in the corner of her bedroom, and I drag her toward it. She doesn’t resist. She doesn’t even hesitate. The moment the door clicks shut, I press up against her from behind, my chest flush against her smaller frame.
She shivers, but not from fear. From something else.
Something darker.
I lean down, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Tell me,” I murmur. “Why me?”
She swallows, but doesn’t answer. I let my hands roam lower, tracing the curve of her waist, dragging my palms over the full swell of her hips. She feels so fucking good under my hands—soft, warm, mine .
“You’ve been watching me for years,” I whisper. “Following me. Taking pictures. Yet when I finally see you, you run.”
Her breath catches, her pulse fluttering beneath my lips. I smile.
“Do you want me?” I murmur.
She nods, barely a fraction of movement.
I slide my hand lower before trailing up her bare thigh beneath her nightgown, gripping the flesh, feeling the way she tenses. The way she melts.
“Say it,” I demand.
She hesitates for a second—one last act of defiance—before finally exhaling.
“I want you.”
That’s all I need. I grab the hem of her nightgown and pull it up, exposing the soft skin beneath. She’s still facing the mirror, her gaze locked on mine in the reflection.
She looks wrecked already. And I’ve barely fucking touched her.
I grip her jaw with one hand, forcing her to hold my stare, while the other slides lower, my fingers slipping beneath the lace of her panties.
Jesus. She’s already soaked.
I groan, pressing my lips against her neck and dragging my tongue over her pulse.
“Look at you,” I murmur against her skin, my fingers teasing her slit, dragging through the slickness before circling her clit. “Dripping all over my hand.”
Her breath shudders, her fingers digging into the counter as her thighs start to shake.
I don’t rush. I tease. Slow, lazy strokes, just enough to make her hips twitch. To have her arching back against me, desperate for more.
Her ass presses into my cock, the perfect curve fitting right against me. I groan, my other hand wrapping around her throat, forcing her to keep watching.
“You see that?” I whisper. “How fucking needy you look right now?”
Her lips part on a soft, breathless moan, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed over in the mirror. I push my fingers inside, slow at first, feeling the way she clenches around me, the tight, wet heat making my cock ache.
She gasps, her hands flying to the counter to steady herself. I stretch her, my fingers thick, demanding, filling her in a way that has her whimpering, her back arching, her ass grinding harder against me.
I groan. “Fuck.”
I press deeper, my thumb circling her clit in lazy, torturous strokes, watching as her body trembles, her thighs shaking from the pressure. I drag it out, keeping her on the edge, feeling the way her walls tighten around my fingers, feeling her body begging to break.
She whimpers, rocking her hips, chasing more, more, more. I grip her throat tighter, bringing my lips to her ear.
“Look at you. Being a fucking whore for me.”
She moans, her body burning, breaking. I pick up the pace, curling my fingers inside her, fucking her open, pushing her closer, dragging her higher. Her breath turns ragged, her hands clawing at the counter. Her thighs squeeze together, her back bowing, her hips rolling faster, more desperate.
“Lucio—”
She’s close. So fucking close.
I press my cock harder against her, letting her feel exactly how much I want her. My fingers fuck her harder, deeper, faster, the obscene slick sounds filling her bathroom as my thumb rubs circles against her clit.
Her whole-body tenses. Her breath catches. Her mouth falls open…
And then she breaks.
I feel it. The sharp clench around my fingers. The way her body shakes apart. The long, shattered moan that spills from her lips as the pleasure wrecks her. She comes hard, her thighs trembling, nails digging into the counter.
I don’t stop. I watch her throat work, drawing it out, making her ride every second until she’s panting, boneless, weak. When it’s over, I hold her up, my hand firm on her waist to keep her from falling.
I lean in, pressing my lips against her throat, her jaw, the corner of her mouth.
“You can’t run from me,” I murmur.
She shivers, turning her head slightly, our lips almost brushing. She doesn’t answer right away. For a second—just a second—I think she’s going to fight me again. But then she exhales.
And nods.
“Fine,” she whispers. “We’ll try this.”
My smile widens. But she’s not done.
“In secret,” she says. “I’m still engaged.”
Something dark, possessive, and territorial unfurls in my chest.
I don’t give a fuck.
I lean in, pressing one last, biting kiss against her jaw. “Not for fucking long.”