Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE: ELARA

His mouth was on mine before I could breathe.

Not gentle. Not asking.

Taking.

His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. His teeth scraped against my bottom lip, drawing a gasp from me that he swallowed whole.

I should have pushed him away.

I grabbed his shirt instead.

He growled. Actually growled. The sound vibrated through his chest into mine and something primal in me responded.

My back hit the wall. I didn't remember moving. His body pressed against mine, all heat and hard muscle and barely restrained violence.

"Last chance," he said against my mouth. His voice was shredded. Raw. "Leave now or I won't stop."

I dug my nails into his shoulders.

He took that as the answer it was.

His hands were everywhere. My coat hit the floor. My shirt followed. He tore through the buttons like they offended him personally.

"Lucien…"

"Don't say my name like that." His teeth found my neck. Bit down. Not hard enough to break skin. Hard enough to make me forget my own. "Not unless you want me to lose what little control I have left."

"Lucien…"

He made a sound that was half-laugh, half-snarl, and then his mouth was on my earlobes, my neck, the swell of my breasts above my bra.

His hands went to my waist. Squeezed. His fingers dug into the soft flesh there with a possessiveness that should have scared me.

It didn't.

"You're…" He stopped. Pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were still that unnatural amber. Still glowing. "You're perfect."

I wasn't. I was soft where I should be firm. Round where I should be flat. I'd spent years hiding my body under conservative clothes and careful postures.

But the way he looked at me, like I was something holy and profane at the same time, made me believe him.

"Bedroom," I managed.

"No."

He lifted me. Just picked me up like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist automatically. He carried me three steps and dropped me onto the couch.

I bounced. Started to sit up.

He pushed me back down.

"Stay."

It wasn't a request.

He stripped off his shirt. I'd never seen him without it. Three years of working together and I'd never seen what he looked like underneath the perfectly tailored suits.

Powerful. That was the only word for it. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Scars. So many scars.

"What happened to…"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answered."

His hands went to my pants. Unbuttoned them. Dragged them down my legs along with my underwear in one brutal motion. My wetness leaving a trail from my pussy to underwear.

I was completely naked and soaking wet.

He was still half-dressed.

The imbalance should have bothered me. It didn't. There was something intoxicating about being exposed while he remained in control.

He dropped to his knees.

"Wait…"

"No."

His hands gripped my thighs. Spread them. His mouth found my pussy before I could process what was happening.

I cried out. Loud. Too loud.

He didn't stop.

His tongue was everywhere from my clit, my mound and pussy lips. Licking. Sucking. Devouring me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.

My hands fisted in his hair. I didn't know if I was trying to pull him closer or push him away.

He made the decision for me. His hands tightened on my thighs, holding me open, holding me still, while he destroyed every coherent thought I'd ever had.

"Lucien…I can't…I'm going to…"

"Do it."

I squirted.

The orgasm ripped through me so hard I forgot how to breathe. My vision went white. My body arched off the couch.

He didn't stop. He kept going. Kept licking. Kept pushing me higher.

“Lucien! Lucien!” my voice small as I was sobbing his name and begging for a mercy I didn't actually want.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was wet. His eyes were wild.

"More," he said.

It wasn't a question.

He moved up and slid his dick into me.

I gasped

Then he thrusted hard and deep, fucking me on the couch first.

Hard. Brutal. His hand wrapped around my throat while he drove into me like he was trying to break the end of my pussy open and ram into my womb.

I came twice before he did.

Then he carried me to the bedroom.

I thought he'd be gentler there. He wasn't.

He bent me over the bed. One hand pressed between my shoulder blades, holding me down and the other hand pressing my pussy mound, while he fucked me from behind.

I could hear him losing control. The growls. The rough breathing. The way his fingers dug into my hips hard enough to bruise.

"Mine," he said. Over and over. "Mine. Mine. Mine."

I should have corrected him.

I didn't.

Somewhere around the third time, things shifted.

He slowed down. His touch became almost reverent. He turned me over, pushed my thighs apart, and settled his cock between them like it has always belonged there. He held his dick and rubbed it around my pussy, teasing me.

