Page 27 of Bought (BOUGHT TRILOGY #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Erin

I’m terrified. How did I think we would get through this night without them discovering? As nervous as I was about this dinner, I wanted it to be a success.

I wanted to come here, meet his loved ones, and play happy family.

My desire betrayed me. My uterus betrayed me.

I’ve been thinking with my reproductive organs, my girlish daydreams of white dresses.

And I was the one who warned Cass that there are no happily ever afters for us.

I don’t know what to tell him.

I can’t come clean.

At least not all the way.

I’m sitting in the dining room, heart in my throat, making small talk as I wait for him to return.

And now, here he is.

My stomach flips at the sight of him, making me wish I’d avoided the heavy pasta. Then our eyes lock, and the rush of energy I feel is unlike anything I’ve experienced…

An indescribable wave of heat and regret.

I stare at him, craving him desperately, yet knowing that because of how we met and what I was supposed to do, we can never, ever be together in any meaningful way.

So tonight, I’ll make the most of what I can get and cherish the little time I have left with him.

He extends his hand to me and says, “Come with me.”

And I will take his hand and follow him to the mouth of a volcano. And let him push me in if he felt so inclined. I’d follow him anywhere he wanted.

That’s how much power he has over me right now.

I take his hand and stand.

He gives me a long look before pulling me close. He stares down at me, our faces close enough to kiss. He smells of smoke and night air. “I want to show you something.”

“Where?” I ask, even though it doesn’t matter.

I’d let him take me anywhere.

“Outside.” His eyes are cold, but his face hints at fire.

Nothing has ever made me feel more alive than the thrill of exploring the unknown with this man. Lucian. Even the sound of his name sends a shiver down my spine.

Before I go, a sense of responsibility surfaces. “Hang on, let me make sure they’re good.” I glance around the kitchen, checking to see if my pod is happy.

“Of course.”

Blaze and I stand shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, watching, my hand still in his. Cleopatra is solving a puzzle with Ryan while Sharon and Cass help each other drain Forest Hill’s wine cellar.

Falcon is busy marinating Sunday’s roast. He’s mixing beer with the allergy pills Sharon gave him and happily whistling as he works.

“Is it okay to leave them?” I ask.

“Cleopatra loves little kids. She’s in heaven.” His tone softens. “And Falcon and Sharon have been lonely since coming back. I think they prefer Italy, but they’d never part from their kids.”

“Their kids,” I smile, thinking about the couple’s story and my sister’s blunt questions.

Blaze isn’t here, since he didn’t come back with Lucian. “Where’s Blaze?”

“On a walk. He needed air.”

I’m assuming that means Blaze is having another cigarette.

He holds the back door open for me, one long arm outstretched, so that I have to brush against him to step out into the cold night. “Thank you.”

He didn’t mention my coat. I take it as a bad sign. My stomach clenches.

There is a massive elephant in the room between us, and I want it addressed.

I step down two concrete stairs into the spacious, well-kept yard. I turn to look over my shoulder as he pulls the door shut behind us with a firm tug.

We walk out back to a detached two-car garage, its white bay doors old-fashioned, made of wood rather than metal.

He has to open the door manually.

When he’s inched the door open a crack, I call out. “Stop! Wait.”

Whatever he wants to show me, I’m not prepared to see.

I have to dispel this cloud between us first.

“Can we talk about what Ryan said?”

“What about it?” He looks at me coldly.

My knees turn to jelly. I almost lose my nerve. Still, I need to clear the air.

“You know exactly what, Lucian,” I say carefully, choosing my next words. "Our roommate’s last name.”

“Later.” His word is final. He looks away from me, turning his attention back to the garage door.

I watch his muscles shift beneath his shirt. Each move he makes is graceful yet powerful. I find him mesmerizing to watch.

I enter the garage, expecting to see cars, tools, maybe a motorcycle. What he reveals makes my pulse race and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My nipples tighten against my bra.

This room is beyond anything I could have ever imagined, even in my wildest dreams.

All thoughts fade from my mind. I focus on this moment, taking it all in.

“Won’t they mind we’re in here?”

“We’re brothers. We share everything.”

I watch him cautiously as he moves closer.

He surrounds me, enveloping me with the scent of smoke and cedar and the warmth of his masculine energy.

My hands move to his shoulders, needing something to hold onto to stay anchored. “Lucian.”

