Page 34 of Gilded

MALIA

L uka wraps a towel around my shoulders and slowly dries every part of my body, following the towel with his hands and his mouth and setting me on fire.

I want this in my life more desperately than I can describe. The talking, the touching, the attention, the pleasure, the protection. But I can’t let myself believe this is something it’s not. I remind myself this is about getting one step closer toward a new life. A free life.

I pray that snake brings in millions, but that depends on who attends the gala, how many people the piece speaks to and what charity it’s benefiting.

I’m fully aware this piece may go for less because Finding Forever is unestablished.

But whatever it brings will allow me to break free and find my own forever.

“So fucking gorgeous,” Luka says as he stands after drying my legs. His murmur is barely more than a whisper and sounds more authentic than if he screamed it from the rooftops.

But when his gaze meets mine, it’s flat. The warm Luka has flipped to the callous Luka. The way he can go from real and open to closed and frightening is like a light switch.

If he’s learned to bring up that callous side when he needs it, I can learn too. I’ll have to.

“Bed,” he demands. “Now.”

The words light off a fuse of anticipation. I’m not sure whether to be excited or scared. “Will you tell me?—”

“ Now .”

His words are slower and deeper, and the look on his face tells me I better obey.

My anticipation slides toward fear as I start for the bedroom, naked.

I swear I can feel his heat on my back. I hate the way I wish he’d touch me.

Wrap his arms around me. Kiss me. Tell me it will all be okay again, even if it’s a lie.

The king bed dominates the room. Heavy, dark wood with black hardware and a tall headboard with a grid of thick, vertical and horizontal wire. In contrast, the bedding is white, the metal grid on the headboard, silver.

I pause in the center of the room, and Luka saunters past me, in no hurry, and starts taking the mound of pillows at the head of the bed away, one by one, tossing them on the polished wood floor.

Standing here naked while he’s still dressed is as uncomfortable as it was the first time. An invisible band tightens around my chest.

With all the pillows off the bed, he comes toward me with a slow, smooth, jaguar-like pace, pulling something from his pocket. He stops in front of me, sliding a piece of rope through his fingers. Short, smooth, and deep red.

My lungs struggle to bring in air. “What’s that for?”

“You wanted the next step. This is one of Soren’s less barbaric predilections—bondage.” He slips the rope around my wrist and quickly creates a knot that remains tight without cinching up. “Bed. Now.”

My stomach hitches. “What are we doing? Can you at least tell me?”

“If you question him, he’ll hit you. You already know that, so don’t make trouble for yourself. On. The. Bed. Now .”

I sit on the edge, my heart pounding in my throat.

“On your knees, facing the headboard.”

I want to ask him to explain, because none of this makes sense, but he’s right about learning to do things without question. I scoot back on the bed, angled toward the headboard.

“You’re not listening.” He gets on the bed, wraps one strong arm around my middle, and moves me toward the headboard as easily as if I weigh nothing. At my ear he growls, “On your knees.”

I rise on my knees, bringing me eye level to the metal woven through the headboard. It looks and feels like a cage, and panic bolts through me. I want him to tell me he won’t hurt me. But he’s right. I need to learn how to swallow the fear and do what I need to do until I can find an escape.

He ties my wrist to the metal grid in the headboard, and my throat tightens, my mind hazes with fear.

“Luka?” I grab his shirt with my free hand, panicking. “ Luka .”

He wraps both arms around my middle and presses his mouth to my shoulder, exhaling long and slow. “You’re okay. I won’t hurt you. But Soren will. You have to learn to handle it.”

I let go of his shirt and wrap my arm around his neck, pulling him as close as I can get him, desperate to hold on to this stranger who feels like my lifeline.

Like if I let go, I’ll drown. But he’s also a source of fear.

And for the first time, I understand the term mind fuck , something I’ve heard tossed around at galas but never understood.

“Malia,” he says, his tone edgy. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. You may have to submit to him sexually, but that doesn’t mean you have to let go of your inner strength. Dig deep. Find it. Use it. You can handle this.”

I take a few more breaths to slow my heart, but letting go of his shirt still feels like jumping into the sea.

As I let him tie my other hand to the metal headboard, I search for that strength he sees, and what I find is an even deeper commitment to kill someone—Soren, my father, or myself, because this is not a life I want to live.

I close my eyes and rest my head on the wooden ledge. Tears slide down my cheeks. My chest feels hollow.

