LUCIEN: A Standalone Romance

by Glenna Sinclair

  I cried out at the slow invasion, at being stretched, at that inexplicable beauty and hunger of being filled to the brim by another person, joining two bodies into a single vessel. I shuddered against him; all memory of being cold vanished. I only felt the heat of his cock, buried deep inside me.

  “Okay?” he asked, the shiver in his voice, barely restrained, doing strange things to my heart.

  “Yes,” I moaned, putting my legs around his waist, squeezing as hard as I could. “Please.”

  “All you have to do is ask.”

  He started to thrust, one hand still between us, relentless against my clit, circling and circling. The other cupped my breast, rolled my nipple between his fingers. He captured my flailing hand and kissed my nipple.

  I came loud and long, sure that all of Seattle could hear me even over the rain that continued to drive down outside the window, grabbing onto Roland anywhere I could catch hold, screaming as he saw me through to the very end of it, pushing against my clit in tandem with his thrusts.

  Then, and only then, did he come, burying his face in the crook of my neck, groaning as he pumped inside of me, filling me with such a sweet, sticky warmth that I was certain I’d never be cold again. I held on to him until he stopped groaning, stopped thrusting, and just breathed hard against me…until he was able to hold himself on his elbow and gently extricate himself from me.

  Even in the fade of afterglow, after that beautiful fucking, guilt overwhelmed me, and I began to weep once more.

  “Stop,” he chided me, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because of everything I’ve done to you.”

  “You were only trying to protect yourself,” he said. “My brother’s a motherfucker, Beauty, and I’m sorry for him.”

  “What’d he tell you?” I asked, hiccupping from all the sobbing.

  “Nothing.” Roland shrugged. “He was gone when I got upstairs. Probably off getting drunk somewhere and sulking. I really don’t care right now.”

  “But the spying and the wreck and the lying.” I covered my face with both of my hands. “Roland, how can you not hate me?”

  “How could I be here if I hated you?” he asked, gently pulling my hands away. “Beauty, I love you. I never want to be away from you. But you need to stop crying, now, or I’m going to have to do something else to try and make you stop.”

  His hand trailed between my legs, sampling the foreign slickness there, still managing to make me gasp as he flicked the pad of a finger against my clit.

  “I’ll stop crying,” I panted. “Promise.”

  He laughed and withdrew his hand.

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom and get some water,” he said, kissing my temple. “Try not to worry so much and relax. Do you want anything?”

  “I guess I’ll have some water, too,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Roland walked away, but I couldn’t shake my sense of unease. I fell onto my back and threw my arm over my eyes. I was probably just tired, exhausted from the events of the day, the rollercoaster of emotions I’d been on for months and months. I needed a good night’s sleep—which would be even better with Roland’s arms around me—and I’d be back to normal, or whatever my new normal would be. What it was to be with someone you loved, and who loved you in return, would be brand new territory for me. It was a journey I was looking forward to.

  “Don’t go to sleep yet. The fun’s just about to start.”

  I pushed myself up to a sitting position to see Dan leering at me from the end of the bed, holding a huge knife.

  Chapter 19

  It was stupid, but I drew the sheets up to my chin, as if they would protect me from Dan’s slightly crazed stare, or the intimidating knife he was wielding. Both of those weapons seemed like they could cut through the sheet as if it wasn’t even there, but I still cowered behind it. What the hell was he doing here? I wanted to scream out for Roland, who was still in the bathroom, but I was so shocked and frightened that I couldn’t make a sound.

  “Nothing there that I haven’t already seen,” Dan sneered at me, making me feel even smaller and more vulnerable.

  I swallowed hard and somehow found my voice. “You need to leave right now,” I said. “You’re not wanted here, and you’re not invited.”

  “Brave words from a naked girl trying to hide beneath a blanket,” Dan said. “You know, I never really got to take in an eyeful of you before. You going to show me what I missed out on, or am I going to have to make you?”

  There was movement behind Dan. Roland, thank God, had to have heard our voices from my bathroom, but I wanted to make sure the man with the knife was good and distracted to give his brother a fighting chance. So I dropped the blanket and let Dan have an eyeful as Roland crept closer.

  “Now, see?” Dan crowed, his eyes raking up and down my body appreciatively, making me feel like I’d never be clean again. “If you’d just been a little more cooperative before, maybe we would’ve gotten along better. And you certainly wouldn’t have had to make yourself into sloppy seconds for my brother.”

  “Fuck you, Dan!” Roland roared, landing one good punch but spoiling the success of any sort of sneak attack. Dan whirled wildly, slashing at the air with the knife, and I scrambled off the bed as Roland yelped and went down, covering his face.

