Lucian’s Reign: A Billionaire Romance
Lucian’s Reign: Chapter 11

“Survive.

Survive until I can beat them.

This mantra kept me together through the most devastating years of my life.

For some of the vicious monsters belong to the most prestigious families.

Their depravity runs deeper than those of the average ones.

Because the law is always on their side.”

Lucian

Location Unknown, United States

Lucian, 13 years old

I fall on the ground, the dust rising and settling over my sweat-covered skin. Blood drips from my mouth, and the loud chanting of the crowd fills my ears.

“Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.”

Breathing heavily, I open my hands in front of me and get on my knees. The ground underneath me vibrates violently, and without looking back, I roll to the side seconds before the heavy bull passes me by, barely missing goring me with his horns.

His hooves become a blur in the distance as he races around the perimeter, the oval arena allowing him a wide range of moves, and the crowd cheers more, even whistling as they sit on the benches above it, protected from the wild beast they unleashed on me.

“He’s over there!” they shout to the bull, pointing their diamond-covered fingers in my direction as if the animal can understand them. “Right there!”

The lights attached to the ceiling brighten up the entire area, disrupting my vision. Dizziness overtakes me, urging me to lie on my back longer, but that’s a luxury I can’t afford.

Because any sign of weakness leads to disinterest, and any disinterest leads to more punishment and death.

I don’t want to die.

Not yet anyway.

Servers pass by the rows giving away drinks and snacks. The men and women who came to watch tonight invested a lot in this establishment, and they expect the best treatment.

After all, the show was planned for their amusement so they could pick their favorite toys. Their deprived desires entail breaking those who have the most strength because the cries and pain gets them off like nothing else.

My burned and bruised skin, along with several cracked bones and deep scars inflicted by sharp knives, can attest to that.

My heart gallops inside my chest. My whole body aches, sending pain traveling through my system in intense waves that shake me over and over again, but I block all emotions away, concentrating on only one thing.

Surviving.

Gathering all the strength I possess, I get up and then race in the other direction as the bull turns around, stops, paws his hooves a few times, and thunders after me.

The crowd goes ballistic, cheering him on and whistling loudly, as they stand up from their seats and lean on the railing.

Blocking the outside world away, I zero my focus on the rope dangling from the ceiling right in the middle of the arena. It sways from side to side as the bull grazes the end with his back while coming after me.

That’s the final destination for this fucking show, and my only chance of winning this game is if I can manage to get on that—they’ll lift it up and declare me the winner.

Otherwise, the bull will kill me, and the next boy who comes to participate will have my body in the way to limit his movements.

We are a disposable trash to them but not to me.

We are humans, although I’m not sure anyone even cares if we exist.

But I care.

For I won’t rest until they all pay for this, so under no circumstances can I lose.

My bare, bruised feet burn as I dash to the right, the bull hot on my heels, and then turn around right as he comes at me. I grab his horn, and he jerks his head while still galloping forward and dragging me right along with him.

And this is when I let go, falling on my back with a loud cry. And then I quickly roll several times toward the rope, bringing myself closer to the goal, as he reaches a dead end. He spins around and stomps his hooves again, his nose flaring, his gaze on me, and for a second I feel compassion toward this creature.

He and I are the same, trapped in this arena doing our best to survive because cruel people captured us both.

This contact lasts for just a second, and I nod a little to the animal as I look at the rope and flee toward it with the bull chasing me, everything moving so rapidly I barely have time to breathe.

Even the crowd grows quiet, watching us in fascination, and I widen my strides, having only seconds to survive this ordeal and jump high on the rope, wrapping my hands tightly right as the bull bumps his horn into my calf.

I bite my lips, stilling the agonized scream that would fill all these despicable people with happiness.

The bull stomps, and I glide upward.

Up. Up. Up.

Until he finally cannot reach me. The blood from my leg drips on the sand, creating red splashes on it, as the crowd erupts in applause.

One of the walls in the arena slides open, and someone calls the bull who strolls toward it, breathing heavily, and disappears as a disgusting voice says through the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, Javier. Thirteen years old. Shall we start the bidding?”

Familiar nausea hits me, threatening to push out my lunch and make me spill it on the ground. The auction means tonight he will sell me to the highest bidder, and I will have to entertain them.

And judging how I lasted almost ten minutes in the arena, the fucker will be extra sadistic, using all kinds of tools to inflict the most pain.

Whoever he is though is up for disappointment. I never give them the satisfaction of begging or tears. I will myself to a quiet place in my psyche where I stay until all the torture is over.

Until the next time.

The rope slowly goes down, and I hop to the ground, wincing at the wound on my leg that will need a bandage and some medication.

Although James and his goons do not give a shit about us, they do keep us relatively healthy, because otherwise, they won’t make any money.

Depraved fuckers are interested in the product only when they think they can tarnish it, or they’ll have no fun.

Or so James says whenever he beats me until I turn blue, because he still hasn’t managed to get my obedience and complete surrender.

Although not for the lack of trying. The last six years have been worse than hell on earth since I’ve already lived in hell.

After Francis captured us in his basement, he proceeded to prepare us for James’s clients as requested.

Every day was worse than the previous because the torture would grow, adding to the already festering wounds.

Metal chains choked us as Francis counted how long we could last without air, cigarettes burning us and leaving imprints on our skin marking us like cattle, hosing us with cold water and then dragging us out onto the cold snow as two men held us down, not letting us leave.

Starvation for days and then feeding us so much we got sick, not letting us relieve ourselves.

Almost drowning us in the deep tub, keeping our heads under the water until we struggled and then raising us up to give us enough time to gulp air, and then they’d do it all over again.

