Thirty-Five
THIRTY-FIVE
LEORA
I wake up feeling exhausted. Lucas’s words and my lies were haunting me in my sleep. I have to tell him the truth, but his words still hurt. So, instead of starting the conversation we need to have, I decide to go down to the café next to our apartment for a coffee and something sweet to calm my nerves before opening the discussion again.
When I leave my room, I’m met by Lucas sitting at the kitchen island, his head tilted toward the ceiling. He turns his face towards me and it doesn’t look like he slept much either. His face is etched with exhaustion and the hint of remorse is back. Our eyes meet, and a heavy silence hangs in the air. His lips are slightly parted, hinting at the words he wants to say, but the tension between us keeps him quiet. He knows that I lied; he told me he called Camille, and she told him I wasn’t with her. I’m in the wrong for lying but his words cut deep and I need some space before opening up the discussion. But even so, seeing him like this—almost broken—hurts. It’s my fault he didn’t get any sleep. It’s my fault he’s upset, and the feeling of guilt gnaws at me.
"I'm going to Jean Paul's. Do you want anything?" I ask, reaching my hand out. He adores their pain au chocolat and I can’t for the life of me go there without getting him one.
He stills, his back going rigid, and the broken look in his eyes is completely gone. "Who the fuck is Jean Paul?" Rage and a hint of something else—possessiveness, maybe—simmer behind his black eyes.
"I'm sorry?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.
It only takes him two seconds to get out of his chair and to eat up the distance between us. "Who. The. Fuck. Is. Jean. Paul?"
I let out a little laugh, unable to control myself. Lucas's eyes widen even further, his confusion evident on his face.
"Jean Paul’s"—I emphasise the "s"—"is the name of the cafeteria down the street."
He doesn't calm down in the slightest. I turn to walk away, but he catches up with me and twists me around, his hand gently gripping my bicep. His eyes are still burning with anger and his chest is heaving with each breath he takes.
"I don't believe you, Leora," he growls, his voice dark. I didn’t think it was possible but he’s even more furious today.
"Where were you yesterday?" His subject change catches me off guard.
"I told you, I was working and lost track of time."
"Let’s try that again." He challenges. "Where were you yesterday, Leora?" My name on his tongue feels like a threat, a promise of something deliciously dangerous to come.
"The truth this time," he persists, voice low and menacing as he takes a few steps toward me, making me walk back until my back collides with something solid. His arms cage me against the wall.
His body presses closer, flush up against mine, making it difficult to concentrate on anything other than him. Or his smell. Why does he smell so damn good? I can’t think clearly with him this close, his scent all around me—consuming me. He smells like a man who’s embraced his masculinity, a tantalizing blend of earth and untamed nature.
"Who gave you that bruise?" His gaze flickers down to my wrist, his finger following his perusal. He caresses the marks gently, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
"I, um, I bumped into a table. It’s nothing," I say, feeling my cheeks heat up.
I can see the look of disappointment in his eyes, and it makes me feel incredibly guilty.
"A table, hmm? I don’t know who you think I am Leora, but if I want to find something out, I will."
The blood drains from my face as I struggle to find the right words to say. But before I can attempt to explain myself, he continues speaking. "I know where you were yesterday. You went to see that ex of yours."
My eyes widen as I hear the accusation in his voice. How could he have known? I had been careful, but it seemed that Lucas was one step ahead of me. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. Caught in the silence, I struggle to find an explanation that could undo the damage already done
"Don't try to lie to me, Leora," he snarls, pinning me with a hard glare. "I have eyes and ears everywhere."
My mind races, trying to come up with an explanation, but I know it's no use. I can see the anger and hurt hidden behind his words, and I break. I do what I should have done yesterday—I confess.
"I-I only met him because he showed up here, out of the blue. I had to tell him to leave me alone and to move on."
"You lied to me." Lucas's body is still pressed up against mine, and I can feel every hard ridge of his torso against mine.
"I’m sorry," I murmur.
His eyes go back to the bruise on my arm.
"I’m okay, Lucas. It’s just a bruise."
"No, he hurt you, and if that coward hadn’t left the country yesterday, I would have hurt him too." His hands clench into fists on the wall, and the anger in his eyes is palpable.
I can’t believe my ears, why would he do that. Why would he go after John?
