He slowly lowered his finger, letting it trail along the curve of her lower lip with deliberate slowness, as if memorizing its shape, its texture. There was something quietly reverent about the way he touched her _ like he was holding something fragile, something precious he couldn't bear to shatter. Kelsey's breath hitched, caught between her ribs, unsure whether to pull away or surrender to the strange current that passed between them. For a moment, there were no words _ only the faint crackle of tension lingering in the air like the last echo of a storm.
Then, his voice broke the stillness.
"Other than having a different room…" he paused, his gaze sliding over her features, sharp and unreadable, "…what else would you want?"
His tone was deceptively casual, but something beneath it burned with intensity _like he already knew the answer and dreaded hearing it aloud. Kelsey's expression shifted. Her guard returned like a gate slamming shut, her jaw locking in defiance.
"I want to go back to my place." Her voice didn't waver. She looked straight into his eyes, a war of wills already igniting between them.
The stubbornness in her gaze, that unrelenting fire _ it did something to him. Lucien could feel it twist inside him like a blade made of heat and ache. She wasn't the kind of woman who yielded easily, and maybe that's why he wanted her more than anyone he'd ever met. He didn't just want her physically _ though every fiber of his being ached to claim her _ no, it was something far more dangerous. He wanted to peel back every layer, understand her, make her tremble with fury or desire… or both.
Her resistance made the chase torturously delicious.
His lips curved in a slow, dark smile. "You should not stretch that topic." His voice had dropped an octave _ it was quiet, but it carried a dangerous edge. "I am willing to do everything for you, Kelsey…" he paused, eyes fixed on her like a predator stalking its prey, "…but I want you right here. Where I can easily reach you."
There it was _ the possessiveness, the depth of it bleeding through each syllable. It was as if his words were chains meant to bind her in place, not through force, but through some dark, consuming desire that he barely kept in check. The more she fought it, the more he wanted to tame her_ not by breaking her spirit, but by making her need him just as maddeningly.
Kelsey could feel it_ that push and pull between them_ and for a split second, she wasn't sure if it terrified her or drew her in.
Then, as if the moment had reached its edge, he stepped back, straightened his posture and added, "You can go get ready."
She blinked, confused.
He smirked, knowingly. "And since you don't have any of your clothes here, feel free to borrow mine."
She stared, unsure whether to argue or laugh.
"We'll go to your apartment, and you can get everything you might need feom there" said smoothly, already pulling his phone from the inner pocket of his pants.
He didn't wait for her response. That was the thing about Lucien_ he never waited. He made decisions and expected the world to shift around them.
As he exited the room. His phone was already pressed to his ear, his voice low and commanding, speaking to someone on the other end.
Kelsey could have ignored his words. She could have stood her ground, thrown them back in his face with a retort. But even pride has its limits when fatigue seeps into your bones _ and she needed a bath. Not a quick rinse, not a splash across the face, but a long, soul-deep cleansing. The kind that might rinse away the frustration, the rage, and the unsettling shivers that still lingered beneath her skin from the events of the past fifteen- or so hours. Her body ached, and her soul felt crumpled, like parchment that had been clenched too tight for too long.
Crossing the threshold back into the room, she walked with slow, deliberate steps. The silence was different now _ less hostile, more thoughtful. She pushed open the door to the bathroom and found herself stepping into what looked like a scene carved out of a high-end hotel magazine.
The space was vast and soaked in minimalistic luxury. The walls were clad in misted glass, giving it an ethereal glow that blurred everything into a soft sheen. Gold fixtures gleamed against matte black finishes, and the scent of mint subtly lingered in the air. The bathtub alone could have fit whole bathroom_..
With each article of clothing she peeled off, she felt herself shedding more than just fabric_ she stripped off the weight of yesterday. The ache of confusion. The dirt of the city. The emotional grime Lucien left on her simply by existing so close to her, breathing the same air, speaking in that voice that felt like silk tied to chains.
She stepped beneath the rainfall shower and tilted her face up. The water fell in wide, soft drops, coating her tired body like a balm, streaming down her shoulders, her back and her thighs. Warm, comforting, almost affectionate. It was the only touch that didn't make her tense. And in that moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes and be still.
The water traveled over her curves, over bruises only she could feel. And with every second, some of the frustration she harbored bled out, washing down the drain. Not all of it_ Lucien had planted too many thorns for that_ but enough that she could breathe a little easier.
Eventually, when her skin was flushed and her fingers had begun to wrinkle, she turned the faucet off. The silence that followed felt louder than the water had.
She stepped out and reached for one of the plush, snow-white towels that hung beside the vanity. Wrapping it around herself, she padded barefoot into the adjoining closet_ and as she expected, it was massive.
Lucien's closet was less of a wardrobe and more of a personal boutique. Rows of tailored jackets. Endless black and white shirt of course. Leather shoes in perfect alignment. Shelves of designer watches. Expensive cologne bottles lined up like sentinels of vanity. The space smelled like him. Earthy, rich, and dark _ with hints of something spicy.
But she wasn't here to gawk.
Still damp, she quickly rifled through the rows, not bothering to overthink her choice. Her fingers brushed past a white shirt_ soft, cotton, and definitely oversized. She didn't waste a second. With her bra already in hand, she dressed in haste, slipping on her bra first and then pulling the shirt over her head.
It fell loosely over her body, the hem reaching her mid-thighs and the sleeves swallowing her wrists. His scent clung to the fabric, wrapping around her like a silent embrace.
She tugged her damp hair to one side, running her fingers through the tangles absently. Her reflection caught the corner of a mirror mounted by the closet's end.