Dispersing rats on us that sank their sharp teeth in our flesh, biting us hard, and then Francis walked around us while we screamed in terror.

However, all of this we could withstand no matter the pain or Andreas’s resolve slowly slipping as he always begged for mercy to either be kicked away or hit with a whip by Francis.

Rape, though, almost killed me.

But I couldn’t and wouldn’t give up.

Once Francis was satisfied with the results, he sent us and three more children who lived through the ordeals to James at his hidden mansion and arena where he’s kept us ever since.

The days are all the same, merging together like a never-ending circle of abuse with no hope in sight.

The show. The torture. Sleep. Tending to our wounds. Repeat.

And only one question plagued my mind every single night.

How long does a person need to survive in order to beat someone?

James’s voice pulls me from the hideous memories, and I see him walk toward me wearing his usual gray suit and a wide smile that never reaches his ice-cold eyes. “Starting price one hundred thousand dollars.” He grips my neck and revulsion rushes through me. I jerk in his hold, but he cuts his nails into my skin, gluing me to the spot. “The lady with number ten.” I glance in her direction as her diamond watch glistens in the light when she lifts her number, winking at me, and I snarl at her, wanting nothing but to spit in her face.

She wiggles her nose in distaste, but by the cruel glint in her eyes, I know she plans to make me pay for it later.

If she buys me, that is, as another man raises number forty. “One hundred fifty thousand.”

The woman glares at him, shouting, “Two hundred thousand.” Someone else screams a large sum of money while I zone out, noticing that the blood stopped pouring from my leg but a deep ache remains. He probably didn’t touch the bone like the last time, but it might fester if the doc doesn’t put something on it.

James almost beams at how the crowd argues over me, probably already calculating what he can do with this money. As he says, for all my resistance, they sure pay well for me.

Fuckers.

Suddenly the crowd goes quiet, shocked a little, and even James stands speechless, gaping at the man who holds number twenty. The man wears a black suit while a diamond earring hangs from his ear. His dark hair falls down to his shoulders. His bright eyes pierce through me as if he studies me under a microscope.

He arrived later than usual, right before my show.

My brows furrow, and I try to understand what’s going on when James croaks, “One million dollars once.” I still as fear envelops me, because when a man is willing to pay such a high price in order to get what he wants… he wants very horrible things that will result in my agony. “One million dollars twice. One million dollars three times. Sold to number twenty! And the auction for today has come to an end,” James announces and then pushes me to the side so I lose balance and fall down, right on my injured leg.

Although the crowd laughs, I notice how anger flashes for a second in the buyer’s face before it’s covered in indifference, but that’s impossible.

These people are demons, and compassion will never be one of their virtues.

They all get up slowly, some leaving after not replaceing anyone to their liking, and the others ready to sample their purchase.

“He’ll be ready for you shortly,” James addresses the man and then barks, “Francis!” The man rushes in, grabs me by the elbow, and almost rips my arm out as he takes me out of the arena to the doctor.

I close my eyes, welcoming the momentary deafening silence that settles on me as I hop on the gurney and extend my leg.

The doc says nothing. He never does, just quickly patches me up until the next time, and I wonder how much money you have to get paid in order to work for a fucker like James and turn a blind eye to all the pain children experience here.

Must really be a lot, although it’s not about money, is it?

It’s about the absolute power James emits that attracts his workers and clients alike since he invites them to the perverted world he has created here.

The doc cleans my wound, presses on it, and then pours antiseptic that burns like a bitch.

Hissing, I grab my thigh, holding my leg in place while he applies more ointment and then patches it up. The bandage is in place but it’s loose enough should the client want to look at the wound too.

“He’s done,” he tells Francis who huffs and then wiggles his finger at me.

“Follow me. Shower, put on clean clothes, and then Elvin will take you to room number five.”

I’ll have some time to check on Andreas who never participates in shows as he’s too weak, but it turns out his looks always have buyers waiting. Otherwise, James wouldn’t have kept him for long.

We see each other every night at the cages where they keep us hidden. My friend has changed so much, maybe due to the similar bruises marring his skin.

He no longer trembles or shivers at every sound, yet his behavior is way more compliant than mine.

According to him, bravery never earned anyone any good. And even though I disagree, we never stay on the topic for long to argue about it.

He speaks about our situation as a necessity, a training in preparation, whatever that means, but also he loves to dream with me.

About the powerful empires we will build one day. I think that’s the only thing keeping me going in this place.

“Get the fuck out, Javier!” Francis snaps, kicking me to the shower stalls, and I grit my teeth.

Yeah, every day it’s all the same.

And no matter how much I want to grab the nearby knife lying on the corner and stab them all, watching them bleed to death, I cannot do it.

As they are more powerful than I am.

Power is everything.

But how does one get it?

“Get inside,” Elvin orders, opening the door, and I enter the spacious room, which has a large bed, chair, bench, and wide selection for whatever torture their demon desires. “James told you to act nice.”

A half smile curves my mouth, and he shakes his head at me. While Elvin never raised his hand to me, I’d kill him too if I had the chance.

You support these fuckers, you’re dead in my book.

The man stands by the window, sipping his whiskey, his back to me. He’s already removed his jacket.

Noticing our reflection, he spins around, and Elvin shakes the key for the cuffs wrapped tightly around my wrists, and then he throws it at the man who catches it easily. “Enjoy.” With this, Elvin walks out and shuts the door, leaving me alone with this new fucker.

Sometimes the same clients rotate every now and then, as bad as it sounds, it’s easier when I know what to expect.

Now though I have no clue, and it unsettles me.