“Erin, sweet Erin.” He slips his hands between my legs. His fingertips press against my entrance over fabric, the pad of his thumb finding my clit through my clothes.

He applies steady pressure, my eyes squeeze shut, and my world goes to bright white stars, my fingertips digging into his shoulders as I rise on tiptoe for more.

“I should clarify,” he says.

“Hmm?”

“We brothers share everything but this,”he grips me, tightening his hand around me, hard, and I gasp. “This belongs to me.”

“Oh,” I manage to moan.

“I want to possess every inch of this beautiful body.”

What is he doing?

My head feels light, and my eyes stay closed.

My only option is to hold onto his shoulders tighter as he explores. His hands are now creeping under my dress, brushing over my bare thigh. He cups my ass. One cheek in each hand. Then he pushes his fingers past the cleft and squeezes.

The feeling has me rising higher on my toes, but he’s still exploring, and I hold my breath as he slips those strong hands under the waistband of my panties, now clutching my bare ass, the sensation doubling.

I moan as he grips me tighter, the sound choking off as his fingers move. Two fingertips press against a naked bundle of nerves I’ve never given much thought to. An intimate place I’d never thought I’d share.

I give a weak protest, whispering his name in my shame, “Lucian,” but my protest stops there, and I bury my face into his shoulder as he pushes me over the edge of shame and wonder.

A habit he seems to thrive on.

The heat of his mouth presses against my ear.

That wave of tingles slips down my neck, just like they do whenever he’s this close.

He whispers against me, “I want to take you here one day,” and as he speaks, he presses harder, causing me to gasp in surprise as waves of pleasure surge through my body.

Then, his hands are gone. My dress falls back into place. His hands are on my waist. “Look at me,” he says.

I make myself look up at him, cheeks burning.

“Tonight I want to introduce you to Bachman playtime. I want to show you some of our toys.”

My heartbeat thrums like a hummingbird’s wings.

Black matte walls display polished metal, worn leather, and intricately coiled ropes, all carefully arranged. Crops, cuffs, lengths of silk, and fur-lined restraints hang from dark wooden pegs like instruments waiting for a symphony to start. A padded bench rests beneath an iron-barred chandelier.

The focal point, however, is on the wall. Dark, shiny wooden bars secured with iron bolts and heavy rings. Looking at them makes my skin prickle with heat. Lucian stands beside me, watching my reaction, eyes sparkling like onyx, jaw tight like granite.

“I want to push your boundaries. I want to control you.” He lifts my hand from his shoulder, presses his lips to my skin, slow and reverent. “I want to show you what trust means to me.”

My breath catches on the inhale.

I want to run away from him forever, confess everything to him at once, and have his many babies.

All in the same exhale.

I stand there, face to face with him, staring at the wall and the toys, soaking in the energy of this place.

“I’ve never done this,” I whisper. “Any of this. I’ve never even been touched by anyone but you. I couldn’t trust them enough.”

He drops my hand. My other hand leaves his shoulder.

Releasing my waist, he steps behind me, his boots heavy against the concrete, his words hot at my ear.

“You turn me on so much. Knowing I’m not only the first man to have you, but the first to show you these things.

” He kisses my neck, in that way he knows is my undoing. “All the things.”

The kiss makes my knees go weak, but every word he says ignites something inside me.

Fear? Longing? Desire? Curiosity?

I can’t quite name the feeling.

He moves my hair aside, exposing more of my neck for his torturous kisses. His hand rests on my shoulder as his soft lips nip back to my ear, where he demands an answer to dangerous questions, “Do you want me to take you out of your comfort zone? Push you further than you’ve ever gone?”

Do I? Can I let him?

I nod slowly.

“No, baby.” His hand slides from my shoulder, curling around my throat.

Tight. Firm.

His chest presses against my back as he buries his hardening cock into the cleft of my ass. And this is where I’m meant to walk away. Instead, I arch against him, wanting more, heat flowing between my thighs.

“I need the words.” His fingers stroke my throat, sending a wave of dangerous fire over my skin. “I want your submission, baby. I already own your body. I want your will. And I want you to give it to me.”

“Yes,” I whisper, my pulse pounding. “You have control.”

“Good girl.”

His words melt me.

Suddenly, all my thoughts, fears, and worries are put aside. This will probably be the last time we are ever together. I’m going to cherish every moment so that when he learns the truth and never wants to see me again...

