Lucien's wife

Elara’s POV, 

“It’s late, isn’t it? You have work tomorrow.” I turn to see him staring at me intensely, and I swallow. 

“Yeah, I do. Wait, what?”  I sputter out, “You’re letting me work now?”

He shifts his weight on the bed, and it's so frustrating that I can feel it everywhere on my body. “Yes. Unfortunately, it’s going to be tough to make people believe we’re getting married.”

“Why?”

He raises his hand and pats his cheek once. “You slapped the shit out of me, remember? It’s a miracle no one saw. They did see you running away, though.”

I blush, suddenly so embarrassed. “Right, that. I should apologize.”

“You should.” He licks his lower lip, still staring at me. I look away. 

“Tha…that was…that was it. That was the apology.”

“Are you nervous, Solis?” His voice is hoarser, and I could hear him on my skin. I look to see that he is much closer, and his hands are inches away from my hips. 

“No.”

The room is hotter now; the extra panty lines I’m wearing beneath all this dig into my skin like a vice, and sweat is slowly soaking through each blouse I am wearing. Lucien’s eyes suddenly darken, as if sensing my discomfort.

“You're melting in that getup. Take it off before you pass out.” It wasn’t a suggestion; it was more like a dare. 

I pull back sharply, heart racing. “Back off, Lucien.” 

But the fire in my eyes isn't just anger. The outfit was torture now; I need air. I get down from the bed, whip around to face him, and with fingers trembling slightly, I grip the hems of my various pants.

“This is insane. If you're so tough, prove it. I dare you to stay the whole night without touching me. Watch me strip this crap off if you think you can handle it without breaking.” My voice is a challenge, husky with the thrill of defiance, even as my core throbbed at the idea.

Lucien's jaw tightens, and he sits up on the bed. “Ah, you think I can't? Bring it on.” His gaze burns into me, dark and hungry, but he kept his hands fisted at his sides. I scoff at his bluff.

Fueled by white-hot anger, I don't tease or prolong anything. My hands fly to the outermost shirt, a loose button-up, ripping the buttons open in one violent yank, fabric tearing slightly as I shrug it off my shoulders. It hits the floor in a heap. Without pause, I grip the hem of the next layer, the fitted tank, and haul it upward over my head, my breasts bouncing free beneath the remaining barriers and nipples scraping fabric. The tank joins the pile. Then, my fingers hook into the long-sleeved thermal underneath, peeling it off in a frantic tug. Sweat-slick skin gleams in the light, my torso half-bared now, the undersides of my breasts visible under the baggy t-shirt still clinging.

I kicked at the pajama pants next, starting with the thick flannel outer pair. The drawstring unties in a rough pull, and I shove them down my legs, stepping out aggressively, nearly stumbling in my haste. The jersey lounge pants followed, yanked to my ankles and flung aside with a foot. The cotton sleep shorts slide off just as fast, my thighs quivering from the exertion. The innermost silky pants come last for the bottoms, peeled down in a swift motion that exposes my panties. Lucien gulps visibly, his darkening even more than possible. 

Breathing hard, and my face flushed with rage and something else I don’t want to acknowledge, I attack the remaining shirts. I lift the baggy t-shirt over my head in a single, forceful pull, my full breasts spilling free with no more layers to hide them. Then I zip the cropped hoodie down roughly, my upper body completely nude now. My tits rise and fall rapidly, my nipples are erect from the cool air, or so I tell myself, and my heart pounds like I just ran a marathon. 

With my pants discarded, I slowly hook my thumbs into my panties' waistband, hesitating for a split second as I stare straight at his disbelieving face. 

“You wouldn’t.” He licks his lips, and for some reason, that makes my heart beat faster than it already is. 

“Fuck you and your smug face,” I snarl, then shove the soaked cotton down my thighs, over my knees, and out of my feet. Completely naked, I stand there for a beat, body trembling with fury, before climbing onto the bed.

I lay down beside him, looking straight at the ceiling. I’m close enough that my bare hip presses against his jeans-clad thigh, my nude form is stretched out on the cool sheets, and my hand fists the blanket near his arm, but we’re not touching.

“A dare, Elara.” Lucien’s voice is husky beside me, and I freeze. 

“What do you propose, Lucien?” I ask, without looking at him, and I feel the bed shift. He’s lying back down. His body heat was closer than necessary. Then, without a word, he puts out the light. 

I immediately move closer to the edge of the bed. “Wha…what are you…?”

“I’ll go through the entire night without touching you,” he says, almost whispering, and my breath hitches. He sounds so pained. “But you don’t try to escape again.”

I did not expect that. “What’s wrong, Solis?” His voice comes in, taunting. “Don’t think you can do that?”

I immediately look to my right. Even in the darkness, I can tell he is looking straight at me, so I grin. “Deal.”

~ ~

The next morning, when I wake up, Lucien is gone. My entire body is cold from sleeping naked under the AC on full blast. I slide my foot into the fur slippers and get up from the bed to go to the bathroom. When I’m done freshening up, I try the door to see that it’s finally unlocked. I take a step out and breathe in deeply. 

It’s a new day. New beginnings, new plans, new daily goals, and a new…

“Oh hello, you must be Elara.” A beautiful, blonde lady with the biggest blue doe eyes I’ve ever seen comes up to me with a smile, and I grimace because I know her. Only daughter of the Devereaux family, a popular socialite and…

“I’m Seraphina, Lucien’s wife.”