The man puts his glass on the table, walks toward me, and then extends his hand with the key. “Open your cuffs.” I blink in surprise, never hearing such a request before as all these fuckers are afraid I might kill them if they give me freedom. Some have even roped my legs.

Is this some kind of trick?

“Open,” he orders again, and I take the key, twisting it in the lock, and the cuffs fall on the floor while I rub my wrists, watching the man warily. “Javier, have you ever killed someone?”

My eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when he throws his jacket on the bed exposing guns and knives tucked inside, along with other things I’ve never seen before.

What. In. The. Hell?

“No,” I manage to push through my dry throat, as he takes a gun and knife from the jacket and motions for me to come closer.

“Today is your lucky day, then.” He gives me the weapons, but I make no move to reach out for them.

His brow lifts. “Don’t tell me you haven’t dreamed of killing someone?” He swirls his finger in the air. “Such nobility would have been fucking impossible in this hell with your character.” He clacks his tongue. “Judging by your bruised face it’s a character you pay dearly for in here.”

My head starts to throb along with the anger spreading through my blood. My mind plays images from my past where I wished to kill them all and make them pay. I always wanted to do it in the most sadistic ways.

I loved how the blades glinted in the light and wondered how sharp those tips were, and if they can slash someone’s throat.

The guns the guards had and how much their possession could scare people around you.

But more importantly?

How the torture and pain would fill James’s face while he drowned in a pool of his own blood while rats ate his body, and he would be alive to experience every single thing.

I never wanted them to die quickly, always agonizingly slowly, so I could savor their downfall.

None of the kids shared my sentiments. I brought it up only once to see if similar scary thoughts echoed in their minds too, and everyone in the cages stayed away from me after my confession, afraid of what I might do to them.

Even Andreas never supported my desires, claiming that I should take lessons from James and learn.

Whatever the fuck that means.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” I ask instead, and he chuckles.

“It doesn’t matter. Your captivity is over, Javier. However, you need to help me end James’s reign.”

What? “Is this a joke?” Maybe they have cameras, and this is a new test from James?

“Hardly. How many kids are here? Give or take. And where are they now?” He fires so many questions at once, and my mind hectically searches for answers.

“Twenty-one including me. Five are in the rooms with the clients, and the rest are in the cage.” James rotates us all every week, the only reason I get used so much is because I never bow my head to the fucker.

His gaze darkens on the word cage, and he cracks his neck from side to side. “Where are the cages?”

“In the basement. Elvin has all the keys.”

He ponders this information and then snatches a device from his back pocket and presses a button. “Noah, twenty-one kids.”

And then to my shock, the voice coming from the radio responds. “Got it, Diego.”

“Is Lucas done?”

“Almost.”

Diego presses the button again. “How many minutes do we have?”

A reply comes swiftly. “Fifteen.”

How many minutes before what?

“We’ll start now, then. Cover the entrance.”

“Got it.”

He hooks the device back on his belt and then addresses me. “Listen to me, Javier, and listen well.” He shoves the gun and knife at me, and I have no other choice but to grab it. “I’ll take care of the kids in the room. You need to run to the basement, release them all, and then take them outside. Run as far as possible from the mansion. Do you understand?”

I nod but then shake my head. “The guard. Elvin. Francis. James. They are all there.”

A sinister smile shapes his mouth. “They won’t be for long. Do not worry about it. But if you see someone. Shoot. Stab. Do whatever is needed. The clock is ticking.”

Before I can even ask what it means, he spins me around, takes his guns, then opens the door, ushering me outside where Elvin frowns in confusion when Diego shoots straight at his head.

He falls on the floor, permanent shock etched on his features, and I exhale in relief because a man who spit in my food and stayed deaf to my groans behind these doors deserves no mercy.

Diego snatches the keychain from Elvin’s hand and gives it to me as he shouts, “Now, Javier. Go!”

I do as he says while anticipation fills my blood, and my hands squeeze tighter around the weapons that give me a sense of peace.

I think I’ve finally survived until I can beat them.

Destiny has granted me a gift in the form of a man who has become my salvation.

Esmeralda

Rolling to the side and burrowing my head into the pillow, I open my eyes and a sense of déjá vu hits me as the spacious empty room comes into view along with memories from last night.

Although, my reactions are vastly different between yesterday when I woke up engaged to Prince Charming and today I’m married to the villain.

Gripping the blanket tighter and covering my head, I groan into the soft material at how easily I accepted this marriage and admitted my weakness to the man before allowing him to ravish me on this bed.

Add the dramatics, why don’t you, Esmeralda.

Enough.

I cannot live with this sense of guilt anymore, so I’ll do my best to discover his past and replace a solution to my current situation. No one tells you what to do when your man turns out to be the villain in a fairytale or how to properly love him without losing your head, morals, and heart to the darkness surrounding them.

I tried running away; he brought me back, and besides, what do they say about this kind of stuff?

If you cannot change the situation, change your behavior toward it.

That being said, I don’t think anyone thought about monsters and their obsession when they preached it.

Regardless, whining and then acting as if my body is a separate entity from my mind and, as such, I have no responsibility over what it does, seems a very childish thing to do.

Sadly, being an adult means facing up to your weaknesses and less than stellar character that searches for clues to excuse the bad deeds if it means staying by your husband’s side.

Huffing, I throw the blanket away and kick it to the edge of the bed before sitting up. My hair slides over my shoulder as I glance to the bedside table where a single red rose with a blooming bud lies over a small note.

I lift it to my cheek and rub the soft petals over my skin, the scent teasing my nostrils as I read the note.

