Lucien(59)

“You can’t have her,” Luc told him. “She’s mine.”



“Yeah, you just keep on telling yourself that. Man up and go home, Luc, before I do it for you.” Ben turned on his heel and was gone.





Elise jumped as the laundry room door flew open and slammed into the wall.



“What the hell are you doing,” Luc demanded.



“What does it look like I’m doing?” Elise turned her back on him and went back to ironing the pillow cases. She’d been mad two hours ago, now she was livid.



“You’re supposed to be in bed.”



“Oh really? How interesting.” She finished that pillow case and started on another. “Did you have a nice midnight snack?” Sarcasm dripped from her sugar coated words.



“Dammit, woman, stop doing that and—”



Elise spun around and threatened him with the hissing iron. “Just try and make me stop.”



The air crackled with tension as they stood there glaring at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move.



“Put the iron down, Elise.” A muscle worked in his cheek and she steeled herself against the exhaustion written in his features.



“No.”



“Yes.”



“No.”



He moved faster than she could react and yanked the iron from her death grip, jerked the cord from the wall, then threw her over his shoulder. “I said yes.”



“Put me down!” She pounded on his back and kicked, but he didn’t put her down. He slammed the iron down on the kitchen counter as he carried her toward the bedroom. “Lucien, put me down this—” The bedroom door slammed shut and the air whooshed out of her lungs as he dropped her on the bed, then followed her down.



He caught her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. “You’re mine,” he said, then claimed her mouth in an open mouthed, purely carnal kiss.



Her mind reeled under the pressure of it and her body woke, tasting the alcohol and rage in him. The stubble on his cheek scratched her chin as he slanted his mouth across hers demanding and taking in a way he’d never done before. His hand moved underneath her shirt, the hot roughness of his palm scraping against her skin and cupping a breast. “Mine.” He released her wrists and went up on his knees, ripped the edges of the shirt apart, then crushed her to the mattress.



“Luc—” His mouth found hers again and drowned out her confusion and anger turning it into primal hunger. They rolled across the bed, fighting to shred the other’s clothes. There was no time to think, only to act and to want, feel, need. His mouth and hands were everywhere, tasting her, loving her, teasing, taking. He made her moan with pleasure, groan in frustration, scream with release. And when she thought she had given all he wanted, he rolled her over pulling her up onto her hands and knees, opening her body to another wave of sensations that made her hunger anew. In one swift, hard stroke he entered her from behind, his breath rasping against her ear, one hand locked on her hip, the other cupping her front, his chest grazing the arched curve of her spine.



Her fingers curled around the rumpled sheet, bunching it in her grip, and she threw her head back, grinding herself against him. This time she would not be alone in her pleasure—she would make him scream. She was wild, wanton, and relentless against him. He groaned and she pushed harder, squeezed tighter, undulating against him in a primitive motion he’d taught her well, and showed him that he was as much hers as she was his.



His fingers dug into her hips, stilling her, but she didn’t let him stop her. She arched her back, turned her head, reaching around with one hand to grab his neck, and dragged his mouth to hers, then she pushed him over the edge, drinking in his muffled shout and giving him hers in return.



They collapsed as one to the bed, lying chest to back, panting for their next breath, and hearing nothing but the pounding of their own hearts. Elise closed her eyes, wondering if she would ever be able to move again and knowing that she didn’t care if she did. Luc pulled the sheet over them, then she felt his hand move around and rest on her stomach.



She yawned and was a hair’s breadth away from sleep when he whispered, “I didn’t know how to live until I met you.”



Sleep receded like an ebbing tide. Did he just say what she thought he said? No, he couldn’t have. She replayed his words in her mind and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Oh-mi-word, he did just say what I thought he said.



But did it mean what she thought it meant? Did he just tell her that he loved her? Giddy with anticipation, Elise drew in a deep breath and prepared to interrogate him on the scope, depth, and meaning of his coded confession. “Luc?”