“Lucas…” His name comes out on a ragged moan as the heat inside me coils and grows, transforming into an unbearable tension. “Oh God, Lucas…” Every muscle in my body vibrates from the agonizing pleasure, my heartbeat pounding audibly in my ears. The moment seems to stretch on forever, and then I climax with startling violence, my muscles clamping down on his shaft as every nerve ending in my body explodes with sensations.
Lucas lowers his head, swallowing my cry with his mouth, and continues thrusting into me, riding me through the orgasm. He fucks me like a man possessed, his hand sliding into my hair to hold me in place for his voracious kiss, and I feel another orgasm building, each merciless stroke of his cock bringing me closer to the edge. But before I can go over, he stops and raises his head to look at me.
“Say it again,” he rasps out, his eyes boring into mine. His skin glistens with sweat, his chest heaving with harsh breathing as his cock throbs deep inside me. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” I gasp, lifting my hips in a desperate attempt to reach the peak. “Please, Lucas, I love you!”
He sucks in an audible breath, and I feel him swell inside me, growing even thicker and harder as he thrusts in one last time before throwing back his head with a savage groan. His cock jerks inside me, his seed spurting out in several warm bursts, and then he rolls his hips in a circular motion, grinding his pelvis against my sex. To my shock, his movements push me over the edge, and I cry out, my nails digging into his back as a shattering wave of pleasure sweeps through me again, leaving me limp and shaking in its wake.
“Fuck, baby,” Lucas groans, and I feel his cock spasm one last time before he withdraws and rolls off me. Like me, he’s covered in sweat and breathing hard, but somehow he finds the strength to pull me toward him, embracing me from behind.
As my heartbeat slows and the post-orgasmic bliss begins to fade, I close my eyes, trying not to think about what I’ve done.
Trying to ignore the terrifying power Lucas holds over me now.
37
Lucas
When my breathing slows and my muscles start obeying my instructions, I get up and carry Yulia to the bathroom for a quick rinse. She’s silent and withdrawn, all but swaying on her feet as I wash her, and I know I pushed too hard, took her too roughly too soon. I should’ve given her at least a couple more days to regain her strength, but instead, I attacked her like a rampaging caveman, making no allowances for her fragile state.
Regret gnaws at me, mixing with worry for her health, but underneath the heavy press of guilt is a glow of hot, dark satisfaction. Beyond the aftermath of stunning pleasure, beyond the physical relief of sex, it’s a feeling that warms me from the inside out, making me feel like I’m on top of the world.
Yulia loves me. There’s no doubt of that now. She loves me, not some dream phantom or lover I’d made up.
It’s ridiculous, but I feel like I won a fucking lottery.
When we’re both clean, I help Yulia out of the shower and towel her off before picking her up again. Taking care of her this way feels like the most natural thing now, and the glowing sensation intensifies when she wraps her arms around my neck and trustingly lays her head on my shoulder as I carry her back to the bedroom.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, stopping next to the bed. Bending down, I place her gently on the sheets and clarify, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No,” Yulia whispers, closing her eyes. She looks exhausted, and worry spears through me again. What if this causes her to relapse? I should’ve held back, should’ve controlled myself better. Hell, I should’ve waited to get answers until she was completely well instead of giving in to my impatience.
Pushing the guilt away, I turn off the light and climb into bed beside her, pulling her into my arms. The feel of her warm, slim curves turns me on again, but this time, I’m able to ignore my body’s reaction.
“Goodnight, beautiful,” I whisper, reaching down to pull the blanket over us. “Sleep well.”
Within a minute, Yulia’s breathing takes on the steady rhythm of sleep, and I close my eyes, the glow returning as I hold her tight.
She loves me, and she’s mine.
Life couldn’t get any better.
* * *
To my relief, the next morning Yulia wakes up with no signs of a relapse. I’m in the kitchen making breakfast when she walks in, already dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, her hair brushed and her eyes bright and alert.