Buenos días, mi amor.

Come downstairs once you wake up.

In the shiny golden bag, you will replace everything you need.

My eyes roam over the petal-covered room and spot the bag lying by the door. Naked, not caring about the cold wind breezing into the room, I walk toward it.

Peeking inside, I take out a dress and lingerie to match; shoes lie at the bottom of it.

The silky emerald material gleams in the sunshine, and although the strapless dress is really pretty and will fit me like a glove. Looking at it now brings up other thoughts in my head that I haven’t considered when Lucian proposed, even before all the truth came out.

My entire life is in New York.

I have obligations, a career, and a perfect house that I love, plus all the important people in my life. While Lucian considers Chicago a new start for us and just assumed I would move here permanently.

I’d have to give it all up and open galleries here, which may take years, not to mention all the promises I’ve made to other artists that wait for me in New York.

And moving all my stuff here, which will slow me down on preparing for the new show, because I can’t create just anywhere. I need my studio.

Clipping my hair up on the way to the bathroom, then stepping into the shower stall, I ponder this information that slowly spreads anger within me as hot water pours from above.

Why should I give up my galleries for him? He said so himself; no one knows me here, so building one here would mean reestablishing my name once again.

I have no experience when it comes to relationships, but shouldn’t this whole thing be about replaceing mutual ground?

But then again, I barely go anywhere, so does it matter where I paint?

“Marriage gives me a headache from day one,” I mutter and chuckle at the irony of it all.

He is a killer, and I worry about such simple stuff as moving.

I’m in danger of becoming a psycho myself since that fact has almost stopped unsettling me.

Twisting the faucet off, I grab the towel and dry myself before putting on the clothes and racing downstairs, noticing how they’ve cleaned it up already as there are no candles or petals in sight.

The smell of coffee wafts in the air, tempting me toward the dining room. As I walk toward it, I blink in surprise when several servers pass me by, holding vases and marching toward the living room.

Harold calls, “Roses need to be put in another corner!” My brows rise at his loud screech, and then I spot him several feet away, writing something on his notepad. “We need more chairs!” Then he glances at me, stills, and quickly comes closer. “Good morning. You’re awake.” Happiness brightens up his face, and he grins at me. “I’m glad to see you here.” Between the lines, I hear his relief at me staying in the mansion with Lucian instead of running away.

Is it because he knows Lucian wants me?

Or he’s afraid he might turn into a complete monster without his obsession by his side?

Stop it. You’ve agreed to be this; bear the consequences.

I have a feeling I’ll have to repeat these words to myself a lot.

“Good morning.” I glance over the hectic activities, especially when someone runs outside with a heavy tray and groans in exasperation. “Busy day, I see.” They must not have finished putting everything back in place after yesterday’s romantic atmosphere. I wince when someone pushes the couch closer to the wall, the screeching sound echoing and hurting my ears.

I saunter to the dining table where breakfast waits for me. It seems Ricardo cooked every possible dish he could think of because it has everything from roasted chicken to pancakes.

We could feed an army with all this food.

The man in question enters right after us, his hands wrapped around a white pot, and he smiles at me. “Good morning. I hope you’re hungry because I used all the food in the pantry for sampling.” He snags the pencil attached to his ear and snatches the notepad from the pocket in his apron. “All ready to take notes.”

“Wait until she eats,” Harold scolds him as he puts his notepad on the table and grabs a big plate. “What would you like?”

“Toast and jam along with tea. Strawberries too.” I drop onto the chair and shift my attention back on Ricardo. “Sampling?”

“Yes. In the past, we discussed such stuff with señora. May she rest in peace.” I assume he means Lucian’s grandmother who died when Juan was twenty, so she didn’t get to meet her grandson. “And the last time we hosted a party here was twenty years ago when Señor Alejandro officially introduced Lucian as his grandson. We are a little rusty in the department but do not worry. It will be perfect,” he assures me while I’m confused as hell.

Not be worried about what exactly?

Harold choses this moment to set a plate in front of me along with a jar so I dip a knife into it before grabbing a piece of toast. Generously applying jam on it, I inquire, “What are you talking about?”

They exchange a look, and Ricardo sighs heavily, dropping on the seat opposite me while Harold pours me tea, slides the cup toward me, and follows his friend, settling next to him.

Grim expressions replace their earlier happiness, and Ricardo sighs again, rubbing his mustache.

Sinking my teeth into the bread, I bite off a generous piece and munch on the delicious, sweet taste that will soon satiate my hungry stomach.

Since both of them stay silent, I say, “Well?” A crashing sound reverberates through the space followed by someone’s mutter of “Oh shit,” and then the door shuts while someone else shouts, “Not the crystal bowl!” and the racing continues once again with shoes tapping against the marble.

Hopefully, Lucian wasn’t attached to the bowl because people are gonna get fired if that’s the case.

“You tell her.” Ricardo nudges Harold who glares at him and brings me back to the conversation at hand.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re a butler. I’m just a regular cook.”

“Ha! For a regular cook, you sure have a lot of demands.”

“Informing señora about such stuff is your responsibility.”

“Just a minute ago, you couldn’t wait to discuss the menu with her. What happened to all that excitement?”

Ricardo opens his mouth to continue their idiotic argument when I slap my hand on the table and pull their eyes to me. “What’s going on?”

I pick up my tea and sip it a little before freezing when Harold replies, his voice barely audible. “On Friday, we are hosting a party to celebrate your wedding. Lucian invited the richest of the rich. I personally mailed all the invitations today.” Judging by the clock hanging on a wall that shows eleven o’clock, he’s had one heck of a productive morning, which means he received the order yesterday.

