MasukElaraBy the time we finished at the café, I had almost forgotten about the folded note in my bag.Almost.I had spent the better part of the short walk back discussing everything except the thing Lucien had written on it. We talked about the gallery, the provenance issue, the books I had seen in the shop window, and the ridiculous amount of money some collectors were willing to spend on paintings they barely understood. He listened to most of it, occasionally correcting a detail or offering an observation that made me roll my eyes, and somehow that easy back-and-forth made it simpler not to think too hard about what he had planned.If I thought too much about the fact that he had chosen an activity for me, I would start wondering exactly what he expected, and I was not ready for that spiral yet.When we stopped outside the bookshop we had passed earlier on the walk down to the café, Lucien checked his phone and made a short call.“Bring the car to our current location, please. We are
LucienWe eventually found a small café and took a table outside. Elara ordered a mini pizza with a vanilla milkshake. I ordered an iced coffee and a croissant. She looked at my order.“That is all you’re having?”“Yes. I do not particularly want pizza this evening.”“Why not? It is food.”“It is heavily processed food, and I prefer not to eat it often when there are other options available.”She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”“I have been told that before, usually by people who order pizza.”She smiled and started eating. I took a sip of my coffee. She ate slowly, pausing between bites to look around the street. The night had settled properly now, and the city had become louder. People passed us in both directions. Cars moved steadily along the road. She looked comfortable. That was becoming a problem—not because there was anything wrong with comfort, but because I had begun to expect it.While we waited for her to finish, she asked me about the Beaumont Foundation.“How did yo
LucienI had arranged the private viewing before we left the hotel.The gallery had agreed to open a little earlier than usual, which meant we would have the space mostly to ourselves. I preferred it that way. There was little value in trying to examine a collection while moving around groups of people who stopped in front of paintings without looking at them properly.Elara disagreed.She had been standing in front of the first painting for almost three minutes when she turned to me.“You’re doing it again.”I looked at her. “Doing what, exactly?”“Critiquing everything.”“I am not critiquing everything. I am assessing the presentation of the work, which is part of the reason we came.”She raised an eyebrow.I looked back at the painting. “The spacing between the pieces in this section is poor. The works are competing with each other instead of allowing each one space to be considered properly.”Her mouth twitched. “You just proved my point.”“The spacing is still poor, regardless of
ElaraAfter breakfast, I had every intention of going back to my room.Somehow, I ended up in Lucien’s instead. I couldn’t explain why. I had my own bedroom, my own bed, and everything I could possibly need within the penthouse. Yet when I found myself standing in the doorway of his room, I simply walked in. Maybe it was because I had slept there, or maybe I just liked being surrounded by the faint scent of him. Whatever the reason, I climbed into his bed and fell asleep almost immediately.When I woke, I reached for my phone on the bedside table and blinked at the screen. 2:45 p.m. I stared at the time for a moment, surprised I had slept that long. Lucien had said he would only be gone for a few hours. I assumed he would be back by lunch, but apparently whatever he had gone to do had taken longer than expected.My stomach rumbled, which was enough reason to get out of bed. I showered, changed into something comfortable, and ordered room service. I ordered beef bourguignon from the lu
ElaraI had no idea how I was supposed to face Lucien at breakfast.After what had happened last night, walking into the dining area and sitting across from him as though we had spent the night doing anything remotely normal felt impossible. I had barely made it back to my room after the bath before I started pacing.What had I done?I had slept with Lucien—again—which somehow made the entire situation infinitely worse. I stopped in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection. The real problem was that I had enjoyed it. There was no regret sitting heavily in my chest the way there had been after Elliot. No sense that I had made some terrible mistake I needed to undo. I wanted Lucien, and I had him. That thought alone was enough to make me start pacing again.Eventually I forced myself to stop thinking about it. I would enjoy this trip and deal with everything else when we returned to London. That was the decision I settled on. For the next three days I was going to forget about m
LucienI woke to the wet heat of a mouth around my cock.For a second my mind stayed blank, still half under, and then the sensation sharpened—slow suction, a tongue sliding along the underside, and the soft, rhythmic movement of her head. My eyes opened. The room was still dim. Elara was between my legs, naked, her hair loose around her shoulders as she took me deeper.I looked down.She looked obscenely beautiful that way. Lips stretched around me, cheeks hollowed, eyes half-lidded with concentration. She pushed forward until I felt the tight resistance of her throat, and she didn’t pull back. She stayed there, gagging softly around the head of my cock, and the vibration of it nearly undid me. A low groan left my chest before I could stop it. My hand found her hair, not to force her, but simply to hold it, as she kept working me deeper than I expected her to take.“Elara—”The sound of my own voice was rough. She hummed in answer and the vibration shot straight through me. I was alr







