Chapter 31 Chapter 31
Valentina
My fingers hovered at the top button of Lucien's shirt. We were standing in his private suite again soft lights, quiet walls, a place that felt far too intimate for all the promises I had broken just by being here.
We were doing this again. I had told myself I wouldn't. Told myself I would be strong. That I would stay away. That I would remember vows and consequences and everything that could go wrong.
But the moment I slid into his car earlier, the moment he started driving and took that turn that turn I knew exactly where we were going. And I didn't stop him.
Now he stood in front of me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body, close enough that my thoughts were unraveling one by one. His gaze dropped to my hand, then lifted back to my face, dark and knowing.
"What are you waiting for?" he murmured.
His voice was low, rougher than usual, like he was holding himself back. He stepped closer, until there was barely any space left between us. I could feel him everywhere his breath, his presence, the quiet intensity that always made my knees feel weak.
My breath hitched as his hand came to my waist. I closed my eyes for a second, letting myself feel him. Letting myself remember how impossible it was to stay away. How every time I tried to draw a line, he erased it just by looking at me.
When I opened my eyes again, I met his gaze. And I knew I was already lost.
I wrapped my arms around his neck before I could stop myself, pulling him closer until there was no space left. Lucien rested his forehead against mine and that contact made my body more weak.
"I don't know why I can't stay away from you," I whispered, the words spilling out of me raw and unguarded. "What did you do to me, Lucien? Why you?"
His breath brushed my lips, his thumb tracing a slow, absent line along my side.
"Maybe you stopped fighting what you already wanted," he murmured.
Then his fingers moved to the buttons of my blouse.
"Since you're hesitating," he added softly, "I'll help."
My heart raced as the first button came loose. Then another. When the fabric finally slipped from my shoulders, he let it fall to the floor.
His mouth found my neck, and I closed my eyes. A soft sound escaped me, one I didn't even try to stop. This was why staying away felt impossible. His touch didn't just unravel me. It rewrote me.
He kissed lower, slower, and my knees weakened. I reached for him, needing something solid to hold onto, cupping his face and pulling him back to me. My fingers worked quickly at his shirt, undoing it with far less patience than he'd shown me.
A smirk curved his lips as the last button came free. "I see," he murmured. "You're not as composed as you pretend."
I pushed the fabric from his shoulders and let my hands wander, feeling the warmth beneath my palms, the quiet strength there. My breath came faster now, my body betraying every careful promise I'd made myself.
He leaned in, his lips near my ear, his voice a whisper meant only for me.
"Slow down," he said, even as his hands said the opposite. "We've got time."
And the way he said it made it clear whatever line we were standing on, we were already well past it. "Take off the belt." He whispered and if that didn't make my core throb than before and all excited.
I didn't look away from him. My fingers moved slowly, undoing the leather strap while my eyes stayed locked on his. The sound of the buckle releasing felt far too loud in the quiet room. I let the belt slip from my hands and fall to the floor between us.
His gaze darkened instantly. I pushed the fabric down just enough to make his breath hitch, just enough to make his jaw tighten hard enough that I could see the muscle jump beneath his skin. The reaction alone sent a rush through me. Power. Heat. Want.
I swallowed, my pulse racing as I let my hand linger, exploring through the barrier of fabric, learning the way his body responded to me. His grip tightened around my arm, fingers digging in.
A low sound escaped him, rough and unrestrained, and it went straight through me.
I didn't rush. I took my time in massaging his hardness. Watched his reactions. Watched the way his composure cracked just a little more with every slow movement. His eyes never left my face, and the intensity there made my knees feel weak.
"Valentina..." he warned, voice strained.
I only held his gaze, refusing to stop, refusing to look away because that was also pleasuring me.
"Get down," he said, voice rough, commanding, nothing gentle left in it. "Now."
The room felt smaller suddenly. Heavier. Charged. I felt the weight of his words settle over me, felt my body react before my mind could catch up. My breath came shallow, my heart pounding as I slowly lowered myself, never breaking eye contact.
My hands moved with intention, pulled down his boxers and his hard cock came into view. The sight of it sent a hot chills down my spine making my arousal tripled. I started by lightly massaging it before taking it to my mouth. His reaction was immediate. His fingers tangled in my hair.
A sound slipped from him. "Valentina..." he breathed, my name heavy on his tongue.
I stayed there for a moment longer than necessary, letting the power of it settle in my chest, letting him feel exactly how much control I had taken from him before increasing my pace. I held his thigh with one hand. A growl left me when he shoved his cock deeper through the back of my throat making me to almost lose balance.
"Fuck!" He grunted his fingers digging into my scalps but I didn't feel pain instead I wanted him to keep going. He let loose. "Take it like a bad girl," he whispered darkly. And I did. I wrapped both hands around it and took it as he ordered. All the while my pussy was on fire.
Lucien closed his eyes in between. When he took out his cock, his cum spilled all over my face and chest. "Lick it off," he said. My tongue slowly rotate around my lips.
Damn! It got me more turned on.