Ricardo pitches in, hastily adding, “We invited all your friends and grandmother as well.”

A chuckle slips past my lips at how the old men must think this information will make me happier about the upcoming gathering where all these people come and gape at me just because I snagged the coveted bachelor.

And then his words register in my head.

My grandmother!

Oh, crap.

Cortez might be a powerful name, but the woman won’t appreciate being in the dark about the whole thing.

She’ll show up though because, God forbid, someone would think she doesn’t approve, and besides, the so-called “perfect” match is too powerful to turn her back on his invitation.

The idea of seeing her doesn’t thrill me, but then I can’t avoid her forever, so I’ll deal.

“A celebration,” I say, taking another large bite, and the two men relax a little bit at my breezy tone; maybe they were waiting for me to explode at this information.

Ricardo nods. “About seventy, eighty people. I will personally cook everything.” He motions at the table. “Just veto whatever you don’t want, and I’ll make it perfect.”

“And you don’t have to worry about the decorations. We’ve already hired a designer to take care of it,” Harold informs me as shattering echoes once again. “If we have porcelain and crystal left, that is,” he grumbles under his breath.

Watching them both sitting here right now and the sun shining brightly, showcasing every wrinkle and line on their faces speaking to their age and experiences, I realize that life must have been hard for them in the last two decades.

Juan’s addiction.

Losing Alejandro and Juan.

Finding Lucian and then discovering his less-than-stellar inclinations.

Yet they loyally stuck around the Cortez family and dedicated their life to the heir of the throne.

Would it hurt me to play along and give them just a bit of a sense of normalcy?

“Well, aren’t you a powerful pair?” Their cheeks heat at the compliment, and their earlier smiles are back on their faces. “I want colors for this party.” The word surprises even me. I’ve never in my life cared about such stuff, but these people will come to “my house” now, right? “Nothing boring or classical. It should be vivid and unique.” Harold writes it all down, and then I look at Ricardo. “You have free rein on the food.” He claps his hands but frowns when I add, “Don’t overdo it though.” I motion to all the dishes at my disposal. “Otherwise, a lot of food will go to waste.”

He scratches something on his paper, and I finish my toast, then wash it down with the few remaining sips of tea before getting up. “Where’s Lucian?”

“In the office.”

My God, this day is indeed a déjà vu. Hopefully I will not have any surprises waiting for me in that room after this morning.

Harold gets up while Ricardo still furiously writes something, almost leaving holes in the paper as he presses the pen so hard. “Let me show you the way.”

Once we step out of the dining room, I see a maid cleaning up the scattered crystal pieces. Harold points to the oak door at the end of the hallway.

Patting his arm in a silent thank you, I march toward it and without knocking enter the specious room that has very predictable decor.

Massive brown desk, two chairs standing opposite each other, huge window that probably opens up to a view of the garden, and a bookcase spreading horizontally over an entire wall filled with various books.

All in all, as minimal and depressing as the rest of this house except the first floor.

Lucian lifts his head from whatever he’s reading in the folder in front of him, and a half smile lifts the corners of his mouth as his eyes flicker. “Mi amor, you’re awake.” His black T-shirt emphasizes his six-pack while also bringing attention to his tan skin, dark hair, and the jean-clad leg and bare foot that peeks out from under the desk.

One day darkness gathered around him and decided to create a charming devil who will be my downfall, because nothing else explains his annoying handsomeness.

My stomach flutters at the endearment once again, because possessiveness always coats his voice when he utters it compared to gatita, and it brings various thoughts into my head.

Like does it mean he loves me now?

He’s never uttered these words to me, but a man who can have everything would never willingly chain himself to someone he didn’t love, right?

Even if he describes it as his obsession.

He never knew love though, so how would he recognize its meaning?

“I won’t give up my galleries.” Okay, this is not how I planned to start this conversation. But then again, this topic is far more important to me than some party he plans to host. With his position and connections, it should have been expected. He cannot just marry and not announce it to the world. “Or my house in New York.”

His brows lift at my words, and he leans back in his chair while picking up the cup of coffee, judging by the scent, and savors it. “I never asked you to.”

Crossing my arms, I walk closer to him. “You plan to live here.” He says nothing. “Which means you expect me to pack up my life in New York and just start anew in Chicago.”

He rubs his chin with the edge of the cup while amusement sparks in his orbs. “And how did you come to such a foolish conclusion?”

Anger along with annoyance zips through me. “Because it’s logical.” I point my finger at him. “Wipe that smug expression from your face, Lucian, or I swear I’m gonna punch you.”

“Ah, something ruffled my gatita’s feathers.” He places his cup back on the desk and then taps on it. “Come here, mi amor.” Sending him a warning glance, I do as he requests and then squeal when he grips my hips and lifts me up on the desk.

Still sitting in his chair, he separates my thighs and puts my feet on the chair’s arms while creating space for himself. Instantly, heat scorches me and my breathing speeds up.

I put my hand on his chest, and by the tension in his muscles, I know he must experience the same reaction, yet I manage to keep my tone stern. “We need to talk. You cannot solve everything with sex.”

He runs his splayed palm over my legs, hiking the dress to the middle of my thighs and holds my gaze. “I have an empire.” My brows furrow in confusion. “Various corporations, lands, and even an island. However up until now, I operated it all in New York. And my empire is thriving.” He lets this information sink into my brain before continuing. “Your galleries will be fine. We can travel to New York whenever you need and stay at your house if it matters so much to you.” A beat passes. “Although I think you should open a gallery here as well. It’s a good business opportunity.”

