Chapter 20
Laurette Devereux
The old Laurette would’ve woken up with regret. The new Laurette woke up with bite marks and no shame.
My body is wrecked in the best way. Heavy. Aching. Gloriously used. I stretch across the bed, bare skin grazing sheets that still smell like him. Musk and leather. Sweat and sin.
I still smell like him this morning… and what he left inside me.
Every nerve in my body sings with the memory of last night.
I’ve never felt this good after sex. Not with Jon David.
Not with anyone. Not in all the years I’ve tried to convince myself sex was about emotional connection, intimacy, and eye contact—all the things you read about in romance books and see in movies.
I believed you could train a man to touch you the right way if you gave him enough time and feedback.
No feedback is necessary. One night with B and I’m ruined for anyone else.
I flip onto my stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow. My thighs ache in the best way. Sore. Spent. Stretched. I smile to myself, stretch again, and glance at the burner phone on my nightstand.
No messages.
But there’s a folded note tucked beneath it.
I sit up, heart thudding, and unfold the paper.
Babygirl,
You were made for this.
Keep that necklace on and stay wet for me. Keep thinking about the way I filled you and how deep I went.
Start practicing how to beg. Your Wolf will return soon.
—B
A shiver rolls through me.
Still no name. Nothing but heat, command, and the promise of more.
I stare at the blank burner screen, stomach fluttering.
I don’t understand the rules of this. Whatever this is.
It’s not a relationship. He’s not my boyfriend. We didn’t exactly make small talk last night.
And yet, I ache for him. God help me, I ache.
I pick up the phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Should I text him? Would that cross some invisible line? This isn’t dating. I can’t ask how his morning’s going.
He said he’s coming back. Does that mean I wait?
Or can I reach out first?
Shit. I need to talk to someone who won’t flinch when I say I let a nameless man blindfold me, tie me up, and fuck me without mercy.
No kisses. No sweet words. Nothing soft. Just commands and filthy words and hands that knew exactly how to break me open.
And I let him. I wanted every brutal second.
Only one person comes to mind. I call Brielle before I can talk myself out of it. She answers on the second ring, chipper as ever.
“Morning, sunshine. Back to the grind?”
“Ugh… don’t remind me.” My inbox is probably already drowning. “Can you do lunch today?”
A pause. “Depends. Are we talking basic bitch salad or wine and secrets?”
“Definitely wine and secrets.”
Brielle doesn’t ask questions. “Savreaux’s at noon?”
“Perfect. I’ll text you when I’m leaving.”
I stretch under the sheets, my body still thrumming. The ache between my thighs is a perfect echo of every thrust, growl, and command. He left me in a puddle of sweat and sex and satisfaction.
And I didn’t want him to go.
I finally drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I wash away most of the evidence from last night, but some of it lingers. A faint bloom of red stains the side of my neck—a hickey from his rough kiss. I dab concealer over it, but it still throbs, carrying its secret beneath the surface.
The necklace stays. It’s more than jewelry now—a sign of his ownership.
I make it to work, coffee in hand, and I spend the morning trying to focus. Legal briefs blur, and words bleed together. All I can think about is B. His hands. His voice. His cock. His obsession.
My obsession.
And how badly I need to talk to someone about him and say the words out loud. Because if I don’t, I’ll combust.
A few hours later, I push open the door to Savreaux’s, a cozy, low-lit bistro off Magazine Street. Brielle is already there, leaning back in her chair, nursing a glass of chilled white. She looks up, a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes.
“Hello, darling. Hope you’re in the mood for white today,” she says, gesturing to the wine glass.
“White is perfect.”
“Oh my. You’re glowing.”
My stomach flutters as I slide into the seat across from her. “I’m a lucky woman.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Credit goes to a certain obsessed stalker?”
I lean in, unable to stop the grin. “He came over last night.”
“Ooh, I’ve been waiting for this.” Brielle’s lips twitch. “I assume he didn’t bring beignets and café au lait?”
I laugh a little too loudly, but the secrecy of the corner booth shields me. “Not even close. He brought dick… and plenty of it. Trust me, he blew past every expectation I dared to hope for.”
Brielle laughs. “That sounds deliciously satisfying. I want to hear everything.”
I bite my lip, the memory still clinging to my skin—every moan, gasp, and filthy word that wrecked me from the inside out.
“It was everything and more. He fucked me until he cracked my back like a glow stick and lit me up from the inside. I came twice in record time,” I whisper, bracing myself against the edge of the table.