Then Luka slides his hands over my shoulders and across my arms, covering my hands on the cage-like metal as he kisses my neck. “I haven’t been able to think about anything but touching you all fucking day.”

His hands slide to my shoulders, down my back and around my ribs. He cups my breasts and strokes my nipples, then lets his hands slide down my belly. I anticipate his touch between my legs, but it never comes, and now I ache.

The bed shifts, and I look over my shoulder. Luka stands and unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off his arms, gifting me with a view of his upper body. Wide shoulders, flat, muscled stomach, and intricate tattoos.

Even though I saw most of his body when he taught me to swim, seeing it now still feels new. Maybe because the circumstances are so different.

His hands move to his belt, and my breathing hitches as he pushes down his zipper, then lets everything he’s wearing drop to the floor. All my air rushes out. Luka is beautiful from the top of his head to the tip of his cock, which is thick and curving toward his belly.

The sight creates complex feelings—equal parts awkwardness, anticipation, and angst. Then he amps those feelings by tearing open a condom and rolling it on.

“Like what you see, love?”

“Yes.” My gaze lifts to his, and my fingers tighten on the metal cage. “I want to touch you.”

“Oh, you’ll be touching me.”

He presses one hand to my foot and runs it up my calf as he returns to the bed. His hands sculpt my ass and his mouth lands on my shoulder, then moves to my neck, and tingles erupt all over my skin. A maddening heaviness collects between my legs.

I twist my wrists against the rope. “This is what he likes?”

“No, this is just an introduction. What he likes is far more demented.”

My nerves start to fray again. Just days until the wedding.

What can I do in that amount of time? I have the drugs from the doctor, but I’m not sure I have enough.

Most items at the house that could cause harm, like guns and knives, are locked away, but that doesn’t matter.

Harm isn’t enough. They’d have to be dead for me to get out of this permanently.

“Mmm.” Luka’s hum pulls me back. His hands dig into my butt cheeks. “Spread your legs.”

I walk my knees farther apart, and his hand slides in, creating a pleasure-pain sensation. It’s been nearly a week since we had sex, but I’m still sore, and I sip air and wince at his touch.

“Pain?”

“Yeah.”

“Too much?”

I try to look at him, read his expression, but I can’t turn that far, and his touch is making me forget everything else. “What?”

“Are you too sore for sex?”

I focus on the metal in front of my face and a waft of sadness sweeps through me, but I’m not sure why. “Would it matter?”

“To me, yes. To him, no.”

I don’t even know why I ask things like this. None of it matters. “No. I want you. I don’t care how sore I am.”

He growls at my ear and slides his fingers inside me, then replaces his fingers with his cock, infinitely bigger. He’s only partially in, and pain bites me in several places. I squeeze my eyes closed and clench my teeth around a soft “Fuck.”

He freezes, his heavy breath at my ear. “Tell me to stop, Malia.”

“I don’t want you to stop.” Another tear slips out. “And he wouldn’t listen anyway. Don’t set me up for failure.”

One of Luka’s hands slides up the front of my body and closes around my neck.

The other grips my hip and holds me as he thrusts deeper.

Each long, deep stroke drives a mixture of pleasure, pain, and surprise from my throat, while his hold tightens.

Having him fill me with this much power and passion is breathtaking.

Or maybe that’s his hand around my throat.

He pulls my head back and kisses me. But it doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like ownership. As a woman who’s been owned my entire life, I know the signs. In my father, it presents as confinement. In Soren, it presents as control. In Luka, it presents as passion.

He wraps his free arm around my waist and draws my hips away from the headboard, allowing him to get deeper. And now, he’s touching things inside me that make me twist with pleasure.

My fingers are bloodless on the iron grid, my thighs spread, my face pressed against my biceps. If I had a choice in how I prefer to be owned, this would win out a million times over—but only if I’m with Luka.

Our bodies grow sweaty, and the slap of our skin fills the room.

His hands slide easily, lighting my skin on fire.

He presses one hand between my legs from the front.

The other grips my breast. Every time he thrusts, his palm rubs my pussy and the other hand pinches my nipple.

It’s wildly maddening. Thrilling. Insanity inducing.

“So, fucking good,” he rasps at my ear. “So.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Good.”

My mind is in the ether when he unexpectedly stills, and I want to weep.

“Are you close?” he asks me, breathing quickly.

“Close to what?” I can’t think. I don’t understand.

“Orgasm.”

I shake my head. “I have no fucking idea. Just don’t stop. Don’t let go. Don’t leave me.”