“I’d need to do a show first. So people know about me.” Although the idea of drowning in art once more and the nervousness that prickles my skin at presenting my pieces in a new place sounds heavenly.

Every artist needs new experiences and excitement in their work. Otherwise it becomes boring and redundant.

“Ah, I see someone is still mad I called them an unknown here.” He laughs when I dig my nails into him. “I’m sure you can conquer Chicago, gatita.” He winks. “Besides, you achieved everything you dreamed about in New York. Time to spread your wings.”

Adjusting my position on the desk, I fist his shirt and pull him closer to me. “You lived in the city for so long. Why are you coming back to your hometown now?”

“My grandfather and I had different ideas on certain things,” he replies vaguely, an unreadable expression settling on his face, hiding his true emotions on the matter. “The town couldn’t handle us both, so New York became my reprieve. And offered a better variety of victims.”

The last words hang between us in the air, his eyes drilling into me as if wanting to memorize my every expression to test how I will react to them.

Accept me as I am.

That’s what he said last night without bothering to explain anything to me.

Is this what he craves?

Complete acceptance by me?

A monster bleeds inside, and he wants a princess to love him, regardless of his deeds.

A raspy breath escapes me, and I palm his head, lightly grazing his jaw with my fingertips. “What men deserve to die by your hand, Lucian?” I whisper my question, and his eyes flare.

“The ones who have committed unforgivable and hideous crimes.” His reply comes swiftly, angrily, and his entire body vibrates in fury. “The ones who would never learn. Who would never stop. They do not deserve the air they breathe.” He gets up, leans forward, slapping his hands on either side of my hips, caging me in his embrace. “I’d kill them over and over again if I could.” Our lips are inches apart, and my heart gallops inside my chest so wildly I feel the pulse in my throat. “Scared, mi amor?”

I should be.

But for the first time since discovering this different side to him, I’m not.

Because pain echoes in his gaze, buried so deep I’m not sure he’s even aware it rages within him.

Somewhere there, a lost, lonely boy exists who was wronged in this life, and all the recognition he received afterward as compensation by the Cortez family has no power to wipe away whatever was done to him.

My hand travels to his collarbone, rubbing the rugged skin and the deep scars on it, while the other one laces in his hair, our gazes clashing. “The kind of men who hurt you?” He stills and his fingers curl on the wood. “I’m not scared.” I continue to trail my hand lower to his abdomen through the shirt, settling my palm on the especially vicious mark he has there. “Not anymore.”

“Ah, mi amor.” His hands slide my dress up, up, up until his hot palms grip my ass cheeks and squeeze them harshly, breaking goose bumps on my skin, as anticipation rushes through me.

I gasp when he pulls me closer to him. His jeans-covered hard-on presses against my core through the panties and flares the ever-present need inside me. “You make my dark heart hurt.” He bites on my lower lip, earning himself a groan before flicking his tongue over it, apologizing to the bruised flesh.

He slams his mouth on mine, imprisoning it in a raw, passionate kiss, his tongue meeting mine halfway and engaging in a duel as they tangle, fighting for dominance and crushing me with waves of sensations tickling me from head to toe.

I break the kiss, gasping for air, but he gives me only a momentary reprieve before putting his mouth back on mine, this time gentler, lazily slipping his tongue into me and rubbing against mine. His thumbs hook in my panties, tugging on them until a snapping sounds between us, and I realize he ripped them away, his hand sliding to my core and fisting the torn lace.

To my loud protest he snatches his mouth away, rubbing the lace over my sensitive flesh up and down, scooping the wetness into them, and his voice becomes raspy when he says, “These are soaked, gatita.” He cups my mound, and I hiss. “Who made you this wet, Esmeralda?” He presses the heel of his palm on my clit, his middle finger resting on my opening but not diving inside. My thighs clench around him as I try to trap him in my embrace, but he only chuckles. “Answer me.”

God the charming, possessive asshole still wants me to stroke his ego, does he?

I gave him my virginity!

His hot palm drifts to the side, taking my torn panties with him, and he throws them away, settling his hand back on my hip as he lifts my skirt to my waist, baring my sensitive and needy core. He looks at it but doesn’t make a single move to soothe the ache slowly growing in the pit of my stomach, and I finally whisper, giving in to his silent command. “You. Only you.”

My mouth parts, seeking his kiss, but he gives me a wicked smile while he rolls his hips forward, creating friction with his jeans, the hard-on hidden behind the zipper making my walls contract, begging for him to dive deep, and craving the feel of his cock stretching me.

Just imagining his thick length gliding between my folds as he agonizingly, slowly strokes inside me spins my head and my core dampens, begging me to make a reality of the picture painted in my head.

A collective moan escapes us as prickles of desire move through me, awakening every nerve in my body and making it crave one thing only.

The pleasure only he can provide.

“Please, Lucian.” I drag him even closer, needing him so much right now, the air hitches in my throat.

“What do you want, mi amor?” he asks, his lips brushing over mine for a second, gliding to my chin where he bites gently, then scrapes his teeth over the skin while my hand travels to his nape to sink my nails into him.

I place my other hand on the table, leaning back a little and tilting my head, exposing my neck. “My tongue roaming inside your tight pussy tasting your desire for me?” He leaves featherlike kisses on his way toward my collarbone, lightly nibbling me and adding to the fire slowly spreading through my veins and destroying any rational thought.

As only one thing remains.

Him and his touches, which send me deeper into the lustful ocean of his creation.

I shake my head. “No? Then maybe my fingers driving inside you, stretching you for what’s to come next? Giving you relief but not quite satisfying the hunger inspired by me.” His sways his hips back and tugs on the top of my strapless dress until my breasts spring free, my nipples hardening under his scorching gaze.

