Page 19 of Until She’s Mine

Evelyn

M y skin is damp and cold, the fabric of the dress clinging to me like a second skin as I stand in the center of the guest room. The space is warm, almost too warm, and the chill of the rain slowly fades from my bones.

I walk to the bathroom. The mirror fogs up almost immediately as I turn on the hot water in the shower, steam rising in soft tendrils. I strip off the wet dress, letting it fall to the floor in a wet heap. The cool air brushes against my skin, raising goosebumps, but I don’t linger.

The shower is a sanctuary. I close my eyes, letting it wash away the tension that’s been coiled in my body since the party.

I reach for a shower gel and notice it’s the same scent and brand I use at home—jasmine and bergamot.

Lucian’s been paying attention, cataloging the smallest details about me.

It’s both unsettling and heady, knowing he’s observed me so closely, that he anticipates my needs before I voice them.

I linger under the water longer than I should.

When I finally step out, I dress quickly in the clothes he left for me.

I find a lingerie set under the pile of clothes.

It is surprisingly soft against my skin, nothing too revealing, but my cheeks blush nonetheless at the thought of him choosing it.

The white cotton shirt and trousers fit perfectly, as if they were made for me—and maybe they were.

I pause, staring at myself in the mirror, and wonder if he’s imagined me like this—soft, vulnerable, entirely his.

I run a hand through my damp hair, letting it fall in loose waves around my shoulders. I step toward the door, my bare feet silent on the plush rug. I hesitate, my hand resting on the doorknob, before I take off my engagement ring and leave it on the bedside table.

The hallway is dimly lit, the soft glow of sconces casting long shadows on the walls. The sound of rain tapping against the windows is replaced by the low hum of slow and haunting music drifting from the living room. I follow it.

Lucian is in the kitchen, his back to me.

He’s shed his suit jacket, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms. My breath hitches at the sight, and I wonder if he feels my presence, if he’s aware of my pulse quickening just from watching him.

“You’re quiet,” he says without turning. “But not quiet enough.”

I freeze, caught. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

He turns. “You didn’t.” Lucian’s eyes sweep over me, lingering on the pajama and the way it clings to my damp skin. “You look comfortable.”

“I am. It fits perfectly,” I say, stepping closer. “What are you making?”

“Chamomile tea. To warm you up.”

I laugh. “You have chamomile tea in your kitchen? I didn’t peg you for the herbal tea type.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he turns back to the kettle and pours the steaming water into two cups. “I keep it here for nights when sleep eludes me. Though I suspect it won’t be necessary tonight.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ll sleep better with me here?”

He stirs a spoonful of honey into one of the cups. “I haven’t slept well in years. But tonight... yes. Maybe I will.”

Lucian hands me the cup, and I cradle the warm porcelain in my hands, letting the heat seep into my palms as I take a tentative sip. The tea is soothing, its floral notes calming the flutter of nerves in my stomach.

“Thank you.” I meet his gaze over the rim of the cup. “Is that how you charm all your guests? Chamomile tea and perfectly sized clothes?”

“Are you asking me if women often find themselves in your position? No, Evelyn. You’re singular. There hasn’t been anyone else since the moment I saw you.”

“For three years?” I ask disbelievingly.

“Three years,” he confirms. “Three years of seeing you with him, watching you hold his hand, hearing him call you his. And each moment of it was agony.” He puts his cup down and closes the distance between us in two steps.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to want someone so desperately that it becomes the only thing you can think about?

To know that every move you make and every word you speak is calculated to bring you closer to that one moment when they’ll finally see you? ”

There’s an obsession, and there is this .

Watching. Waiting. Wanting .

I set the cup down on the counter.

There’s nothing I can say that would be enough, so I don’t try. Instead, I reach for him, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His breath catches, and his eyes flutter closed, savoring the simple touch.

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” I whisper.

His eyes snap open, dark and hungry. “Then let me have this. Let me have you.”

My lips are on his before I can think, before I can stop myself.

His lips are warm, insistent, and I melt into him, my hands finding their way into his hair.