“He went down on me like I was his obsession. Like he needed to savor every drop. I was shaking and moaning. He didn’t stop until I was begging. ”
Brielle’s brows shoot up. “That good?”
I nod, my breath catching. “He buried his face in me and when he sucked my clit…” I trail off, stunned by the heat rising in my chest. “Brielle, I saw stars. No one’s ever eaten me that way. No one’s even come close.”
Especially not Jon David. He barely ever went down on me—and when he did, it was half-hearted at best.
But I guess that makes sense, considering what I know now.
She fans herself. “Well damn. Keep talking.”
My voice drops. “He put his thumb in my ass… and Brielle… I’ve never come so hard in my life. No one’s ever done that to me before. I didn’t think I’d be into it. I. Was. Wrong.”
I shake my head, body buzzing all over again. “Damn, it was so good.”
Brielle lowers her glass, leaning in. “Now that’s what I call a proper performance. Not surprised, though. That’s how it goes with these guys—the Daddies, the Sirs, whatever they want to be called. They love that ass.”
I shrug, my face burning. “He wasn’t just dominating me. He focused on me, on pleasing me. Every word he spoke, every touch—my pleasure was the goal.”
She nods. “That’s what I told you. A man with that headspace lives for it. Your satisfaction is his top priority. It’s his high.”
My heart lurches. I flush, remembering his weight over me. The praise and restraint and ruin. I never realized how much I wanted someone who was consumed with satisfying me.
“It was unexpected. I thought the sex was going to be reckless and dangerous, and that would be the turn-on. The payoff. And it was. But last night was also something more. Sure, he talked filthy to me, but he also worshipped me. It was intoxicating.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “That’s rare, babe. God, that’s rare. Those are good types of control.” She leans in. “Praise kink. A dominant man obsesses over pleasing his woman. They crave the sounds and reactions.”
I nod, my heart pounding. “He called me his good girl and told me I belonged to him. That he’d never share me. That he’d protect me.”
Brielle sighs, eyes a little glazed. “These men don’t just take—they give. It’s not a game. It’s worship. And the control? That’s part of it. But so is wrecking you in the exact way you need.”
I rest my chin in my hand, stunned. “He wanted my pleasure more than anything. Not the other way around.” I laugh under my breath, and a strange, euphoric disbelief coils in my chest. “No wonder I came so hard. His hunger pumped through me.”
She tips her head. “See? That’s the entire point. Because he worships you, you surrender. That submission… it’s electric. And it only gets better as the trust grows.”
“I’ve never experienced anything like this. I never wanted to until him.”
Brielle grips both my hands. “You’ll love being the center of his obsession.” Her voice softens. “You give him you, and he gives you back all that worship.”
I swallow hard. “I… I never understood the appeal of domination. Not real domination.” I pause. “But now? I want more. I want to be worshipped again.”
Brielle raises a brow. “Of course you do. Seems you’ve found the man made for you. Someone who gives everything and holds nothing back. Maybe you don’t need to see his face or find out his name. Maybe all you need is… this. Even if only for a little while.”
But I don’t want this to be temporary.
A slow burn spreads through my chest. This ache. This need. I don’t care that I don’t know his name. I don’t care that his face is hidden. Whatever this is between us isn’t casual. Not to me.
This isn’t something I can give up. Not now. Not after the way he touched me.
“He said he would tell me his name and show me his face when I earned it. Right now, his appearance doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah?” she tests, eyebrows raised. “He could be a troll, and you’d still be in?”
I meet her gaze. “The filthy things he does to me in the dark are enough.”
She laughs, eyes wide. “Laurette… you’re not just hooked. You’re drowning.”
I let out a sigh that almost cracks into a smile. “Yeah. I… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want more of this. More of him.”
Brielle lifts her wineglass with a sly smile. “To wanting him. May the man be powerful enough to handle it.”
I raise mine to meet hers, smirking. “God help him.”
Brielle sets her glass down. “The obsessive ones live for the reaction. Their power comes from watching us fall apart. It’s not just about control. It’s about what that control does to us.”
She taps the table with her nail, punctuating each word.
“Every moan. Every gasp. Every time they make us come fast and hard—they feed on it. It drives them.”
Her words sink in. “So… he wants my pleasure? It’s as important as his own?”
Brielle shakes her head. “No, Laurette. Your pleasure isn’t equal to his. It’s second to nothing. It’s the whole damn point.”