He captures each one, weighing them in his palms as he squeezes them, earning himself another gasp. I push his head toward them, silently begging him to grant my wish.

Pressing them together, he leans forward and bites on each mound, making me jerk in his hold. He sucks hard, no doubt leaving an imprint behind and then repeats the same action with the other one while his fingers pinch my nipples. I sink my nails deeper, his groan vibrating his lips on my flesh. “Lucian,” I whisper, barely recognizing my raspy voice laced with need that requires his attention.

“Qué deseas, mi amor?”

What do you want, my love?

His teeth capture my nipple only for his tongue to soothe it, then drawing it between his lips as a thrill rushes through my veins. And when his palm glides from my breast to my tight stomach to rest over my core again, I loosen my hold on his nape.

Putting my other hand on the table as well, leaning my head back between my shoulder blades, I let the bliss slowly consume me while my man shifts his attention to the second nipple, leaving the previous one coated in his saliva.

He skates his fingers up and down my walls, teasing me as he pushes the finger inside only to slip it back out and repeat this torment all over again. His thumb taps on my clit, moving it from side to side. Scorching heat envelops me as the pleasure builds. His mouth and fingers pull me toward a cliff from where there is no escape, and only jumping can end this madness that is so addicting I never want to replace a cure for it.

Finally, his index finger delves in my core while he continues to lavish my nipple with his attention. My walls instantly suck him in as he stretches me with his digit. I’m still sensitive from last night, so my moan reverberates through the office, although it does little to stop him.

“Be loud, mi amor. Let the whole world know who you belong to.”

He slowly drags it out only to thrust back inside, creating friction in me. Buzzing sensations dance on my skin, promising bliss somewhere in the distance… as long as this man has my body at his mercy.

“More,” I whisper, biting my lip while slowly lifting my hips up and down as he adds one and then two more fingers, mimicking his cock thrusting inside me but not quite giving me what I want. “More.” This time I demand it, as none of these actions is enough to satisfy the inferno burning in me.

His thumb flicks my clit again, working in tandem with his fingers, never giving me a second to rest from his onslaught. He raises his head, his lips glistening, while my swollen nipples throb, highlighting my arousal.

We stare at one another for a moment, and then we lock in yet another kiss, my fingers threading through his hair and scraping his scalp as a hot flush spreads over my body, boiling my blood at the feel of his carved muscles pressing against mine.

Everything inside me screams to remove the offending cloth keeping me away from what’s rightfully mine. I need to feel his bare flesh and to mark my territory for everyone to see and know this man is taken.

The idea pleases me so much I moan, and he traps it in his throat, relentlessly loving me with his mouth. The kiss becomes animalistic, almost uncontrollable. I hear something falling on the floor, clattering loudly, which only makes me more frantic to finish what we started.

Although no one would dare to interrupt a monster in his own castle while he ravishes his woman, somehow this paints even more erotic images in my head. I open my mouth wider to deepen the kiss while welcoming his fingers more by spreading my thighs.

Each stab and brush of his tongue solidifies the bond between us, a villain announcing to the whole world who this princess belongs to as he plays her body so masterfully, tugging on all the right strings and creating the tune he desires.

An artist in love with his masterpiece… because I did not know pleasure before he showed up in my life.

A man who conquers what stands in his way to get what he wants and never allows anyone to steal anything from him.

And all this knowledge fuels my lust ignited by his touch, loving the protective cocoon he creates around me, showing me how much he cherishes me even if he cannot say it with his words.

My body and soul belong to this man, and I dare anyone to tell me or him otherwise.

Lucian growls in our embrace, and I hug him tighter, locking my legs around his back. His fingers slowly push me to the edge, demanding my submission as he strokes me slowly, savoring each moment.

And I have only one word for it all.

Unbearable.

His mouth disappears from mine once again, my eyes closing, while the only thing I can say is, “Please, Lucian.” Like a record that got stuck in the same place circling around because no one bothers to fix it.

In my case it’s my husband who denies me pleasure that’s rightfully mine, driving me insane with each second. Sweat coats my skin, sliding down my back, and tension builds inside me ready to erupt. However I’m not quite there yet.

Breathing heavily, he repeats his question. “Qué deseas, mi amor?” When he slips his fingers away, I whimper in protest, feeling empty without them already.

He lifts his smeared-in-my-juices fingers between us, and holding my stare, he sucks them clean, tasting me. A gasp escapes me at the sight, and suddenly my mind is filled with images creating a frenzy in my body.

Pushing slightly back, I put my hand on my core, my cheeks heating up at such a daring action, but embarrassment has no place between us. I rub the spot, telling him, “I want you to lick me here, and then—” My palm glides lower, my fingertip circling my opening. “—fuck me hard right here until you satisfy the craving you planted in me.” The last word comes out as a breathy whisper. A ticklish sensation washes over me, and his eyes blaze, then darken in warning, which quickly transforms into heat, making my stomach dip.

When he steps back, my brows furrow in confusion at his retreat, wondering what I said wrong.

The first time I try to talk dirty, and he runs away? If he doesn’t like such things, then why—

My yelp fills the air when he sends me flying backward, laying me flat on the desk and knocking several things off in the process, not that either of us pay it any attention.

Our eyes connect when he pulls at his shirt, taking it off swiftly and dropping it on the floor, showcasing all his beautiful tan skin to my admiring eyes.

I extend my hands to him, wiggling my fingers, longing to touch and kiss it, but instead he orders, “Hands on the desk.” The throaty command sends shivers through me, and I obey him, exhaling at the smooth wood cooling my skin.

