Page 9 of Gilded

He stares at the book for an extended moment, and the silence is so complete, the sound of the ocean sneaks in as a hum in the background.

He turns it over and looks at the cover again.

I want to say something to break the tension, but I can’t find anything clever or lighthearted, so I just endure the silence.

“This is a good segway into something we need to talk about,” he finally says. “You don’t have to like this situation, but you do have to be a willing participant.”

“Willing to have a stranger teach me sex?” I clench my teeth and force myself to walk back my attitude. “I don’t have much of a choice.”

“But it is a choice. You can choose to learn from me or from him. And if you choose me, I need to know you’re willing.”

“You didn’t think you should have asked last night before you ordered me to strip?”

“Someone’s spicy today. Let me explain it this way. It’s like being at a restaurant, wanting roasted chicken, but they’ve run out and you have to choose between meat and fish.”

“Are you the meat or the fish?”

“Princess, I’m most definitely the meat.”

I laugh at the innuendo. One I only understand because of the things I hear in the women’s bathroom at the galas. But I sober when I force myself to say, “Then I’ll take the meat.”

“Convince me.”

“What?”

“Convince me. Kiss me the way you did last night. Make me believe you want it.” His lips kick up. “Consider it a skills workshop.”

Nerves skitter through my belly and rise through my chest.

He leans his ass against the arm of an upholstered chair, spreads his thighs, and uses both hands to finger-wave me toward him. “Bring your beautiful self over here, princess.”

He’s only two steps away, but it feels like it takes two hours to reach him.

When I’m there, staring at his chest, he brushes my hair over my shoulder. “I’m not going to do it for you.”

I press my hands against his chest, trying to remember how it originally happened yesterday. I thought about it all night, but somehow, my brain skipped the transition from apart to together and focused on the actual kiss.

“Breathe, princess.”

I release the air I didn’t realize I was holding and look up at him. He’s hyper-focused, making me feel…worthy. Worthy of receiving attention.

And the anticipation I feel thrumming through him helps me push forward in this awkward moment. For the first time, I may understand what women mean when they talk about a man looking at them like the outside world doesn’t exist.

I lean in and reach up, pressing my hand to his rough jaw and sliding my thumb over the pale line just below and to the left of his mouth. Up close, I see more scars than I noticed before, and his eyes are bluer than I thought.

His attention never wavers and his pupils have dilated, taking up most of his irises, the way they did last night.

I lean in until I can press my lips against his. He kisses me back, but nothing more.

I pull away. “I believe I participated a little more than you are now.”

His lips curve. “You did, did you?”

“I did.”

“Then I’d better up my game.”

He wraps one arm around my waist, dragging me flush against his body. I inhale in surprise, instantly barraged by the luscious sensation of all his hard muscle against my soft frame.

My brain clicks off and my body clicks on. I link my arms around his neck, open my mouth against his, and touch his tongue with mine. The sound that rolls in the back of his throat thrills me.

His tongue spins with mine, and it’s more exciting than awkward today. His hands roam my back and hips, and I slide my hands into his hair. It’s soft and thick and feels better than it should.

He suddenly breaks the kiss, firmly pushing me back by the arms and leaving me dizzy and breathless. “Well done, princess. Let’s take this to the pool house.”

Luka still has the book in one hand and takes mine with the other. At the door to the patio, he hands the book to a guard. “Get rid of this, please.”

By the time we step into the pool house, I’m shivering from the cold. Or maybe from the shift in his emotions between the house and here, from desire to a strange sense of frustration. He can shift emotions on a dime, and it unnerves me.

I immediately go to the kitchen, needing space between us. Needing to get my head right. Wood crackles in the background as I pull wine and glasses from the shelves. “I asked the staff to start a fire. This place can get pretty cold.”

As I uncork the wine, I notice he stays facing the door, his head bent, his forehead against the wood. I pause and watch him, unsure why the sight makes my heart pull.

When he turns, he slides off his jacket and tosses it over the arm of the sofa. He rolls up his sleeves as I start to pour. I’m distracted by the ink that covers his arms, and I spill the wine. “Shit.”

I drop a towel over the spill. Then he’s behind me, his hands on the counter, trapping me there. My heart rate picks up. My lungs tighten.

My gaze lowers to his hands against the quartz countertop. Tan, masculine hands with scars partially hidden by inked curves and shading. Menacing rings, an expensive watch, and a heavy bracelet dress his hands.

I try to swallow, but my throat is suddenly dry. “Your rings are…unique.”

“Trinkets I’ve picked up over the years.”

My eyes close on the delicious feel of his words at my ear. The soft warmth of his breath. Gooseflesh rises along my skin.

“Why do you have so many tattoos?”

“I like to commemorate my life.”

“What is the barbed wire commemorating?”

“A rough childhood.”

