Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
brIAR
This cannot be happening, and yet, there is not a chance in hell that I’m going to stop Lucien from bringing me to orgasm. I’ve been aching for him almost from the moment I laid eyes on him, and the thought of his wicked mouth on my body is enough to make me wet, shower not withstanding.
I slump against the tiles, reach for him, and run my fingers through his hair.
His wicked mouth is kissing the inside of my thighs, his tongue sending a delicious shiver up my spine.
I want to order him, tell him to stop teasing me and do what we both want, and yet I also want to relish the build-up, to see what else he has in store for me.
I can imagine it’s nothing but wonderful.
“You’re so beautiful.”
I’ve not been spoken to in such a way for so long, not since Spain when Matteo was pretending to be someone he wasn’t. I push away the thought of my ex and throw myself into what Lucien is doing, what he is saying.
All the right things.
His tongue sneaks achingly close to my vagina, and I lift my leg, slipping it over his shoulder like some begging wanton. Lucien makes a growling, welcoming kind of sound that vibrates through my body, and before I can catch my breath, his mouth descends on me.
He licks from one end of my sex to the other, one long stroke that eliminates all thought. “Lucien,” I gasp, tilting my hips, wanting him deeper, harder against me.
I’m not myself. I’m not normally so forward, but I want this man. I want him for myself.
He presses fully against me, his mouth fucking me, his tongue rolling against my clit. I moan, fist his hair in my hand, and close my eyes, losing myself in his ability.
“Yes, just like that.”
He moves his hand and presses two fingers into me, curving his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside. I undulate on his hand, shamelessly rubbing my cunt against his face. He doesn’t stop. My desperation only seems to increase his determination, and I know I’m going to come.
“Lucien…” My legs shake as the first tremors of my release spike through me, taunting at first before they splinter through me, shattering me into a million pieces. “Don’t stop,” I beg.
He doesn’t. His mouth savors every last tremor that shudders through my body before he stands.
He’s before me now, fully clothed and dripping wet.
God, he looks good. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and I can see his muscular abs.
My breathing is ragged, my body craving more.
I reach for him, wanting him to fuck me.
He smiles and pulls my arms from his shoulders and sets me away. “Not tonight. Not yet. You’re injured and I don’t want to hurt you or for you to be in any pain. But once you’re healed, there will be no stopping me from fucking you until you scream.”
I shiver at his declaration, even in the hot shower. “I look forward to it.”
He moves out of the shower, grabbing a towel before he strolls casually out of the room. I watch him go, marveling at how controlled he always is. I want to break his control, have him lose his ability to be so calm in any situation.
I finish my shower and quickly dry myself, opting for a robe and nothing else. I make my way out into the kitchen and find Lucien behind the counter, cooking two steaks and some herb potatoes baking in the oven.
“You prepared this quickly.” I sit up on the stool at the bench and watch as he seasons the meat before placing it onto a hot grill.
“My cook left it prepared for us. I gave her the night off.”
“You like to cook?” I’d not thought that the CEO of Moretti Global would be so homey, but then there isn’t much about this man that I do know in truth, but from what I’ve learned so far he seems far better than most.
“Not particularly, but I can cook. I learned to when I had to make sure my brothers were fed. There weren’t many looking out for us at one time and so that responsibility fell on me as the eldest.”
I don’t like to hear that he, or any children for that matter, had a hard upbringing. It certainly explains why he has a drive for keeping people safe — family or friends.
I rest my elbows on the counter, watching him work the pan like he’s done it a hundred times. The scent of searing steak mixes with rosemary from the potatoes in the oven, filling the kitchen with something warm and homey. I didn’t expect this from him — didn’t expect any of this.
“You looked after your brothers,” I say softly, breaking the silence between us.
He nods once, flipping the steaks with precise movements. “Someone had to.”
“What about your parents?”
For a moment, the only sound is the hiss of meat as it cooks.
