Chapter 51 Chapter 51
Valentina
The drive home felt shorter than it should have. Maybe because neither of us spoke again. Maybe because everything that needed to be said had already broken loose between us.
When we arrived, the house was quiet. The lights were dimmed, the staff already dismissed for the night. The echo of our footsteps filled the hallway as we walked inside.
We reached my bedroom. I slowed without meaning to. He stopped too and was already looking at me.
The look alone sent heat rushing through me.
For days we barely spoke. His jaw tightened, like he was fighting something. Then I made the mistake of stepping closer.
Just a little. His hand came up suddenly, gripping my waist. My back hit the door. The next second he was kissing me.
Desperate. Like he had been starving. Like we hadn't kissed in the car.
My hands flew to his shirt, fisting the fabric as his mouth moved against mine, claiming, demanding. All the frustration. All the restraint. All the nights of pretending we didn't ache for each other It was all there.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, tilting my head. My knees weakened when he deepened the kiss, when he pulled me flush against him like he couldn't stand even an inch between us. I gasped against his lips.
"Lucien—" I barely managed before he kissed me again.
The door pushed open behind me. We stumbled inside. He kicked it shut. The sound echoed. His forehead pressed against mine, and his breath mingled with mine.
I didn't care. "I missed you," he whispered against my lips. Like he hadn't said that earlier.
The vulnerability in his voice undid me. "I know," I breathed. "I missed you too."
My hands slid up his chest, over the firm lines of him beneath the fabric, desperate to feel skin instead of distance.
"Valentina..." he breathed against my lips.
The way he said my name — rough, almost reverent sent heat rushing through me.
I pulled his jacket off first. It dropped somewhere behind him, forgotten. My fingers moved to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons.
He didn't wait. His hands found the zipper at the back of my dress. Slow at first. Then impatient.
The sound of it sliding down my spine made my breath hitch.
His lips trailed from my mouth to my jaw, then lower down the curve of my neck. Every touch felt amplified. Sensitive. Starved.
The dress slipped from my shoulders. I stepped out of it without breaking eye contact.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured.
I swallowed.
"You're not the only one."
That was all the encouragement he needed.
He pulled me back into him, lifting me slightly as his mouth found mine again. My fingers finally freed him from his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. My palms skimmed over his bare skin, memorizing him like I was afraid he'd disappear again.
The air felt hotter. Thicker.
He backed me slowly toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I sank onto it, pulling him with me.
No more careful distance. His hands moved with purpose but not aggression exploring, rediscovering. Like he needed to remind himself I was real.
Every layer between us disappeared piece by piece. Clothes fell to the floor, forgotten.
He lowered me gently onto the bed, his body hovering over mine, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding slowly down my side.
His eyes searched mine for a second. Not asking permission. But making sure I was there with him.
I was. Completely. I arched into him, my hands sliding up his back, feeling the warmth of his skin under my palms. His lips left mine and traced down the curve of my jaw, lingering at my neck.
Every place he touched felt sensitive. Heightened. Like my body had been waiting for him.
He kissed along my collarbone, slow, presses of his mouth against my skin. My fingers tightened in his hair when he moved lower, leaving a trail of heat down my chest, across my shoulder, back up again like he couldn't decide where he wanted to stay.
"Lucien..." I breathed, my voice barely steady.
He hummed softly against my skin, the sound sending a shiver through me.
His hands moved carefully, exploring without haste. He hovered above me again, brushing his nose lightly against mine before kissing me once more. Slower. Tender now. The earlier urgency melting into something deeper.
Something intimate. His palm slid up my waist, resting just under my ribs as if grounding himself.
"I missed this," he murmured against my lips.
The way he said it not just the physical closeness, but this connection made my chest tighten.
"I missed it," I whispered back and I felt his hand parted my legs.
Later, the room grew quiet. The kind of quiet that only came after emotions had been stripped bare.
I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. My fingers moved lazily over his bare shoulder, tracing invisible patterns against his skin. He was warm. Solid. Real.
For the first time in days, he wasn't distant. He was right here.
Lucien's hand slid up and down my back absentmindedly, like he didn't even realize he was doing it. His breathing had slowed, but I knew he wasn't asleep. His body was too aware of mine.
I swallowed.
"There's something I need to tell you."
His fingers stilled. "What is it?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.
I hesitated, then lifted my head so I could look at him.
"Ronan knows."
His jaw tightened almost instantly.
"Knows what?" he asked, even though I could tell he already understood.
"About us."
Silence.
"He confronted me," I continued softly. "When he drove me to the party."
Lucien's chest rose deeper beneath my cheek. His hand slid from my back to my waist, holding me a little firmer now.
"What exactly did he say?" His tone had changed.
"He asked why you were looking at me the way you were." I sighed. "He said he's not blind. That he sees how tense things get whenever we're in the same room."
Lucien muttered something under his breath.
"He asked if there was something going on," I added. "I didn't confirm it. But I didn't deny it well enough either."
His fingers flexed at my waist. "Did he threaten you?"
"No." I shook my head quickly. "He just... warned me."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "Warned you about me?"
"He said getting involved with you would complicate things. That people would talk. That Ambrose—" I paused. "—wouldn't take it lightly."
At the mention of Ambrose, Lucien's body went still. I pushed myself up on one elbow so I could see his face fully.
"He wasn't angry," I said gently. "He was concerned."
Lucien looked away toward the ceiling.
"And what did you tell him?"
I held his gaze. "I told him I can handle myself."
A flicker of something crossed his expression pride, maybe. Or frustration.
"I don't want you in the middle of anything messy," he said. "Especially not because of me."
I leaned down, brushing my lips softly against his chest before resting my chin there.
"It's already messy," I whispered. "And I'm already in it."
His hand came up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.
"Valentina..."
"I don't regret us," I cut in gently. "Even if Ronan sees it. Even if everyone does."
The room fell quiet again. But this time, it wasn't fragile. It was heavy with understanding. His hand moved slowly through my hair as he stared ahead, thinking.
A soft knock at the door pulled me from a deep, dreamless sleep. My eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded, my hair stuck to my cheek. I squinted through the dim light of the room, still half in that haze between night and morning.
"Who is it?" I murmured, my voice hoarse.
"Mrs. Ambrose asked me to call you for breakfast, ma'am," the maid replied politely from the other side.
My eyes widened. Breakfast? At this hour? My brain scrambled to process. And I picked up my phone to see the time.
How did I fall asleep so deep. And I was supposed to be at the office early.
After our make out, Lucien left for his room, I hadn't realized how completely drained I was. L
"I'll be down in a minute," I said quickly, my voice trembling slightly with a mix of embarrassment and urgency.
I swung my legs over the bed, feet landing softly on the carpet, and rubbed at my eyes. My mind raced as I quickly scanned the room, thinking about the l time I had to get ready.
I hurried toward the bathroom, shrugging off the blankets as I went, the cold air hitting my bare skin and snapping me fully awake.
A shower, I thought. I needed a shower. Fast. Hot water. Wake up. Make it together. Pretend I hadn't slept through half the morning.
The day had already started without me. And I couldn't let Ambrose catch me unprepared.
As the water ran over me, the warmth seeping into my muscles, I replayed the night before in flashes: the quiet, heavy intimacy, his hands on me, the way he had whispered my name.
And for just a second, despite the panic of being late, I let myself linger on that memory.
Before shaking my head. No time. I had to move.
Breakfast, the office, the world outside everything was waiting. And I couldn't afford to fall behind.