Chapter 20
Currents of control
JUDE
Lorien returns, and he looks weary. His head hangs a little and he may as well be carrying the weight of the oceans with the way his shoulders are slumping.
It occurs to me that I don’t know him that well, and the few days we’ve been together haven’t taught me nearly enough to understand his depths. But I’ve never seen him like this and it unsettles me.
Lorien is many things. He’s violent, dominant, sharp-tongued, and infuriatingly composed.
The man moves like a blade unsheathed and he’s as capable of destruction as he is of devastation.
And yet here he stands, his body bowed as though something heavy has settled in his bones, his usual cool detachment fraying at the edges.
His gaze, when it lifts to mine, is shadowed, distant, as if he’s been somewhere I can’t follow.
I should say something. Or ask if he’s all right. But the words stick in my throat, too unfamiliar, too soft for the space that’s always existed between us. Instead, I shift my weight, watching him in the silence, and wonder what’s broken beneath his skin.
Lorien exhales, slow and measured, then drags a hand through his hair.
The strands are damp, clinging to his forehead as if he’s only just washed the blood off his skin—or tried to.
His fingers tremble, the barest, subtlest quake, but I catch it.
The only sign that something has shaken him, that whatever weight he carries is pressing harder than he’ll ever admit.
He rolls his shoulders, cracking the tension from his spine, but it does nothing to ease the tightness in his frame.
And then, just like that, the moment is gone. His mask snaps back into place, something colder, sharper sliding behind his eyes as he looks at me.
“Why are you dressed?” he asks, his voice colder than I’d expected.
I arch a brow at him, folding my arms. “Should I not be?”
Lorien doesn’t answer right away. He just stands there, watching me with that unreadable gaze, his breathing slow and measured like he’s forcing himself to stay still. The room feels smaller with him in it, the air heavier, charged with something unspoken.
Then he moves. Not fast, not aggressive, just deliberate.
But that’s more dangerous than either.
He steps further inside, his robe slipping from his shoulders as he shrugs it off, the fabric hitting the floor in a careless heap.
His shirt follows, fingers tugging the buttons loose before it’s discarded just the same.
There’s something methodical about it, something practiced, like he’s peeling away layers of armor.
I don’t look away. I should. But there’s something in the way his hands curl at his sides, the way his shoulders are still stiff and his muscles tense, making me hesitate.
“You weren’t when I left.” He exhales once through his nose, sharp and short, and then his eyes flick back to mine. “And you forget your place.”
I shouldn’t want to call him Master.
I shouldn’t want that word in my mouth, shouldn’t feel the way I do when I say it. But I do feel something. Something dark and low and curling, something that makes heat pool in my stomach and my pulse stutter like I’ve stepped too close to the edge of oblivion.
It should be humiliating. Degrading even.
I tell myself it is. That refusing to use it is just a game I’m playing, a way to get under his skin the way he gets under mine.
But the ugly, unspoken truth is that it doesn’t feel like a game at all.
Not when he feels like a surrender, and it feels right to give in to him.
I should push, or fight, or refuse to yield even when my body begs me to, and yet, when those golden eyes drag over me, weighing me, wanting me, I can’t help but want to answer.
And I don’t know why I’m still fighting it.
Lorien takes another step closer, close enough for me to feel the warmth of him, even though he hasn’t touched me yet. His fingers skim the front of my shirt, ghosting over the fabric. Not taking, not demanding. Just waiting.
My breath hitches. His fingers press, just a little firmer, and I feel it like a brand through the thin material. A challenge. A promise.
I wet my lips, pulse thrumming between my ribs.
“Master.”
The moment stretches, taut and electric.
Then Lorien moves.
His hands are on me before I can think, shoving my shirt up, dragging me forward, his mouth hot and insistent against mine. I don’t fight it. I don’t want to. The tension snaps like a rope pulled too tight, and suddenly I’m burning, my hands in his hair, clutching, needing.
He tastes like something dark, something forbidden, and I open to him without thinking, without care. His fingers dig into my waist, pressing me back against the nearest surface, and the heat between us threatens to consume everything.