Then he shrugs, a small, guarded gesture.
“My mother tried but died when we were young. My father…didn’t make it easy.
” His voice is calm, but there’s something sharp under the surface, something he doesn’t invite questions about.
“I learned early that if I wanted things to stay standing, I had to hold them up myself.”
Lucien slides a glass of red over toward me. “Thank you.” I trace the rim of my glass with my fingertip, thinking about that. It explains so much — his constant vigilance, the way his attention never really rests, not even here. “It sounds like a lot to carry.”
He glances at me, eyes steady. “It was,” he admits quietly. “But I’d do it again. My brothers and I…we look out for each other. Always have.”
There’s a weight to his words that settles in my chest, heavier than I expect. Family, for him, isn’t just blood. It’s survival.
“My family’s different,” I say, offering him a small smile.
“Middle-class, small town in the middle of Ohio. My parents still live in the same house they bought before I was born. I used to think I’d never leave.
Sundays were for big lunches at my grandmother’s, Dad always falling asleep in front of the football after. ”
Lucien listens without interrupting, one hand resting casually on the counter, the other watching the grill. His expression doesn’t change, but I catch the subtle softening around his mouth, the faint crease at the corner of his eye.
“It sounds…” He hesitates, almost like he’s searching for the right word. “Safe.”
“It was,” I admit, a little wistful now. “For a long time. I thought that’s what life would always be like. Simple. Predictable. Then…” I trail off, shaking my head as memories of Spain creep in like unwelcome shadows.
Matteo.
I don’t need to finish the sentence. Lucien doesn’t push.
“You still talk to them?” he asks after a beat, surprising me.
“Every Sunday,” I say. “Mom calls. Dad pretends he’s not listening in the background, but I can hear him. My sister emails me pictures of my niece every week.” A laugh slips out despite the ache in my chest. “She’s four now. Wild curls, attitude for days.”
His mouth curves faintly, the closest I’ve seen him come to a smile tonight. “Sounds like she takes after you.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I roll my eyes, trying to hide it. “I don’t have attitude.”
“You do,” he says, flipping the steaks with an ease that borders on smug. “You just hide it better than most.”
I stare at him, caught off guard by the unexpected teasing. “Says the man who scowls for a living.”
That earns me the faintest huff of amusement, almost a laugh but not quite. It’s there and gone in a heartbeat, like a ghost.
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable.
It’s…companionable. There’s an ease here I haven’t felt around anyone in a long time.
We’re two very different people, from very different worlds, and yet — somehow — we both ended up here, sitting across from each other in his sleek kitchen, bound by bruises neither of us asked for.
“Family matters,” he says finally, turning off the heat. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve built…it’s for them. To make sure none of them ever have to crawl through the same shit we did growing up.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “I get that,” I say quietly.
“I came back to New York for a fresh start, but part of me came back to prove I could stand on my own again. Stand up for myself. My family would’ve let me move back home, wrapped me up in bubble wrap if I asked them to.
Perhaps I should have taken up their offer after all the trouble I’ve put everyone into. ”
“You didn’t ask to go home,” he says. Not a question.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I couldn’t. I had to do this myself.”
Lucien studies me for a long moment, his gaze searching but not prying. There’s something there — respect, maybe. Understanding. “You’re no trouble to me or mine.”
I let his words fill a part of me that hurts and I marvel at his kindness. We sit in silence as the steaks rest, the air between us warmer now, softer somehow, threaded with something unspoken neither of us wants to name.
But I have a feeling I know what it is. Respect, definitely desire, and maybe, just maybe, the craving for more…
Finally, he places a plate in front of me and gestures with his chin. “Eat. You need it.”
I smile faintly, picking up my fork and steak knife. “Yes, boss.”
He shoots me a look — sharp, unreadable — but doesn’t correct me. The weight of it lingers, because for the first time, I’m starting to wonder what it would feel like to call him my own.