“Remember what I told you yesterday?” He pushes my thighs apart, draping my legs over his shoulders so my heels press on his back. Then he splays his palm on my stomach, keeping me in place.

I crave to remove the bundled-up dress, the cloth feeling foreign on my taut skin. I despise anything separating me from my man right now.

His hot breath fans my core, wiping all thoughts away, and I moan, my fingers tangling in his hair and gripping it hard, guiding him toward me, but he has other plans.

“Te acuerdas?”

Do you remember?

Struggling to grasp the easy question, I groan inwardly and search for a reply in my dizzy mind. “No. What did you say?” I barely recognize my so-needy voice. My eyes close, and I focus only on the sensations rocking my body while the anticipation overshadows everything else. I almost stop breathing, awaiting his next move.

He rubs his chin over the inside of my thigh, chafing the sensitive skin, leaving red marks behind, and inflicting a sting he heals with his lips by sucking on it. Then he quickly maneuvers to the other side, repeating his actions and creating fiction in my dripping core. “Whatever you want you get.” Sliding his palms under my ass and lifting my center to his mouth, he licks me from bottom to top, trapping my clit between his lips and flicking the tip of his tongue over it, dusting fire on me.

I cry out, arching my back while electricity zips over me, charging every cell in my body. I tighten my hold on his hair, holding on to him for dear life because he’s the only thing anchoring me in the present. He has the key to release me from this agonizingly blissful torture that knows no mercy.

He bites on my clit, then sucks the flesh into his mouth before sliding his tongue back down to slip it inside me. He twirls it from side to side, roaming between my walls and adding gasoline to the already-spreading fire in my veins that nothing can extinguish.

His hands travel to my thighs, rubbing them up and down as my ass connects with the cold wood. The contrast with his scorching touch pushes another loud moan from my throat.

Hardening his tongue, his stabs it several times deep inside me, mimicking lovemaking, and my eyes drop. I bite on my lower lip while sliding my fingers to his nape, clawing at his skin, urging him to give me an antidote to the madness polluting my mind, which can only focus on the rapidly spreading flames flowing through my blood.

His fingers dig into my skin, and a combination of pain and pleasure envelops me, sending ticklish waves all over me and pulling me closer and closer toward the bliss calling my name. With each swipe of his tongue, my core contracts around his flesh, keeping him prisoner and never wanting to let go.

He growls, his hands shifting to the inside of my thighs again, spreading me more for his demanding mouth as he continues the sweet torture, swiping his tongue through my folds, gliding it over my lips, and flicking my clit lightly. “Lucian, please.”

His mouth delivers one last long lick to my core before he steps back. My eyes snap open to watch him unzip his jeans, his hard-on coming into view as he circles his hand around it, squeezing it hard while the precum leaks from the thick head.

I groan as I remember having him in my mouth last night while he used it as he saw fit. I lick my lips as a sinister smile appears on his face, wicked in its nature.

He fists my dress, pulling me upward to my loud gasp, our mouths a hairsbreadth away from each other, and I smell myself on him. “You sucked me off once last night, mi amor, and you already crave it.” He glides his hands from the base to the tip, and I glance at it, my core clenching, begging to have his length inside me. His thumb wipes away the drop, and he lifts it up, smearing it on my lower lip before ordering, “Taste.” Rolling my tongue out, I scoop it in my mouth and moan at the salty taste. He slams his lips on mine, sharing our combined flavor, which makes us groan as we engage in a heated kiss, sending awareness through my entire system.

My hands drop behind me again, and he grips my legs hard as the tip of his cock moves up and down my slit, the head pushing inside and then he shifts his hips back, teasing me relentlessly. I bite his tongue as my legs drag him toward me, and he finally thrusts into me.

We are still for a second. He swallows the relieved sigh escaping me at the connection. As our kiss continues, my lungs burn for oxygen, but I cannot give it to them, wanting to be attached to him in every possible way.

For he is mine, and I’m his.

He rocks back, his length brushing over my walls, and then he slams in again, each move calculated and designed to drive me insane. I tear my mouth away, gulping for air and throwing my head back. Sweat coats my skin. My breasts jiggle at every hard thrust that shakes the desk underneath us. The pressure inside me builds and builds, tugging me closer and closer to that cliff.

When our gazes clash, I see his skin glisten under the light streaming from the window behind him, and his dark hair along with the hooded eyes only add to the need crushing me in heated waves, one harder than the next while his movements speed up, the rough slams pushing harder and harder against my most sensitive spot.

Almost there, almost, and my whimpers rock between us as I fall back against the desk. I arch my head and move my hips in time with him, meeting his harsh thrusts, now more frequent than before, and when he drifts his fingers to my clit, pinching it hard, I cry out, pleasure surrounding me everywhere and enveloping me in a tight bubble.

Three more thrusts and he spills inside me, marking me with his seed. He slips his hand under my waist and lifts me up to him, letting me hug him close while our hearts beat in a matching rhythm against each other, and for a second, I believe we are all alone in this world, made for each other, and nothing nor anyone can break this connection, no matter what happens in the future.

My man. My husband. My villain who captured a princess and dragged her into his darkness, making her addicted to him in ways she never anticipated but now cannot live without.

Our heavy breathing fills the space, my legs wrap tighter around him, and I whisper into his ear, “Do you want to christen something else in this house?”

His laughter echoes through the room, blanketing me in warmth and happiness, painting a brighter future despite all the secrets still present between us.

For if a villain covets his princess to the point of insanity and desires her so obsessively, what else could she possibly wish for?