I don’t know how barbed wire would relate, but I let it go. “Are those letters on your fingers?”

He leans in and slides his hands together, bringing his chest against my back, and I feel like a warm waterfall has opened inside my body. I forget what we’re talking about until he closes his fingers, and the cursive letters come together, forming the word vengeance .

The sight shoots a streak of unease through me. It’s a good reminder of who and what he is. “Who do you want revenge against?”

He presses his whole body against mine and drops his face to my hair. I lose the ability to think. To speak. I will my body not to react, but after having so little physical touch for so long, I feel like a desert sponge soaking up water droplets.

“You need to get used to having a man’s body against yours.” His voice is low and rough and pops my momentary fantasy bubble.

His hands travel from my hips to my belly, my ribs, and over my breasts, making me tense and my nipples tighten.

“You need to get used to having a man’s hands on you.”

Nerves shiver across my skin, and I search for a diversion.

“Wine?” My voice comes out as a rasp, and I pick up the glass, turning toward him even while his hands are still on my body. That brings us so close, I can see the stormy rim around his irises.

He takes both wineglasses from my hands and sets them on the counter behind me. His mood has degraded from frustration to murky darkness. Sometimes I wish I couldn’t read people like this.

His hands slide up my back. Slowly. Firmly. And while one arm wraps around my waist and holds me securely against his body, the other hand slides under my hair and around the back of my neck. “You’re not wearing perfume today?”

“You didn’t like it.”

“Good. I brought some different ones for you to try.”

“Can’t wait for Soren to notice. That’ll be fun.”

His lower body leans into mine, and something hard presses against my pelvis, creating both desire and angst.

I must look as confused as I feel because he says, “That’s my erection.”

I force my gaze from his lips to his eyes. “What?”

He rocks his hips, and I instantly understand the meaning of lust. My body is drenched in feel-good chemicals, overriding my mind.

He presses his forehead to mine but holds eye contact. “That’s. My. Erection.”

Erection? Think, Malia. I’m intensely annoyed with myself. I can’t find the meaning of the word in my lust-saturated brain. “Uh…right.”

“Do you know what that is?”

“Yes… No…” I close my eyes. “I can’t think.”

“That’s one of the great things about sex. You don’t have to think.” He takes my hand and pushes my palm against his crotch. I open my eyes and find his gaze drilling into mine, demanding I pay attention. He slides my hand up and down the thick length, and his jaw tightens. “This is my cock.”

It’s getting hard to breathe. Impossible to think.

Then his hand is between my legs, creating counterpressure to that strange restlessness I don’t understand. “This is your pussy. But for the next three weeks, it’s really mine. Mine . No one touches you but me. Do you understand?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Did you do what I told you to do last night?”

“Um, no.”

His fingers move between my legs, shooting shards of sensation through my body and making me gasp.

“Is this where you feel the most pressure?”

“Y-yes.”

“And how does it feel to have me touch you?”

My breathing is erratic, and I can’t control it. “I don’t?—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

My gaze flicks to his, then slides away. “Good.”

“It will feel even better when my cock fills you. When my cock stretches you, preparing you for other cocks. So many other cocks. One of Soren’s kinks is having sex with more than one person at a time.

Sometimes that means another woman will join you.

Sometimes it’s another man. It may be just one other person, but it could also be two, three, or more.

It means he’s going to give permission to other men to use you for sex. ”

I swallow, my throat thick.

“Another one of his kink fetishes is voyeurism. He’ll get off watching you get fucked by other men, in any way those other men want to fuck you.”

His fingers move deeper, his touch heavier. “But this pussy will always be mine, because I’m the first one in. I’m the one who will brand you as mine. I’m the one you’ll never forget.”

I can’t follow this conversation. I can’t think about anything but the way my body seems to swell under his touch. I can’t hold still and rock my hips against his hand.

“That’s it, little princess. I will be where you find pleasure. My hands. My mouth. My cock.”

I’m confused by his intensity.

“You like the way I touch you?”

I suck my lip between my teeth. “Mmmhmm.”

His hand whips upward and tightens at my throat.

My eyes widen with shock, and I clasp one hand around his wrist. His grip is tight, but not so tight that I can’t breathe.

His body is now up against mine from nose to toes.

That prominent erection keeps my brain hazed around the edges and my body aching for something I don’t fully understand.

“That’s too bad, because this is how Soren will touch you,” he says, venom in his low, rough tone. “He’s a sadist. The more pain he can cause someone, the better. There’s no stopping him. He wants all dominance, all the time. His ego is too big and too fragile to allow anything else.”

As he speaks, his hand tightens on my throat. I manage to pry one of my fingers under one of his. “Luka…”

His eyes are wild. “His sickness will manifest in causing you pain. Hitting, kicking, binding, biting, burning, shocking, whipping?—”

“Luka.” I fight to drag in air. “ Stop .”