Chapter 5
FIVE
Lucan
She should be out of my system now. I fucked her five times in that elevator, and made her come once more in the car.
I should have officially had enough of Virelle. But when she walks into the office the next day, I’m still obsessed with her.
My cock throbs at the sight of her in a pencil skirt, her shirt stretched tight across her massive breasts. Now I know what those tits feel like in my hands, how soft they are, how she whimpers when I tease her puckered buds. All I want is another taste.
I guess this is what they call an addiction. But I don’t know how to deal with women like Virelle. What if she leaves me like my mother did?
The thought comes without warning, and it hits somewhere deeper than it should.
I know what abandonment feels like. I know what it does to a child when the person who is supposed to stay simply decides not to.
My mother taught me that lesson before I was old enough to understand why she had gone, and I've spent the rest of my life making sure nobody could ever have that kind of power over me again.
Virelle is already different. She has become important before I've given myself permission to let her become important, and that terrifies me more than anything physical we've done.
I don’t know how to be soft, or how to give her what she needs.
Apart from her sexual needs, I don’t even really know what she needs. But I want to find out. And that means I’m falling deeper into her web. I’m losing control. Knowing her as a person means I’m interested in more than her body.
Wanting her—her softness, her attention, her trust, her presence beside me when there is no bed between us—is something dangerous.
I push away from my desk. "Virelle."
Her head lifts immediately.
I walk toward her, and I can see the anticipation in her eyes before I even reach her desk. I stop beside her chair, forcing myself to ignore the way she tilts her face up toward me.
"Lunch break.” I tap her desk. “In my office. I need to talk to you."
Her smile appears slowly. "I'll be there."
She looks so happy that something inside my chest twists painfully.
I don't know what she thinks this is.
Maybe she believes she's simply my submissive now.
Maybe she thinks what happened between us was nothing more than an irresistible attraction that we finally gave in to.
But I know better. I can't let her believe this is something temporary when I have already started imagining her as part of my life.
I refuse to disappoint her. But I know I might have to break her in slowly, get her used to the idea of having me in her life permanently. Make sure she wants it, too.
By noon, everything is arranged.
I order lunch from the restaurant she once mentioned liking, despite the fact that the price is absurd. I don't care. I want her to sit at my table and eat something I chose for her. I want to see that pleased little expression when she realizes I remembered.
When she knocks on my door, my attention immediately leaves everything else.
"Come in."
She steps inside.
Her eyes move to the table.
Then to me.
"You ordered all this?"
"Sit."
She does.
I take the chair opposite her.
"Eat."
She looks at the spread of food, then at me. "Lucan, this must have cost?—"
"You don't need to worry about things like that."
Her brows draw together.
"But—"
"Eat, Virelle."
She reaches for her fork.
"Yes, Mr. Wrenford."
The response satisfies something in me, but I don't allow myself to dwell on it. Instead, I slide the document across the table.
"Read this."
She looks down.
"It's only two pages."
"It's important."
Her expression becomes serious as she begins reading.
I watch her eyes move across the page, and I wonder whether she understands what I'm trying to do here.
The contract isn't about ownership. It isn't about taking away her choices.
If anything, it's about making sure neither of us hides behind ambiguity.
When she reaches the second page, she looks up. "You want me to go on a date with you every week?"
"At least one."
She blinks. "And I sleep in your bed whenever you ask?"
"Yes."
"You put that in writing." Her cheeks color.
"I put everything important in writing."
A small smile touches her mouth. "Why the date? That seems like it’ll cost you money, and you’ll have to make time for it."
"Because I want to. Attraction doesn’t just happen by chance, Virelle. I need to know you in a romantic setting so I can keep being attracted to you. I don't want what happens between us to exist only in the bedroom."
Her expression changes.
I lean back, keeping my gaze on hers. "If this is going to work, I need to know you outside of that. I want dinners. Dates. Conversations. I want to know what makes you laugh and what makes you angry. I want to know what you want when nobody is telling you what to want."
She looks at me for a long moment.
"And you think that will keep the spark alive?"
"I know it will."
Her smile returns.
I feel it somewhere beneath my ribs.
The rest of the rules are simpler. She agrees to follow my instructions during our private sessions, to tell me immediately if something makes her uncomfortable, and to speak honestly about her limits rather than expecting me to guess them.
I reserve the right to choose certain outfits for our dates or private evenings when she agrees to play along, and I make it clear that anything involving her body remains subject to her consent.
She reads every line carefully, asks a few questions, and I answer every one.
Then she reaches the end.
Her finger traces the final paragraph.
"There's no end date."
"No."
She looks up.
"How long is this for?"
I hold her gaze.
"Until one of us decides we want to terminate it."
"And you won't be angry?"
"I might be angry."
Her smile falters.
"But I will respect your decision."
She studies me, apparently trying to decide whether I'm serious. I am. Finally, she picks up the pen. Her signature appears beneath mine.
She sets it down. "I can't wait."
Something tightens in my chest. Neither can I.
"Good."
"Then I'll see you after work." I take the contract and place it aside.
Her eyes brighten. "For what?"
"Our first date."
She stares at me. "Tonight?"
"Tonight." I reach for the box beside my chair and slide it across the desk. “And I want you to wear this.”
"What's that?" Her expression turns curious.
"Open it."
She lifts the lid.
The dress inside is far more daring than anything I've seen her wear to the office. I ordered it days ago, after realizing that my imagination had become increasingly particular about what I wanted to see her wearing.
It’s an extremely revealing dress with a very low cut, that will show the sides of her breasts. Given how large her tits are, I expect to see more than a few nip slips tonight and I know my dick will appreciate it.
She touches the fabric.
"You bought this for me?"
"Yes."
"It's beautiful."
"Wear it tonight."
She looks at me, then back at the dress. "I don't have the right bra for this."
"You won't need one."
Her eyes widen. "Lucan."
"My commands are absolute when we're playing by our rules."
Her blush deepens until it reaches her ears. I lean back and watch her struggle to hide her smile.
"I really like this," she admits softly.
"What?"
"The way you make me feel desired. The way you look at me like you want me naked right now. It makes me feel special."
The honesty in her voice catches me off guard. I look at her for a long moment. Then I tell her the truth.
"That's because I really desire you, Virelle. And I would have you naked and bent over my desk if I could."
Her breath catches.
I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice.
"And tonight, when the others are gone, I'm going to make sure you understand exactly how good it feels to be bred by me over my desk."