He pulled me up effortlessly, my body colliding with his as he lifted me off my feet like I weighed nothing.
The sudden shift stole the air from my lungs. My legs instinctively wrapped around him as he carried me toward the bed. The room spun for a second before my back met the mattress, the sheets cool beneath my skin.
He followed immediately, bracing himself over me, his weight a solid, dangerous presence. One hand pinned my wrist above my head, the other tracing down my side in a way that made my breath stutter.
"You drive me insane," he said lowly, his voice stripped of restraint.
I could feel it the tension in him, the barely contained hunger. It was intoxicating. Terrifying. Exactly what I shouldn't want.
His hand reached past me, opening the drawer beside the bed. The soft scrape of wood was loud in the quiet room. I followed the movement. He held the small foil packet between his fingers.
For the first time since walking into this suite, doubt slipped through the haze. Questions clawed their way up. He tore the packet open with his teeth, and I hated how easily that motion fed the thoughts in my head.
He paused when he noticed my expression.
"What's with that look?" he asked searching my face.
I hesitated, then bit my lip, the words tasting bitter even before I said them.
"What number am I?"
His brows pulled together instantly. "What?"
"The women," I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "The ones you've brought here. To this bed."
He stilled completely, not expecting my question. Then he straightened, his hand tightening at his side.
"You think this place is some parade of women?" he asked, with edge of irritation.
I swallowed down. "You had it ready," I said softly. "So I wondered."
For a long moment, he just looked at me. Really looked. Then he stepped closer, lifting my chin with two fingers. "You're the first," he said flatly. "The only one."
I searched his face, my heart hammering.
"This place exists because I don't let anyone in," he continued. "And you're here questioning that."
The weight of his words settled heavily in my chest.
"I didn't mean—"
"I know," he cut in gently this time. His thumb brushed my jaw. "But don't reduce this to numbers. Don't reduce you to that."
The tension didn't disappear but it changed. Softer. Deeper. More dangerous.
"If I wanted anyone else," he murmured, "you wouldn't be here."
My pulse stumbled.
And before I could say anything else before doubt could find another crack his hand slid into mine and I felt him enter me in one move emitting a gasp and moan out of my lips.
I stretched beneath the sheets, muscles sore in a way that made my pulse stutter when I remembered why. My eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, watching the slow pattern of light shift as dawn crept closer. I couldn't believe this was my life now slipping in and out of Lucien's arms in the dead of night, stealing moments that weren't meant to exist.
If I shared a room with Ambrose...
I didn't even want to think about it.
My thoughts drifted back to Lucien's words. When he said I was the first woman he'd ever brought his place. His bed.
The memory sent a quiet thrill through me, something warm and reckless curling low in my chest. It shouldn't have mattered. But it did.
I pushed myself out of bed and headed for the shower, letting the water wash over me until my thoughts slowed and the heat faded from my skin. By the time I dressed and stepped out of the room, I'd pulled myself together at least on the surface.
Downstairs, the house was already awake.
Ambrose sat at the table, composed as ever. Lucien was there too, posture relaxed, unreadable. Mira leaned back in her chair, lips curved in something that looked far too knowing.
"Good morning," I said lightly, taking my seat.
Ambrose nodded. "Morning."
I barely had time to reach for my cup before he spoke again.
"One of the guards mentioned you came in late last night," he said, casual, but his eyes sharpened just enough. "Where did you go?"
My heart skipped hard. For a split second, the room felt too small. My gaze flicked to Lucien without permission, finding his expression shift just a fraction. He hadn't expected the question either. Mira noticed. Of course she did. Her smile widened.
"I—" I started, then forced myself to breathe. "I went for a drive. I needed some air."
Ambrose studied me for a moment, weighing the answer. Then he nodded slowly, as if filing it away for later.
"Next time," he said, "let someone know."
"Of course," I replied, keeping my voice steady.
Across the table, Lucien's eyes met mine for half a second. And I could swear I saw a smirk curved up his lips.
I carried my plate to the sink, rinsed it, and turned to leave only to be stopped short.
A hand closed around my wrist. I froze. The scent hit me first. Lucien. Clean, familiar, dangerous. My heart lurched into my throat as I looked toward the kitchen door, half-expecting someone to walk in.
“What are you doing?” I whispered urgently, trying to pull free. “Let me go.”
Instead, he stepped closer and kissed me.
It was quick too quick to be careful, too close to reckless. The kind of kiss that stole breath and reason all at once. My mind screamed at my body to resist, to remember where we were, whose house this was.
I slapped his chest lightly, pushing him back just enough to put space between us. “Didn’t you hear what your father said?” I hissed. “Maintain your distance.”
His jaw tightened, eyes darkening not with lust this time, but something sharper. Possessive. Frustrated.
“I heard him,” he said quietly.
“Then act like it,” I whispered, my pulse still racing. “This isn’t the place. Or the time.”
His smile widened and he pushed forward ready to kiss me again when I shoved him so hard when I heard the maid voice approaching the kitchen.