When I’m home alone, aching for him…

I’ll at least have these memories.

He begins undressing me slowly. My dress slides off my shoulders, the fabric whispering against my skin like a secret. Then down my hips, inch by inch, until it pools at my feet. I feel exposed, bare.

Beautiful.

Lucian circles me, brushing his fingertips along my waist. “Arms up.”

I obey, trembling yet eager. He leaves me standing there, arms raised as he takes off my bra, which joins the pile at my feet. My naked breasts ache for him, and he takes the moment to worship the sight of them, like he’s memorizing every inch of me.

And maybe he is.

But the cuffs are soft, made of suede and lined with fur. He gently secures each wrist before attaching them to the wall hooks. Not so tight I can’t move, just enough to make me give in.

He has my heart as caged as my body.

“Still doing okay?”

“Yes.” My answer is breathless. “More than okay.”

He moves behind me again. Rope brushes my skin like a kiss, and I realize he’s circling my limbs, binding me to his will. The material is strong, restraining, yet silky soft. Each knot is placed with purpose, crossing over my ribs, my thighs, framing my breasts.

He moves with quiet, confident focus, as if my body is a canvas he’s known forever.

I have to ignore the fact that he’s so good at this because he’s done it many times before. But he looks at me like I’m the first.

Then he says, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Making my heart stop.

I manage a reply, “Thanks to your handiwork.”

“You’re the reason for my work, the muse for my art. And right now, you’re prettier than a Picasso.” He runs a fingertip over the curve of my breast. My chest feels heavy, my nipples tight to the point of discomfort. He drags his finger over one, then takes it between his fingers and pinches.

I feel my insides tightening all the way to my core.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly.

“I'm scared.”

“Of me?”

Yes.

“No. About how much I want this. About how new everything is. This whole room, this night, everything about you and your life, it's all so new to me.”

“Let me show you more.” His palm rests on my lower belly, as if he’s cupping his hand to catch the flutters inside.

He steps back, and the sudden distance makes my skin ache for his return.

A riding crop appears in his hand. Not too long. Not too thick. The tip is thin, flexible leather. He brushes it down the center of my chest. Once. Then again.

“Lucian…”

“I want answers, little girl.” His voice has that dangerous edge it sometimes gains. Low and soft but sharp as glass. “Tell me about the Morettis.”

I freeze.

I thought this was going to be a sex session. One that would end with cuddled kisses.

Then, we would talk.

Instead, I’m bound up, longing for him, wet for him, and I’m his prisoner.

And now he’s going to interrogate me.

He taps the crop gently against my inner thigh. A soft nudge. A reminder of who’s in charge.

I don’t need a reminder. He’s always had control over me.

“Bambi’s brother,” I whisper. “I didn’t know who he was when I met him.”

The crop slides up, between my thighs, drawing circles over my tender flesh.

His eyes are dangerous. “And after you found out?”

“I didn’t stop,” I admit. “I should have. But I didn’t.”

The first flick comes, light and sharp against my skin. I cry out, not from pain but from surprise. He leans in, words thick with hunger. “I don’t mind that you knew him, Erin. But I do mind that you didn’t tell me.”

“I was scared,” I whisper.

“Of me?”

Some truth seeps out. “Of losing what this could be.”

The crop presses down again, a little firmer—one breast, then the other. My nipples harden under the teasing licks of leather, my body revealing every secret my mind tries to hide.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I do.

“I told you I wouldn’t run, but I need your complete honesty.”

I nod. “You have it.” I lie.

“And your trust?” he asks.

I nod again. “Yes.”

The crop lowers. Slides between my legs again, gathering moisture and promise. “Then let me have the rest of you, too.”

The tip of the riding crop lingers between my thighs, lazy and cruel in its patience. Each pass fans the flames already licking at my skin, my nerves sparking like frayed wires.

Lucian watches me, predator-still, his jaw ticking as he reads every stuttered breath I take.

“You're wet,” he murmurs.

I nod, shame and arousal burning in tandem.

"For me?"

“Yes,” I whisper, throat dry. “Always for you.”

His lips twitch but do not quite form a smile, more like a sign of approval. The dark, feral glint in his eyes deepens.

Then, the crop snaps across my inner thigh with just enough bite to make me jolt and cry out. My breath holds, and my nipples harden as I strain against the rope that binds me.

“That’s for keeping secrets,” he says.