Page 111 of Shadow Waltz
Something flickered across Luka's features—not pity, but understanding. “And now?”
“Now it reminds me that storms pass. That morning always comes, eventually.”
“Philosophical.” His voice was softer now, almost gentle. “I like that about you—the way you find meaning in small things.”
“What about you? What's your favorite sound?”
Luka was quiet for a moment, and I thought he might deflect or turn it into another display of control. Instead, he surprised me.
“Your laugh,” he said quietly. “Not the polite one you use in meetings, but the real one. When you forget to be careful and just... react.”
The admission hung between us like a bridge I wasn't sure I was brave enough to cross. “That's...”
“Ridiculous?” His smile held sharp edges. “You asked for ridiculous topics.”
“I was going to say unexpected.”
“I'm full of surprises, Ash. Some pleasant, others...” He reached out to trace the edge of my jaw with one finger. “Others require more careful handling.”
The touch was gentle but carried the weight of possession, reminding me that even in moments of unexpected tenderness, Luka was still the most dangerous man I'd ever known.
“What other surprises should I be prepared for?” I asked, proud that my voice stayed steady despite the way my heart was hammering.
“That depends.” His thumb brushed across my lower lip. “How adventurous are you feeling tonight?”
My heart pounded in my chest. I tasted his skin, a ghost of salt, and realized how little distance there was between surrender and hunger when it came to Luka. He held my gaze for a moment that felt like it might last forever, blue fire caught in storm-cloud gray, his eyes promising things I both feared and craved.
Luka straightened, his presence filling the room, then reached for my hand. I followed him, breath shallow, nerves alive, letting him lead me out of the study and down a hallway I’d never explored. The carpet muffled our footsteps, expensive underfoot, the kind of luxury that always felt a little unreal. At the end of the corridor, he paused, thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles. There was a panel in the wall, almost invisible, but Luka pressed his palm to a hidden sensor and the door slid open, silent and smooth.
Inside, the room was dim and enormous. The air smelled like leather, cedar, a faint trace of cologne. A collection of tools hung neatly from polished racks: lengths of silk rope, black leather cuffs, heavy collars lined in velvet, canes, paddles, a wide spreader bar, floggers, and clamps of every shape and size. There were sturdy frames set up at the room’s edges, a padded bench, and a wide bed with anchor points at each corner. The whole place was curated, clinical, and charged with possibility.
Luka turned to face me, looming in the half-light, his shirt open at the throat. His chest was pale and marked with faint scars—thin white lines that stood out against smooth skin, the evidence of a life lived at the edge. His body was built for control and endurance, every muscle taut beneath the expensive fabric.Shoulders broad, arms thick with the strength of someone who’d fought for every inch of power he possessed. His abs were tight, the kind of ridges that begged to be bitten, a dusting of dark hair leading down past the waistband of tailored black slacks.
He watched me watch him, something hungry and possessive in his expression. His hands found his belt, unbuckling slowly, letting the leather slide free. He drew it through the loops with one practiced pull, the whisper of it almost obscene in the quiet. His pants followed, pooling at his feet, leaving him in black briefs that barely contained him. The bulge there was impossible to ignore—thick, heavy, the outline clear. He was big, the head pushing at the fabric, a wet spot already darkening the cotton where he leaked. The shape of him was undeniable: thick at the base, flared at the crown, heavy-veined, the kind of cock that left no room for uncertainty or mercy.
He peeled off his shirt, letting it drop, then pushed the briefs down, freeing himself with a low, satisfied exhale. His cock sprang free, hard and proud, rising up over a nest of dark hair, the shaft flushed and ridged, the tip gleaming with precome. It was long—easily nine inches, maybe more—thick enough to fill my fist, the veins standing out along the length, the head broad and swollen, almost angry-looking. My mouth went dry, nerves and want colliding in my gut.
Luka approached, his body heat wrapping around me, the scent of him—clean, musky, male—intoxicating. He stopped just in front of me, every inch of his naked skin an invitation and a threat. He took my chin in his hand, tilting my face up so I couldn’t look away. The collar at my throat felt heavier, tighter, a claim and a promise.
“Are you ready?” he asked, voice low and graveled, threaded with anticipation. “Because I will push you. I will own you tonight, Ash. All of you. You’ll take what I give and thank me for it.”
The words went straight to the base of my spine, turning the fear into a slow burn of hunger. I swallowed, throat tight, eyes locked on his. “Yes. I want it. I want all of it.”
He smiled, sharp and knowing, then turned away, letting me watch the play of muscles in his back and shoulders as he moved to the wall. He selected a collar—a heavier one, thick black leather lined with velvet and set with polished steel rings. He beckoned me closer. My hands trembled as I stepped into the circle of his arms.
He unclasped the collar around my neck, replacing it with the new one. The weight settled at the base of my throat, heavier, colder, even more possessive. Luka buckled it tight, then ran his thumb along my jaw, tracing the edge, claiming me all over again.
He turned me, guiding me to the bed, then pressed me down over the cool sheets, my knees on the floor, my chest and cheek pressed to the mattress. He stroked a hand down my back, following the curve of my spine, pausing at the waistband of my jeans.
I swallowed, my mouth dry, and lifted my hands to the buttons of my shirt. I could feel his eyes on me, weighing every breath, every movement. The new collar pressed heavy and snug at my throat. It felt like the world had shrunk to just this room, this moment, and the heat in Luka’s gaze. Slowly, I slipped each button free, dragging the process out until anticipation shimmered along every inch of my skin.
I shrugged the shirt off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Luka stepped closer. He didn’t touch me—just watched, eyes lingering on the planes of my chest, the curve of muscle, the faded bruises and the fresh, pink marks he’d left in earlier nights. My heart thudded louder.
I reached for my jeans. Luka’s voice cut in, low and possessive. “Slower. I want to see you. All of you.” The commandmade my cock twitch. I hooked my thumbs under the waistband and slid the denim down my thighs, my briefs going with them in one motion. I stepped out, completely exposed, shivering as the air met my heated skin. My cock hung heavy, flushed dark, already dripping at the tip.
Luka finally moved, predatory and sure, every muscle in his body flexing beneath that pale, perfect skin. He was bigger than me—broad chest dusted with dark hair, arms roped with muscle, thighs thick and powerful. His cock hung between his legs, thick and beautiful. Every inch of him screamed control, intent, hunger.
He circled behind me, one hand settling on the back of my neck, the pressure firm, claiming. “On the bed. Knees apart. Palms flat in front of you.” His voice was a quiet command.