To be honest, I’m happy John left France. Even though he’s hurt me in several ways, I don’t think my conscience could handle Lucas hurting him.
I swallow hard, the air between us heavy with tension. "You went to see John?" I cautiously inquire, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I had to make sure he understood the consequences. No one hurts you and gets away with it. But I was too late."
"I appreciate that you want to protect me, Lucas," I say, meeting his eyes, "but I didn’t ask you to go after John. I can handle him."
His brows furrow, frustration in his expression. "I don't want you seeing him again, Leora."
I understand where he’s coming from, but it’s not his decision who I have coffee with. It’s not like I’m planning on meeting John in the future; I never want to see him again. But Lucas’s possessive ego is starting to annoy me and as much as I want to belong to him, I don’t. He’s made sure of that.
"You don't get to decide that," I retort, lifting my chin in defiance.
He lets out a deep laugh. "Yes, I do." He pulls my hand up and we both glance at the ring on my finger. "As long as this pathetic excuse for a ring is on your finger, I decide," he asserts, his tone filled with possessiveness. The audacity of his claim fuels the fire burning inside me.
Who does he think he is? What the fuck is wrong with him?
We’re only friends, Leora.
You look good in red, Leora.
You’re funny, Leora.
You can't meet him, Leora.
What does he want from me?
"No, Lucas," I retort, my voice filled with defiance. "A ring doesn't give you ownership over me and who I can see. We're just friends, remember?"
His face contorts in frustration, lines etching deep furrows across his forehead. "Friends?" he scoffs, his voice laced with disbelief.
"Yes, Lucas," I respond, my voice steady despite the surge of emotions coursing through me. "That's what you said, remember? During my stunt in Paris."
His eyes search mine, the turmoil within him mirroring my own, and the pull between us grows stronger.
He completely ignores my words. "I won't tolerate you meeting up with anyone behind my back, and I sure as hell won’t tolerate anyone touching you—leaving a mark on you."
"Oh, really? And what are you going to do about it, hmm?" I challenge.
A wicked smile curls his lips, his eyes gleaming with a hint of danger. His hand finds its way to the small of my back, pulling me flush against his chest.
"You have no idea what I'm capable of, darling. But I promise you, if you continue testing my patience, I will take you up on my promise to take you over my knees." His voice drops to a low, husky whisper, filled with an intoxicating blend of authority and desire.
The magnetism between us is almost unbearable. But I refuse to back down. "I belong to myself, Lucas. No one owns me. Not you or anyone else."
The air crackles with tension as our bodies remain locked in proximity, the invisible boundary between us blurring with each passing moment.
Scratch that . There are no boundaries.
He presses his hips to me and I feel?—
Oh, shit.
This is turning him on.
My hips push forward of their own accord, and I curse myself as Lucas returns my movement with a smile because now he knows I’m turned on, too.
His hand moves up to grasp the back of my neck, his fingers digging into my skin.
"Is that so?" I can feel his lips brushing against my ear, and I know I should push him away, but I can't. My body is responding to him, and no matter how hard I try, I can't resist it.
"Yes," I whisper as an answer.
Just friends.
Just friends.
Just. Friends.
His hand continues its movement from my neck to my hair, tangling his fingers in the strands and pulling my head back, forcing me to look up at him.
"You belong to me, Leora. It’s in our agreement," he declares with raw desire. His eyes darken, revealing a side of him I've never fully seen before— but oh, how I’ve dreamed of it.
My breath catches in my throat, anticipation and apprehension filling the air. The intensity of his touch and the commanding authority in his voice sends a rush of heat through my veins. I’m on fire. As much as I want to deny it, there's a part of me that craves his dominance, and longs to surrender to his power. I’ve known this for a while—I knew it in Paris, and I threw myself at him, wishing for this response, but he didn’t want me.
" You told me we were only friends. You denied me. You don't get to claim me or control me," I assert.
"I didn’t mean it."
An amused laugh escapes from my throat. "Well, Lucas, it seems you have a lot of catching up to do if you think you can just flip the switch like that," I respond, raising an eyebrow.
His eyes flicker between mine, and he takes a deep breath before he speaks again. "I never flipped the switch, it was always on for you."
"You’re not making any sense."
He presses himself into me even harder, making a point. "I mean, I. Want . You."
