Page 89 of Shadow Waltz
“You want to know what drives me crazy?” Luka asked, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, intimate despite the menace. “It's watching you walk around wearing my collar while acting like you don't belong to me. It's listening to you make decisions about my organization while pretending you have any authority that doesn't flow directly from me.”
His hand came up to cup my face, the touch gentle but with steel underneath. “But mostly, it's knowing that you're right to question me, and hating that I'm not strong enough to give you the partnership you deserve.”
The unexpected vulnerability in that admission made my breath catch. “Luka?—”
“Maybe that's because the collar isn't the only thing that defines what I am to you,” I said, reaching up to touch the leather at my throat. “Maybe that's because what we have is more complicated than simple ownership.”
“Is it?” His hand found my wrist, fingers closing around it with careful pressure—firm enough to remind me of his strength, gentle enough to show restraint. “Because from where I'm standing, it looks pretty simple. You belong to me. Everything else is just details.”
“Then you're not looking hard enough.”
The challenge hung in the air between us like smoke, heavy with implications that could reshape everything we'd built together. I could see Luka processing my words, recognizing the line I was drawing, understanding that what happened next would determine whether we moved forward as partners or remained locked in the power struggle that had defined us from the beginning.
When he moved, it was with the sudden violence of a storm breaking. His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back as his mouth crashed against mine with enough force to bruise. But instead of trying to escape, I found myself kissing him back with equal aggression, biting at his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
The taste of copper exploded across my tongue, salt and iron and the promise of violence barely contained. Luka's other hand found my throat, fingers pressing against the collar, and I could feel my pulse hammering against his palm like a caged bird desperate for freedom.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growled against my mouth, pressing me back against the office wall with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. “To push me until I lost control?”
“Yes,” I gasped, the admission torn from somewhere deep in my chest. “I wanted to see who you really are when the mask comes off.”
“And now you have.”
His mouth found my throat, teeth scraping against the leather of the collar before moving lower to bite at the sensitive skin of my neck. I could feel bruises blooming under his attention, marks that would be visible for days, claiming me in ways that went beyond any piece of jewelry.
“The penthouse,” Luka said, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “Now.”
It wasn't a request, wasn't even really a command. It was a statement of fact, a recognition that what was happening between us had moved beyond the realm of choice into something inevitable and dangerous and absolutely necessary.
The elevator ride to his private suite felt like an eternity compressed into minutes, our bodies pressed together in the confined space, hands exploring and claiming with desperate urgency. By the time the doors opened, my shirt was half-unbuttoned and Luka's tie was hanging loose around his neck, evidence of the battle we'd been fighting since the moment his control snapped.
The penthouse was dim and golden, city lights smearing color across glass and marble. The door shut behind us with a hiss of finality. Luka stalked me across the room, eyes glittering with a hunger I’d never seen before, not even on the worst nights.
“Strip,” he commanded.
I peeled my clothes away slowly, letting him watch as inch by inch I bared myself to the heat in his gaze. When I stood naked but for the collar, I didn’t look away—I wanted him to see all of me, everything I was offering. My cock hung heavy, already leaking, the air cool on my flushed skin.
Luka prowled around me, hands never gentle—he gripped my jaw, thumb brushing my bottom lip until I parted for him. He pushed his thumb in, slow and possessive, pressing down on my tongue, making me taste the salt of his skin. His other hand slid down my chest, pinching my nipple until I gasped, then rolling it between his fingers until I moaned.
He leaned in, breath hot in my ear. “Keep your hands behind your head,” he growled. “You move them, I’ll tie you up and make you watch me jerk off all night instead.”
A shudder ran through me, my cock jerking, leaking more onto my thigh.
He worked his way down my body—biting, licking, leaving wet, blooming bruises from my collarbone down to my ribs. He spent extra time at my nipples, sucking one deep into his mouth, grazing his teeth until I squirmed and whined, desperate for more.
“Look at you,” he murmured, cupping my balls, rolling them in his palm. “Already so desperate, and I haven’t even gotten started.” His mouth trailed lower, teeth scraping the thin skin at my hip. He knelt between my legs, spreading them wide with both hands, leaving me wide open and exposed to his gaze.
He spat directly onto my cock, watching the glisten roll down my length, then smeared it in with his fist. “You like that?” he asked, stroking me slow and lazy, thumb swiping over the slick, sensitive head. “Getting all messy for me?”
I could only nod, breathless.
He laughed, low and mean. “Say it.”
“I—I like it. I like when you make me messy, Luka.”
His fist tightened, stroking me harder now, but still not fast enough, always keeping me just on the edge. He bent his head, tongue flicking out to lap at the precome leaking from my tip, then wrapped his lips around the head and sucked—deep, hungry, unhurried. My knees nearly buckled.
He worked me over with his mouth, switching from soft, wet licks to sharp nips, then back again—sometimes taking me deep until I choked, other times just teasing the slit, tongue swirling, lapping up every drop I gave him.