“Hi,” she says softly, stopping in the doorway. A delicate flush colors her cheeks as she looks at me. “Are you home again today?”
“Just for a bit,” I say, smiling at her. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.” She gives me a tentative smile in return. “Just a little hungry.”
“Good. The omelet’s almost ready.”
“Do you want some help?” she asks, coming up to the stove. “I can—”
“Thank you, but I got it.” I wave her away. “If you want, make us both some tea, and I’ll have this on the table in no time.”
Yulia does as I suggest, and five minutes later, we’re sitting down to eat.
“I want to see Misha today,” she says after consuming half of her portion in record time. “Since I’m well and everything.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I say. “I’ll ask Diego to bring him over this afternoon.” I’m still mad at the little punk for upsetting her the other day, but I know I can’t keep her from him—not after what she told me last night.
Yulia puts down her fork, her expression unreadable. “Lucas…” She reaches up to brush her fingers over the back of her neck. “Am I still a prisoner in this house, even with the trackers?”
I frown. “No, you’re not.” I’d already decided that I would give her freedom to roam around the estate once the trackers were in. “I told you that.”
“Then why does Diego need to bring my brother over? Can’t I go see him on my own?”
I hesitate, looking at her. Though in theory, I like the idea of granting Yulia some independence, now that the moment is here, I feel uneasy at the thought of her walking around the estate by herself.
“You can,” I say finally. “But not today. I need to introduce you to more people here first. They need to know who you are and what you mean to me.”
“Because of my connection to the crash,” she says, and I nod, relieved she understands. Though some of my unease stems from irrational possessiveness, there’s a reason to be cautious.
The guards who died in the plane crash had friends and families, some of whom reside on the compound. And though Esguerra and I have done our best to keep the details of the crash under wraps, I know there are rumors about Yulia’s involvement.
Until I publicly claim her as mine, she’s not safe on her own.
“What about my brother?” she asks, picking up her tea, and I notice that she stopped eating, her blue eyes trained on me intently. “Is he in danger?”
“No,” I reassure her. “Diego or Eduardo are with him at all times.”
“So he is a prisoner?”
I sigh. “Yulia, your brother is… well, it’s a fluid situation. Once we’re sure he won’t shoot anyone or try to run away, we’ll give him more freedom as well, okay? It’ll just take some time.”
She takes a few sips of her tea and resumes eating, but I see a small frown etched into her forehead. She’s worried about Michael—the brother who doesn’t seem to appreciate the sacrifices she made for him.
“What were you two arguing about?” I ask when we’re done with our food. “Your brother seemed angry with you for some reason.”
Yulia finishes her tea, then says quietly, “He’s confused. Obenko fed him a bunch of lies about me when he recruited him, and he was his uncle, so…” She shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter, but I see the shadow of pain in her eyes.
UUR’s betrayal goes deeper that I thought.
“So Michael doesn’t know what you did for him?” My hand tightens around my cup as I picture all the things I’m going to do to Yulia’s former colleagues.
“I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter.” She attempts a smile. “Misha’s here now, so I just need to talk to him, straighten it all out.”
“All right,” I say, coming to a decision. Rage beats in my chest, but I keep my voice level as I say, “Let’s go. I’ll take you to see him myself.”
Yulia’s eyes widen. “Now? Don’t you have work?”
“It’ll wait.” Putting down my cup, I stand up and walk around the table. “Do you feel up for a walk?”
She immediately jumps to her feet. “Definitely,” she says, beaming. “Let’s go.”
* * *
We leave the house through the front door. As we step outside, I take Yulia’s hand, squeezing her fingers lightly, and she gives me a wry look.
“I’m not going to run, you know,” she says, and I smile, some of my anger fading.
“It’s not to prevent you from running,” I say, tightening my grip on her hand. Yulia is mine now, and nobody’s going to hurt her again—not without answering to me, at least.