Chapter Three: The Silk and the Thorns

​The drive back from the country club was thick with a silence that felt heavy and humid, like the air before a tropical storm. Elena’s hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, her skin still humming from the encounter in the dressing room. Every time she glanced at the rearview mirror, she caught Lucas’s gaze. He wasn't looking at the road; he was looking at the pulse jumping in her neck, a predatory smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

​When they arrived at the estate, the house felt colder than usual. Julian was gone again a late-night deposition leaving the glass palace empty save for the two of them and the distant, ghost-like presence of the staff in the far wing.

​"I’m going to my room to change," Elena said, her voice sounding brittle even to her own ears.

​"Don't change on my account," Lucas replied, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in the pit of her stomach. "I liked the way that silk looked when it was wrinkled against the mirror."

​Elena didn't answer. She fled up the stairs, the sound of her heels clicking frantically on the marble. Once inside her suite, she leaned against the door, gasping for air. She caught her reflection in the vanity. Her hair was slightly disarrayed, her lips swollen. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly kissed, and for the first time in a decade, she didn't recognize the person staring back at her.

​She stripped off the charcoal suit, the fabric feeling like a lead weight. She stepped into the master bathroom, turning the shower to a temperature that was almost scalding. She needed to wash the scent of him motor oil and raw, youthful heat off her skin. But as the water sluiced down her body, her mind betrayed her. She closed her eyes and felt the phantom sensation of his calloused hands sliding up her thighs, the way his mouth had felt hungry, demanding, and utterly irreverent.

​She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a thin, translucent silk robe, her skin flushed pink from the heat. She assumed Lucas would be in his studio or his room, but when she stepped into her bedroom, she froze.

​Lucas was sitting in the armchair by the window, a glass of Julian’s most expensive scotch in his hand. He had changed into one of the new navy blue shirts she had bought him, but he hadn't bothered to button it. It hung open, revealing the hard, lean lines of his torso and the dark hair that trailed down into the waistband of his jeans.

​"You shouldn't be in here, Lucas," she whispered, clutching the lapels of her robe together.

​"My father has excellent taste in scotch," he said, ignoring her protest. He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers. "And even better taste in women. It’s a shame he doesn't know how to appreciate either."

​He stood up, the glass clinking as he set it on the nightstand Julian’s nightstand. He walked toward her, and the space between them vanished. The scent of woodsmoke and expensive peat rolled off him.

​"You’re beautiful when you’re scared, Elena," he murmured, reaching out to trace the damp line of her collarbone. "But you’re even more beautiful when you stop fighting yourself."

​"This is wrong," she breathed, though she didn't pull away. Her body was betraying her, leaning into his warmth as if by instinct.

​"Wrong is staying with a man who sees you as an ornament," Lucas countered. His hand slid behind her neck, his fingers tangling in her damp hair, tilting her head back. "Wrong is pretending you don't want me to do exactly what I’m about to do."

​He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive curve where her neck met her shoulder. He didn't just kiss her; he nipped at her skin, his teeth grazing her before his tongue soothed the sting. Elena let out a broken sound half-sob, half-moan and her hands found his shoulders, her nails digging into the soft cotton of his shirt.

​He moved with a sudden, fierce grace, backing her toward the massive, silk-draped bed. When her knees hit the mattress, she buckled, and he followed her down, his weight a delicious, crushing pressure. His hands were everywhere sliding under the silk of her robe, finding the soft, aching curves of her hips.

​The contrast was staggering. Julian was always precise, always clinical. Lucas was a riot of sensation. He kissed her with a desperation that felt like he was trying to consume her, his tongue Tangling with hers as his hands explored the forbidden territory of her body. When his palm cupped her breast, Elena arched against him, her breath hitching in a series of jagged gasps.

​"Lucas..." she whimpered, her head tossing back against the pillows.

​"Shhh," he groaned against her skin, his voice thick with a desire that bordered on agony. "Don't say his name. Don't think about him. Right now, there’s no one else in the world."

​He pulled the robe from her shoulders, exposing her to the moonlight filtering through the glass walls. For a moment, he just looked at her, his gaze heavy and worshipful. Then, he lowered his head, his mouth traveling down her stomach, igniting a trail of fire that made her toes curl into the silk sheets.

​The intimacy was raw and explicit, a shattering of every boundary she had ever built. Every touch was an act of rebellion, every moan a secret kept from the man who slept in this bed every night. Lucas was relentless, his youth and vigor pushing Elena to heights of pleasure she had long ago forgotten existed. She felt unraveled, her very soul laid bare under the touch of the boy she was supposed to be mothering.

​As they lay there, tangled in the ruins of the expensive sheets, the air thick with the scent of their shared heat, the silence of the house was suddenly shattered.

​The sound of the heavy front door thudding shut echoed through the vents.

​"Elena? I’m home. Why are the lights off?"

​Julian’s voice boomed from the foyer, closer than they ever expected. He was home three hours early.

​Elena bolted upright, her heart stopping in her chest. Lucas remained still, a dark shadow on the bed, his eyes locked on hers with a terrifyingly calm intensity. He reached out, his hand covering her mouth as she prepared to gasp.

​"Stay still," he whispered, his lips grazing her ear as the sound of Julian’s footsteps began the rhythmic climb up the marble stairs.