The world narrows to this moment—this room, this man, this kiss that could consume me whole.

He deepens it, his tongue brushing against mine, and a soft moan escapes me before I can stifle it.

When we pull apart, both of us are panting.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says.

“I think I might, because you do the same to me.” I press my hand against his chest and push Lucian back until he’s leaning against the counter, his body rigid with restraint.

I unbutton his shirt, one by one, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest. He grips the edge of the counter behind him, holding himself back from devouring me.

I trace my fingers down his sternum, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and then lower until I reach the waistband of his trousers.

As slowly and seductively as I can manage, I slide my hands beneath the fabric, my fingers brush against the hard line of his arousal.

He inhales sharply, his body tensing beneath my touch, but he doesn’t stop me.

He watches me with intensity that makes my knees weak, his gaze locked on mine as if daring me to continue.

My desire coils tighter, a molten heat pooling low in my stomach as I stroke him slowly, teasingly.

“You’re testing my patience,” Lucian says. His hands leave the counter and find my waist, gripping me possessively.

“Good.” I lean in to brush my lips against his neck. His pulse jumps beneath my mouth. “Because I don’t want your patience tonight. I want you to fuck my mouth.”

I want to taste him. I want to feel him come undone under my hands, my mouth, to hear him say my name like a prayer.

I need to burn away the memory of Tobias, our lies, the life I was supposed to live but never wanted. I need to forget about how I humiliated Tobias tonight, and how with one word from his mouth, my entire world could crumble.

Tonight, I don’t want to think about consequences or propriety or what anyone else might say. I want to be selfish.

I want to take what I’ve been denying myself for three years.

Lucian’s body goes still. For a moment, I think he might refuse, might pull back and reassert control. But then his hands slide up to cup my face, tilting my head back to meet his gaze.

“On your knees,” he commands.

I sink down slowly. The tile is cold, but I barely notice. My hands tremble as I unfasten his trousers. The sound of the zipper sliding down echoes in the quiet kitchen.

His cock is as intimidating as the rest of him—thick and heavy in my hand, the tip already glistening with precum. I lick my lips, my mouth watering. He steps closer, his fingers tangling in my hair as I take him into my hand, feeling the weight and heat of him against my palm.

I glance up at him through my lashes, seeing his clenched jaw, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Then I lean forward, my lips parting as I take the tip of his cock into my mouth. A deep, guttural sound escapes his chest, and he grips my hair tighter.

I know I shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do, but the taste of him, bitter and salty, is addictive. I bury my face deeper, taking him in further. My tongue swirls around him, teasing and tasting every inch. The soft skin, the shape of it, the flavor—it’s bliss.

My mind goes blank as I lose myself in the rhythm.

Lucian’s breath hitches, and his hips jerk ever so slightly forward.

My hands rest on his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles, how he’s barely holding himself together.

The sound of his ragged breathing fills the room, mingling with the soft, wet sounds of my mouth on him.

I bob my head down as far as I can take him, my throat working to accommodate his length. His grip on my hair tightens, pulling me back just enough to give himself room to move. His hips thrust shallowly, setting a rhythm matching the suction of my lips.

“Christ, Evelyn. You’re going to be the death of me.”

I don’t stop. I can’t. The power I hold over him in this moment is exhilarating, and I want more of his sounds. The fullness is addictive, too. I could spend hours like this, learning every inch of him, savoring the way his body responds to my touch.

“That’s it, love, take me deeper,” he rasps.

My eyes begin to water, tears spilling down my cheeks. Breathing through my nose, I push myself further, powerless against the urge to ram my head down until my nose brushes against the base of him.

Lucian’s control is slipping, and I feel it in the tension of his body, his fingers tightening almost painfully in my hair.

I hollow my cheeks, and he lets out a moan that sends a shiver of satisfaction through me.

His hips move again, this time with less restraint, and I let him, my throat working around him to swallow him fully.

“Fuck,” his voice breaks. “You’re perfect like this—on your knees for me.”

I whine around him, the vibration drawing another sharp gasp from his lips.