Chapter 81 81
“You’re already getting hard for me,” she whispered, palming the growing bulge in his slacks. “Feel that? Your body remembers. It always remembers how good I make you feel…”
She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
“I’m gonna ride you so slow tonight… make you beg for it… make you forget her name while you’re buried inside me… gonna milk every last drop until you’re shaking and calling me yours again…”
Lucas’s breathing stopped. His pupils were already dilating, chest rising faster than it should have from just her words.
Olivia noticed.
She stepped back suddenly, smile turning satisfied.
“I’ll be right back with coffee,” she said sweetly, voice completely normal now. “You just… relax. Take your pants off. I want you ready when I come back.”
She turned and walked out—hips swaying, leaving the door cracked just enough for him to hear her heels fade down the hall.
Inside the room, Lucas braced one hand on the dresser, head bowed, breathing hard.
His cock throbbed painfully against his zipper—thicker, harder than it had any right to be after the day he’d had.
His skin felt hot.
Every heartbeat sent a fresh pulse of need straight to his groin.
He looked down at himself—slacks tented obscenely, pre-cum already darkening the fabric.
“Fuck…” he rasped, voice wrecked.
He didn’t know what she’d given him.
But it was working.
He groaned low in his throat, forehead pressed to the cool wood of the dresser.
The room door opened.
Blair stepped in—oblivious, barefoot, wearing one of his old button-downs she must have borrowed from the laundry room.
Sleeves rolled up, hem skimming mid-thigh. She was reaching for something on the counter—a hair tie, or one of Mave’s forgotten toys—when she noticed him.
She froze.
“Lucas?”
He lifted his head slowly.
His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. Chest heaving. Cock visibly tenting the front of his slacks.
Blair’s gaze dropped—then snapped back up, cheeks flaming.
“I—I just came to grab—”
He moved before she could finish.
One long stride and he had her—hand wrapping around her wrist, dragging her fully into the bathroom with him. The door slammed shut behind them. He twisted the lock with his free hand, the metallic click loud in the sudden quiet.
“Fuck,” he rasped, voice wrecked, “you are beautiful.”
He lifted her like she weighed nothing—hands under her thighs, spinning her until her back hit the marble counter. She gasped as he set her down hard, the edge biting into her ass.
His mouth found her neck immediately—hot, open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing the pulse point he used to love sucking bruises into.
“Mr. Brooks…” Blair’s voice came out small, confused, hands pushing weakly at his shoulders. “What are you doing…”
He didn’t answer with words.
His fingers found the front of her borrowed shirt—his shirt—and ripped.
Buttons popped, flying across the tile. Fabric tore open down the middle.
Blair sucked in a sharp breath, hands flying to cover herself instinctively.
“Lucas—stop—”
He kissed her neck harder, tongue tracing the line of her throat, one hand sliding up to cup her breast through the thin bra she wore underneath. His thumb brushed over her nipple—already pebbled—and she whimpered despite herself.
“Mr. Brooks, you’re—you’re drugged,” she managed, voice trembling. “What are you—”
He growled against her skin, hips rocking forward so she could feel exactly how hard he was—thick, insistent, pressing between her thighs through his slacks and her thin underwear.
Blair’s eyes fluttered closed for one dangerous second.
The heat of his mouth on her neck.
The rough scrape of his stubble.
The way his hand gripped her like he couldn’t let go.
It was the same.
The same night five years ago—after a fight, after too much wine, after he’d pinned her against the hotel counter and fucked her hard. The same desperate, consuming hunger.
She remembered how good it felt then—how safe, how wanted.
Her body responded before her mind could stop it—hips shifting forward, thighs parting just a fraction, a soft, involuntary moan slipping past her lips.
Then the memory shifted.
Him throwing her out—literally—suitcase in hand, door slamming, her standing in the hallway tears streaming, pregnant and alone.
The pain crashed in like ice water.
Blair’s eyes snapped open.
She shoved—hard—both hands against his chest.
“Get off me!”
Lucas staggered back a step, breathing like he’d run a marathon, eyes glassy and unfocused.
Blair slid off the counter, legs shaking, clutching the torn edges of the shirt together over her chest.
“You’re not yourself,” she said, voice cracking but firm. “
He stared at her—chest heaving, cock still straining, confusion warring with raw need in his expression.
“Blair…”
“No.” She backed toward the door, hand fumbling for the lock. “Not like this. Not when you don’t even know what you’re doing.”
She twisted the lock, yanked the door open, and slipped out—bare legs flashing as she ran down the hallway toward the guest wing.
Lucas sank to his knees on the bathroom tile, forehead pressed to the cool marble, hands fisted in his hair.
“Fuck… fuck…”
The drug still burned through him.
Blair hurried down the dimly lit hallway toward the east wing, clutching the torn edges of Lucas’s button-down shirt together over her chest.
Buttons were missing, the fabric gaping open enough to expose the curve of her bra and the flushed skin beneath. Her bare feet slapped softly against the floor—heart still racing, cheeks burning, mind reeling from what had just happened in the bathroom.
She turned the corner too fast.
And crashed straight into Olivia.
Their bodies collided—shoulder to shoulder, Blair’s momentum carrying her forward so hard Olivia stumbled back a step.
Blair gasped, hands flying up to hold the ruined shirt closed tighter.
Olivia’s eyes widened—then narrowed instantly, raking over Blair from head to toe.
Half-dressed.
Hair mussed.
Lips swollen from rough kisses.
Skin flushed and marked with the faint red imprint of stubble on her neck.
Olivia’s gaze flashed to the open bathroom door down the hall—steam still curling out—then back to Blair.
Blair’s throat worked.
“Sorry,” she whispered—barely audible, voice cracked.
Then she sidestepped Olivia and kept walking—fast—toward the east wi
ng corridor. She didn’t look back. Didn’t dare let Olivia see the tears threatening to spill or the way her hands shook as she held the shirt together.