Chapter 9 #2
"I didn't accept the roses." I trembled. "Clients give me gifts all the time. I thought it didn't matter. I didn't do anything, Lucien. Serena brought it up at dinner; she did it on purpose—"
"I don't care about that." He stopped in front of me, the fury in his eyes clearer now. "What I care about is that you lied to me for him."
"Lucien, I didn't! I—"
Before I could finish, my phone lit up on the vanity. The name on the screen was, of course, Julian.
I reached for it, but Lucien was faster. He grabbed the phone, pressed answer, and held it between us.
"Elora? You there? When's our next appointment?"
My blood ran cold.
"Lucien—" I whispered, almost begging. "Please. Hang up."
He didn't hang up. His other hand locked around my waist, pressing me back against the vanity. He leaned down, his gray eyes nearly black.
"I'll show him with actions." Lucien yanked down my underwear. "There is no next time."
"No, please—"
His hand clamped over my mouth before I could finish. The phone was still on, Julian's voice a thin buzz in the background asking if I was there. Lucien's other hand shoved between my thighs, rough, demanding.
"You want to explain yourself to him?" His breath was hot against my ear. "Go ahead. Tell him whose wife you are."
I shook my head frantically, tears blurring my vision. His fingers found me, forcing entry without patience or preparation. I gasped against his palm, the sound muffled and desperate.
"Elora? What's going on?" Julian's voice came clearer now, confused.
Lucien pushed deeper, his thumb circling with cruel precision. My legs buckled, but his grip on my waist kept me upright, kept me pinned. He leaned closer, his mouth against my temple.
"Say my name." His voice was steel. "Let him hear who you belong to."
I couldn't. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, refusing to give him that satisfaction. His fingers withdrew, and I barely had time to draw breath before he spun me around, bending me over the vanity. The phone clattered onto the surface, speaker still on.
"Elora, I'm hanging up if—"
Lucien's hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back as he kicked my legs wider. I saw our reflection in the mirror—my face flushed and tear-streaked, his expression dark and possessive. Then he thrust into me in one brutal stroke.
I choked on a scream. He didn't pause, didn't ease the invasion. His hips snapped forward again, driving deeper, and my hands scrabbled uselessly against the vanity top.
"Say it." His voice was rough now, control slipping. "Say whose you are."
I clenched my jaw, nails digging into the wood. Shame burned through me—not just at what he was doing, but at how my body was responding despite everything. He felt it too, felt how I was getting wetter, and his laugh was dark.
"Still playing innocent?" He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in. "Your body's more honest than your mouth."
"Elora?" Julian's voice again, distant and uncertain. "Should I call back later?"
Something snapped in Lucien. His thrusts became punishing, each one forcing small helpless sounds from my throat. One hand stayed twisted in my hair, the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise. The vanity shook with every impact, bottles and jewelry rattling.
"Look at yourself." He forced my face toward the mirror. "Look at who's fucking you. Who you're wet for."
I couldn't stop the moan that escaped. Couldn't stop my hips from tilting back to meet him. The humiliation of it crashed over me, but my body didn't care—it wanted more, wanted harder.
"That's it." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Stop pretending."
He shifted angle and hit something that made white explode behind my eyes. My mouth opened on a broken gasp, and he took advantage, his hand sliding from my hair to my throat, tilting my head back.
"I said—" He punctuated each word with a thrust. "Say. My. Name."
I was coming apart. Every nerve was fire, every muscle quivering. When he reached around to circle my clit with rough, knowing strokes, I shattered.
"Lucien!" His name tore from me in a scream.
He didn't stop. If anything, he went harder, chasing his own release now, his breathing ragged against my neck. I was boneless, barely able to stand, but he held me up, used me, until finally his rhythm broke and he buried himself deep with a low groan.
We stayed like that, both shaking, his weight pressing me into the vanity. Slowly, the haze cleared from my mind. I heard the silence first—no more tinny voice from the phone. Then Lucien's low laugh against my shoulder.
"He hung up." His voice was satisfied, lazy. "About three minutes ago."
Horror flooded through me. I tried to push him off, but my arms had no strength. He pulled out slowly, deliberately, and I felt his release start to drip down my thigh. When he finally released me, I collapsed against the vanity, unable to meet my own eyes in the mirror.
"Next time you think about lying to me—" He was already tucking himself back in, perfectly composed while I was destroyed. "Remember this."
He walked out. Left me there, dress bunched around my waist, his marks blooming across my skin. Left me with the shame of how my body had betrayed me, how some part of me had wanted exactly what he'd done.
The phone screen was dark. I didn't know what Julian had heard. Didn't know if he'd understood.
All I knew was that Lucien had made his point, and I'd never felt more like a possession in my life.