While I was no longer anticipating, he trusted into me sharp and hard this time,

I gasped as he attentively watched watched the pleasure on my face as tears ran down my eyes from the pain mixed with pleasure. His hand cupped my cheek. His thumb traced my bottom lip before he shoved it into my mouth to suck.

I did hungrily too.

"Look at me," he said.

I did.

His eyes were still that unnatural amber. But there was something else there now. Something that looked almost like fear.

"I can't stop," he whispered. "I should stop. Why can't I stop?"

I wrapped my legs around his waist. Pulled him deeper.

"Don't."

He groaned. Dropped his forehead to mine to kiss me long, extended and drawn out. He moved inside me with a desperation that felt like drowning.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked.

I didn't have an answer.

He kissed me again, Slow. Deep. Thorough. Like he was trying to memorize my taste.

When I came this time, it was different. Softer. Longer. As I creamed on his dick, it rolled through me in waves that left me convulsing, shaking and clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me from turning elliptic from intense pleasure.

He followed. His body went rigid. His hands fisted in the sheets beside my head.

“Elara!” He said my name like a prayer and a curse at the same time.

Then he collapsed on top of me.

Neither of us moved for a long time.

I woke up alone.

The sun was too bright. My head was pounding. Every muscle in my body ached in ways that reminded me exactly what I'd done.

I sat up slowly. The room spun.

Lucien's bedroom. I was in Lucien's bedroom.

I was naked.

The memories came back in fragments threatening to leave me drippling wetness down my thighs again. His hands. His mouth. The way he looked at me like I was something worth destroying himself for.

Oh God.

I had sex with my boss.

Multiple times.

I scrambled out of bed. My clothes were scattered across the living room. I found my pants. My shirt was missing half its buttons. I put it on anyway.

My phone was in my purse. Seventeen missed calls from Marcus. Three texts from my mother. One from Nadia.

I ignored all of them.

I needed to leave. Now. Before Lucien woke up and,

"You're awake."

I spun around.

He was standing in the kitchen doorway. Fully dressed. Hair wet like he'd just showered. He looked completely composed. Professional.

Like last night hadn't happened.

"I should go," I said. My voice came out hoarse.

"You should eat something first."

"I'm not hungry."

"Elara,"

"Please don't." I couldn't look at him. "Can we just... can we pretend this didn't happen?"

Silence.

When I finally looked up, his expression was unreadable.

"What didn't happen?" he asked.

I blinked. "Last night. Us. All of it."

He tilted his head slightly. Studied me like I was speaking a language he didn't understand.

"I don't remember much of last night," he said slowly. "I remember calling you. I remember you being here. The rest is..." He trailed off. Frowned. "Unclear."

My stomach dropped.

He didn't remember.

He didn't remember any of it.

"You were drunk," he continued. "I shouldn't have let you come here. I apologize."

"You apologize."

"Yes. It was inappropriate." He moved to the counter. Poured himself coffee like this was a normal morning. "Take the day off. Get some rest. We can discuss what happened with Victoria when you're feeling better."

Victoria.

Right.

The slap felt like it happened years ago.

"Okay," I heard myself say.

"I'll have a car take you home."

"I don't have a home."

The words came out before I could stop them.

He looked at me then. Really looked at me. And for just a second, something flickered in his eyes. Recognition. Confusion.

Then it was gone.

He was already moving toward his office. Dismissing me.

I stood there in his living room, wearing a torn shirt and no underwear, with his marks still on my skin and his taste still in my mouth.

And he didn't remember.

I should have felt relieved.

I felt erased.

I noticed it.

A small smear of blood on the wall near the couch.

I touched it. Still tacky. Fresh.

I looked down at my wrists. At the bruises shaped like fingerprints. At the bite mark on my shoulder that I hadn't noticed before.

At the scratches down my thighs that definitely weren't there yesterday.

Lucien didn't remember.

But my body did.

And something told me that was going to be a problem.

My phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number.

I told you to stay away from him.

There was a photo attached.

Me. Walking into Lucien's building last night.

The timestamp was clear. One fifteen AM.

Someone had been watching.

Someone knew.