CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

ELENA

The silk cut into my wrists just enough to remind me I wasn’t in control.

Lucian stood above me, tall, impossibly composed, his shirt still buttoned like he wasn’t about to shatter me with a single command. His tie bound me, his gaze burned me, and my heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Heat shot through me so fast I almost forgot to breathe. “You—don’t say that,” I managed, even as my thighs pressed together.

He smirked. “Why not? You obeyed beautifully.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Lucian tugged at his belt, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving mine. “Look at you,” he drawled. “On your knees for a man you barely know.”

“I know enough,” I whispered, surprising myself.

“Do you?” His zipper slid down, the sound loud in the silence. “Do you know what you’re asking for, Elena?”

My throat tightened. “I’m not afraid.”

His laugh was quiet, dangerous. “You should be.”

Then he freed himself, and my mouth went dry.

“Oh, God,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Lucian tilted my chin up with two fingers, smirk cutting sharper. “No, princess. Not God. Just me.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. I really did. But then he pressed himself against my lips, and my sass died a tragic death.

“Kiss it,” he ordered.

The command stole my breath. I hesitated, pulse slamming in my ears.

“Elena.” His voice dropped, threaded with warning.

So I parted my lips and kissed him, tentative at first.

He hissed out a curse—“Cazzo.” (Fuck.)

That single word curled heat in my stomach.

His hand slid into my hair, guiding, steady but not cruel. “Open your mouth,” he told me.

I obeyed.

The taste of him hit my tongue, warm and heavy, and I swore I felt his restraint snap.

“Brava ragazza.” (Good girl.) His praise stroked over me like velvet. “Take more.”

I hollowed my cheeks, and he groaned, deep and rough.

“Cristo santo…” (Holy Christ.) His hips flexed, just a little, testing.

I gagged, pulling back, but his grip was gentle, his eyes dark with heat. “Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat.”

The bastard was teaching me. Coaching me. Like this was some twisted masterclass.

I hated how much I liked it.

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was steel wrapped in silk. “Again, Elena. Slowly.”

So I tried again. Took him deeper. Let him slide across my tongue. My jaw ached, but the sound he made—low, guttural—pushed me further.

“Madonna, così dolce.” (Madonna, so sweet.)

My thighs clenched. I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t want his approval. But every word, every Italian curse, lit me up like I was starving for it.

He brushed my cheek with his thumb, gentle even while he held me bound. “You look perfect like this. My perfect mess.”

I pulled back with a wet gasp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re—horrible.”

He smirked. “And you’re trembling.”

“Shut up,” I hissed, and took him back into my mouth before I could second-guess myself.

This time, his breath broke. “Dio onnipotente.” (Almighty God.)

I worked him the way he guided me—tongue flicking, cheeks hollowing, every stroke rewarded with his curses and groans. And I liked it. I liked that I could unravel him. That this man who owned the room, who terrified everyone else, was cursing like a sinner just because of me.

When I pulled back again, strands of spit connecting us, his eyes were wild.

“Elena…” His voice cracked. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll ruin you right here.”

“Maybe I want to be ruined.”

He stilled, jaw tight. “Careful, princess. Don’t tempt me.”

I smirked up at him, breathless, reckless. “I thought you liked a woman with claws.”

His curse came out strangled this time. “Per l’amor di Dio.” (For the love of God.)

I was still on my knees, wrists red from his tie, lips swollen and sticky, when Lucian pulled back with a groan that rattled through my bones.

“Enough.”

My head jerked up. “Excuse me? Enough? I was just getting started—”

His jaw flexed. “Elena.” My name cracked like a whip in his mouth. “If you keep going, I’ll fuck you against that wall until you forget your own name.”

My pulse spiked at the threat. God help me, I wanted to call his bluff. “Maybe I want that.”

His smirk was dangerous. “You think you know what you want.” He crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing my swollen bottom lip. “But you’re drunk, humiliated, angry… and a virgin.”