I feel his want for me, and I want to believe him, I really do, but what if this is a test?
"And you want me, too," he continues, his voice husky and filled with raw honesty.
Is it that obvious? I can feel the heat rising through my body, most prominently between my legs, and I’m probably dripping at each and every word that leaves his tongue.
He leans down again, leveling his gaze to mine, so close that our lips almost touch.
I shake my head and say, "I was drunk."
He tsks. "No more lying." His grip on my hair tightens, a spark of both challenge and longing flickering in his eyes. The charged energy between us becomes almost tangible.
His eyes roam my entire face and they land on my lips. His chest is heaving and the look in his gaze could make any woman fall to her knees. But before I get the chance to say anything, he lets out a breath muttering, "Fuck it," and then his lips crash down on mine.
His kiss is rough and demanding—almost punishing. I'm caught off guard for a moment, but then I give in. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our kiss deepens.
He slows the kiss, teasing my lips, and sweeps his tongue into my mouth in a dance, and I follow his every leading step. My hips are rocking against his—I can’t help it, and I earn myself a groan that sends a surge of pleasure through me .
"You are my wife." His lips move to my neck and he finds the sweet spot that makes me moan out loud. "No one touches my wife ."
I don’t know if I’m once again dreaming, but this, between us feels right. It feels perfect.
"You’re mine," he growls against my neck and his hand in my hair tightens. "Say it." And I give in almost immediately.
"I'm yours." There's no denying it—I’m his, and he’s mine.
"That's right," he murmurs while his hands slide down under my ass and he lifts me up, pushing me flat against the wall.
His lips find mine once again in a toe-curling kiss, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pressing my hips deeper into him. Another throaty groan escapes his lips as I grind against him, feeling how hard I’m making him. It makes me smile against his lips. It feels like an award—it’s me making him feel this way.
We keep kissing and I don't realize we're moving until my back bounces on something soft—a bed.
He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing a path of fiery kisses along my jawline. His voice is a seductive whisper against my skin, filled with a hunger that matches my own. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
His hands roam slowly, teasingly, over my body, igniting a trail of electrifying sensations wherever they touch. His fingertips glide over my dress, and the warmth of his touch against the exposed skin of my neck feels incredible. I arch my back, seeking more of his touch, my fingers grazing the fabric of his well-fitted shirt. As our bodies intertwine, I'm acutely aware of the subtle details—the play of fabric, the contour of muscles, and the irresistible force drawing us closer.
My hands reach for him and I slam my lips back on his. This time, I’m in charge, and I want more. My tongue finds its way into his mouth and he welcomes me with his. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against me. Our bodies move together in a rhythm that is both familiar and intoxicating, as if we were always meant to find each other, in this moment. But that feeling is quickly lost as he pulls away, breaking our connection.
"No!" I breathe at the loss of his lips.
"I need you to tell me I can touch you in private."
A small giggle escapes my lips. "Haven’t you been touching me?" I rise up, leaning back on my arms. My giggle fades when I find his face all serious.
"No, I want to really touch you. I want you to feel me everywhere for days to come."
"Yes, please. Please touch me."
That seems to satisfy him because he nods and takes off his shirt, and I’m stunned again. Even though I’ve seen him shirtless several times, this time is different. His tattoos feel like a newly discovered secret, even though I’ve seen them many times. It’s the way they seamlessly transition from his full sleeve onto his chest creating an intricate tapestry of Arabic scribbles and symbols. Each mark appears to hold a unique story, and I'm filled with an irresistible curiosity to decipher every single word.
As I trace the lines with my eyes, I can’t resist the urge to reach out with my hand. At my touch, his whole body shivers, and I look up to find him focusing intently on my finger, his eyes igniting with desire. My finger continues down his stomach, following the faint line of hair that trails down his incredibly muscular abdomen and disappears past his waistband. A waistband I want to pull down right this second.
He’s so damn perfect.
"Thank you." He laughs as he leans down, hovering over my lips. "You’re quite perfect yourself."
Did I say that out loud? I don’t even know how to exist normally, he's making me malfunction.
His hands find the hem of my dress and he sucks in a breath when he slowly slides the material up my thighs and over my stomach until my breasts are completely on display for him.