I gasp against his lips, and he swallows the sound like he owns it. Like he owns me.
Because he does, and I want him to.
Lorien’s hands are everywhere, and they’re rougher than they’ve been recently.
His hands roam my body, more desperate, more possessive, as if he’s trying to lose himself in the sensation.
I arch into him, my own fingers tracing the hard planes of his chest, and he grips my hips hard enough to bruise, lifting me onto the table behind us.
My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer and his body lines up with mine, the heat of him burning through the thin fabric that separates us.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing kisses down my neck and when he reaches the junction of my shoulder, he bites down hard enough to make me gasp. The pain is sharp, exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through my body. I arch into him, wanting more.
“Master,” I breathe again, the word falling from my lips like a prayer.
I groan as his claws trail down my chest, shredding my shirt before they find my trousers and destroy their fabric just as easily.
The cool air hits my hardened cock and I tip my hips up, hoping to find relief against him.
Lorien rubs his erection against me and we grind into each other, taking and receiving pleasure from each other.
His fingers dig into my thighs, spreading them wider as he positions himself between them.
Lorien pauses, his golden eyes meeting mine, searching for something.
Permission, perhaps, or surrender. I gaze into the amber eyes above me, noticing their now laced with a dark desire as they stare down at me.
There’s still something haunted in his gaze, some shadow that lingers, but it’s overshadowed by the hunger I see there.
“I can’t wait,” he rasps, his voice rough and demanding. “Not now. You’re going to take my cock.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “I want this,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with need. “I want you, Master.”
With one swift motion, he pushes inside me, filling me completely.
I cry out, my back arching off the table as pleasure and pain mingle, setting every nerve ending on fire.
Lorien doesn’t give me time to adjust, setting a punishing pace that has me gasping and clutching at the table as it creaks beneath us.
Each thrust drives the air from my lings, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my core.
Lorien’s not gentle, not careful. His hips snap against mine with bruising force, each thrust driving deeper, harder.
I can’t think, can’t breathe, can only feel the exquisite stretch and burn as he claims me over and over.
His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. I want them to. Want to be marked, claimed, owned in every way possible. My legs tighten around his waist, urging him closer, deeper.
“Look at me,” Lorien growls, one hand leaving my hip to grip my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “I want to see you fall apart.”
The words seem to ignite something in him. His thrusts become even harder, deeper, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. I’m drowning in sensation, lost in the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of his skin when I press my lips to his shoulder.
Lorien’s hand snakes between us, wrapping around my aching cock.
His strokes are rough, matching his frenzied rhythm.
I cry out, overwhelmed by the dual sensations.
My body is wound so tight I feel like I might shatter at any moment.
Lorien’s eyes are locked on mine, intense and burning, watching every flicker of pleasure cross my face.
His thrusts become erratic, his breathing harsh against my neck. He’s close and I feel the tension of his muscles, the way his fingers tighten on my hip.
“I’m going to fill you with my come,” he growls.
I nod, whimpering as his words send a shiver down my spine and I moan louder, unashamed. My nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin.
Lorien drops his head and bites my chest, roaring as his cock plunges into me. His growl deepens and he shudders, his core contracting as he comes, and he thrusts again and again, taking every moment of pleasure from me.
He stills and I dare to stroke his head as he pants, trying to offer him the same tenderness he shows me. I feel him laugh against my chest before I hear him, and then his eyes flick up to meet mine, their smile dazzlingly beautiful.
“We’re not done, Jude.”
His eyebrow arches, and mine rises to meet it.
“You do want to?” he asks in a voice that’s dangerously seductive, gently easing out of me.
“God, yes,” I rasp, aware of the trickle of come leaking out of me. “Please, Master. I want to come.”
My cock’s throbbing and I’ve never needed anything more. I’m in agony, taken right to the edge of orgasm and then denied when Lorien came first. He’s already teasing my cock and I buck into him, pleading with him to give me more.
“Not yet,” he says, his eyes still hooded. “We’re doing this properly.”