The last word was a bullet.

I flinched. “You make it sound like a disease.”

His laugh was low, sharp. “No, princess. I make it sound like a responsibility. And I’m not going to take what you don’t fully understand offering.”

For one maddening second, I wanted to scream. Here I was—half-naked, horny, humiliated—and he was being… decent? Gentlemanly? Absolutely not. “You’re seriously rejecting me right now?”

He leaned in until his breath ghosted over my ear. “Not rejecting. Restraining.”

I shivered. “You’re insufferable.”

“Cristo, sei testarda.” (Christ, you’re stubborn.) His voice was gravel. “Fine. No sex tonight.”

I blinked. “Tonight?”

His smirk returned. “You think this ends here?”

Before I could argue, his hand trailed down my neck, slow enough to make me arch, until his palm rested just above my breast. His thumb brushed the curve, and my breath stuttered.

“Lucian…”

He tilted my chin up, eyes molten. “But I’ll give you something else.”

His hand slid lower, between my thighs, and I gasped.

“What are you—”

“Testing the waters, remember?” His fingers pressed against the thin lace of my underwear, finding me embarrassingly wet. His groan was pure filth. “Dio santo.” (Holy God.)

“Don’t—don’t say that,” I whispered, but my hips betrayed me, rocking into his touch.

His chuckle was dark. “Why? Embarrassed?” He pushed the fabric aside, fingers brushing bare heat, and I nearly choked.

“Lucian—”

“Shh.” His mouth hovered at my ear. “Let me.”

The first press of his finger inside me was a shock, a stretch, a sting I didn’t expect. My nails dug into his shoulders. “Oh, God—”

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze. Dark. Hungry. Endless.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and then he added a second finger.

My jaw dropped. “That—Lucian—that’s—”

“Too much?” He froze instantly, patient in a way that killed me.

“No!” My voice cracked. “No, don’t stop.”

His smirk curved against my throat. “Brava.” (Good.)

He moved, slow at first, curling his fingers, stroking places I didn’t even know existed. My back arched, my breath ragged, until words spilled out without my permission. “Please—God, please—”

His laugh was wicked. “No, Elena. Beg me. Not God.”

“I hate you,” I gasped.

“Lie better.” His thumb brushed my clit, and the world shattered.

I cried out, clamping down around him, trembling so hard I thought I’d collapse.

“Cazzo, sei così stretta.” (Fuck, you’re so tight.)

My body convulsed, waves dragging me under, until I was boneless in his arms, panting, half-sobbing.

He didn’t stop. His fingers kept moving, relentless, drawing out every drop of pleasure until I swore I saw stars.

“Lucian—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Again.” His tone was iron, demanding.

“No—too much—”

“Trust me.” He pressed harder, faster, and my body betrayed me again, another climax tearing through me so violently I bit down on his shoulder to muffle the scream.

His curse was ragged this time. “Porca miseria.” (Holy shit.)

I collapsed against him, trembling, my thighs slick, my chest heaving. “You’re—insane.”

He chuckled, withdrawing his fingers slowly, almost reverently, before slipping them into his mouth and tasting me.

I gawked. “You did not just—”

His smirk was lethal. “Deliziosa.” (Delicious.)

Heat flamed my face. “You’re disgusting.”

“You came twice in my hand, princess. Don’t pretend you didn’t love it.”

I wanted to argue. I really did. But my body was still humming, wrung out and pliant.

Lucian gathered me up like I weighed nothing, carrying me to the leather couch. He laid me down, pulling a blanket from somewhere, covering me like I wasn’t just wrecked and humiliated in his office.

“Why are you—” I mumbled.

“Because you’re drunk,” he said simply, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His eyes lingered, softer than I expected. “And because you deserve better than a first time you’ll regret.”

Tears pricked my eyes. Damn him. Damn his words. Damn his restraint.

“You’re—confusing,” I whispered.

“Good.” His smirk was faint. “It means you’ll think about me tomorrow.”