His lips immediately lower to them and he sucks on one of my nipples while massaging the other—switching back and forth between them. It feels so good, but I need more. Much more. Several whimpers leave my lips and before I know it his hand trails down my stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The anticipation builds with each caress, as his hand ventures lower, inching closer to the place that aches for his touch the most. My breath hitches in my throat, eagerness coursing through my veins.
"Are you already wet for me, Leora?" He’s smirking because he knows the answer. He knows he'll find me completely and utterly soaked for him.
"You’ll have to find out for yourself," the words come out as a whisper—a whisper filled with the exact need he’s asking about.
He’s so close and all I want to do is scream at him to touch me.
I’m on edge, and if he doesn’t quench my thirst for his touch soon, I might have to put his hands on me myself, guiding him.
But there’s no need for that.
His fingers slide over my red underwear and when he finally feels the wetness that has been pooling there, he swears under his breath.
"Fuck, is this all for me?" His fingers caress me through my drenched underwear, making my head fall back. These past weeks have been foreplay—the arguing, the pushing each other's buttons, the flirting, everything . There’s been something in the air since the first day I laid my eyes on him in the lobby, and even though I didn’t like it, I’ve wanted him since.
His caressing stops and my eyes meet his in a plea to continue.
What is he doing?
"Answer me. Is this all for me, Leora?"
This man is going to be the death of me. The smirk on his face is both enticing and infuriating, a dangerous combination that leaves me almost breathless.
"Yes, who else?" I snap, and the only response he gives me is a devilish smile right before his caressing fingers return. This time, to slide my underwear to the side and finally, finally touch me.
Skin to skin.
He uses his finger to gather my wetness and spread it around, teasing me and driving me crazy.
"Lucas, please," I plead
He studies my face, a playful glint in his eyes. "Patience, Ya Amar ."
His finger moves to my entrance and he slowly slides it in, a deep groan leaving his lips. My back arches even more, and his eyes dart to mine, studying me. He stops his movement looking completely in awe.
"More," I breathe and he rewards me, sliding a second finger inside, slowly pumping them in and out.
His lips find their way back to mine, where they belong. It feels as though my whole body is on fire, engulfed in a blazing inferno that consumes every inch of my being and he’s the only one who can quench the flames.
His touch quickens, and I’m so close. So close.
Another moan leaves my lips as his thumb draws circles on my clit.
"I need you to come all over me—my hand, my tongue, and my cock."
I’m momentarily shocked over his words, but they fuel me even further. He curls his fingers hitting the right spot as he applies more pressure on my clit. Every touch, every kiss, sends waves of desire coursing through me, igniting a hunger that can only be satisfied by him. The intensity of our connection is pushing me to the edge of an abyss I'm desperate to plunge into.
I come with a deep moan as I feel myself pulsing on his fingers as he continues pumping into me while his lips suck on my neck. My whole body is shaking and when I come down from my high, and I open my eyes to see he’s sitting back on his knees, his abs flexing as he watches me in awe.
"Good girl." He slowly licks his lips. "That’s one."
Good girl.
I don’t understand how he just fucked me with his fingers, but him using the words " good girl" is what causes me to blush.
Instead of waiting for him to come to me, I push myself up and try to grab at him, needing his weight on me, but he doesn’t allow me to.
Another tsk leaves his lips. "Now, now wife . . . patience. I have other plans first." He rises from the bed and stands at the edge of the bed frame. I frown at his words. What is it that he doesn’t understand? I want him now, but of course, he has some "other plans" because he likes to annoy me.
"What kind of pla?—"
His hand clutches my ankles and he drags me down the bed making my legs dangle at the end.
"What are you doing?" I say with a laugh
"I told you, you’re coming on every part of me today," he says with such authority as he lowers himself down on the floor, kneeling between my legs. "I want to taste you." His lips hover close to my core and his breath reaches the right places, but he’s not touching me just yet.
"I don’t kneel for anyone, Leora." He turns his head left and right, kissing my inner thighs. "But for you." Kiss. "I’d kneel every second of the day. If it meant having you spread out like this." Kiss.
I feel his teeth biting down on my inner thigh—leaving a mark—so close to my core and I moan at the hint of pain.
"That’s the power you hold over me."
Oh my god.
The sight of him between my legs is surreal, and when he leans in to take his first real taste, we both moan at the same time. Then my world spins off its axis as he begins to devour me.