  Time slowed down. Dan was winding up, bringing the knife over his head, prepared to sink it into whatever body part of Roland’s that the blade might find desirable, and I did the only thing I could do. I leapt up and grabbed the glinting blade before it could descend and hurt Roland any more than it already had done. It was all I could think about. I had to protect Roland. He’d been through enough. This was what I could do to prove to him that I really loved him and save him from the monstrosity his brother had turned me into.

  This is what I could do to prove to myself that I was worth a damn.

  My hand closed on the blade, and I gripped as hard as I could, taking Dan by complete surprise even as pain like I’d never known before exploded in my body. I yanked the knife so hard that it came loose from Dan’s grasp, so I pulled even harder. My pain and the wetness dripping down my wrist were rewarded by the sound of metal clattering over my floor.

  “Beauty, no!” There was blood on Roland’s face as he reached toward me, then Dan elbowed me in the jaw and I crumpled to the floor.

  Two heavy bodies scuffled around me, grunting and cursing, and I cradled my injured hand to me, unwilling to look at it, to see just how dire the cut was. I knew it wasn’t good; I knew that it had been stupid; I knew that maybe I’d die if the wrong brother won the fight.

  And for the first time in a long time, I found that death wasn’t what I wanted.

  It was a strange revelation for me, especially since I’d wanted nothing more than to slip into a black abyss after the wreck. For what felt like the first time in many years, I had something to live for. It was love of Roland, yes, but it was also faith that I was capable of doing the right thing. I’d saved him from getting hurt further by Dan, and whatever happened, I knew that I could be proud of myself.

  Someone fell heavily near me, but I couldn’t tell which Shepard it was. I wasn’t feeling well, and it was hard enough to wriggle away from the fight with the slippery, wet floor beneath me and my mangled hand.

  There was a loud grunt, a long string of curses, and then finally, I was in somebody’s arms, warmer than I had been.

  “Beauty? Stay with me.”

  The pain in my hand was really bad, and I was very tired, and there was red everywhere that I hoped someone else would clean up. Then, I didn’t think of anything at all.

  After what seemed like a very long time, I opened my eyes and blinked several times, waiting for them to adjust.

  At first, I thought I was having a nightmare. I was waking up in the hospital again after causing my parents’ and Caro’s deaths, having escaped death even though I was the one most responsible for others’ demises.

  But th
is was different, because that had happened a long time ago. There was a dull ache in my hand, and a man sitting in a chair beside my bed who only looked vaguely familiar. He was watching me, waiting for me to become fully awake.

  “I’ve seen you before,” I murmured, my mouth dry, my voice cracking. “I don’t know where, though, but you’re familiar.”

  “I’m Jones,” he said. “Mr. Shepard’s head of security.”

  “You brought us Chinese takeout late one night,” I said, nodding to myself. “That’s what it was.”

  “You have a very good memory for faces,” he said kindly.

  Then, everything came rushing back. Dan had attacked Roland and me. My hand—it was heavily bandaged, but as far as I could tell, still attached to my wrist.

  “Seventeen stitches,” Jones commented. “You’re a pretty tough girl.”

  “I’ve been through worse,” I said. “Roland. He was hurt. Is he all right? And what about Dan? He attacked us. What happened?”

  “Mr. Shepard is just fine,” Jones said. “He’s been in and out of surgery. He had a cut on his face, is all, don’t panic—and he’s already back at the penthouse. You’ve been asleep for a while, and the doctors all agreed it was for the best. When you got here, you’d lost quite a bit of blood, and you were in shock. As for Dan, Roland knocked him out and the police took it from there. Going to be quite the scandal in the papers, but there’s not much to be done for it.”

  “Is it possible to see Roland?” I asked. It was hard to believe all that had happened in the time I’d been out. Just how long had I been asleep?

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Jones said, standing up. “When you’re cleared to go and ready to do so, Mr. Shepard’s asked me to see to it that you’re taken to the penthouse—if you want to see him.”

  “Of course I want to see him,” I said, looking around quickly. “Where’s a nurse when you need one?”

  Roland, I assumed, or maybe Jones under the direction of Roland, had provided me with a change of clothes from my apartment—a pair of dark jeans and a sweatshirt along with some sneakers. Then, getting a quick checkup and some instructions from the doctor, I was out the door and riding alongside Jones across town.

  The sun had come out, the persistent rainstorm that had troubled the city for the past few days having finally cleared out. Jones chatted for the entire trip to the Shepard Shipments building, about everything from the weather to the sports teams I didn’t follow.

  “It’ll be glorious weather over the weekend,” he was saying as he pulled up and stopped the car for the valet to park. “That’s the thing about Seattle, Ms. Hart. It might rain an awful lot, but when the sun finally does come out, there’s nothing better.”

  “I think all the rain makes me appreciate the sun that much more,” I said, as we walked across the lobby together. We bypassed the bank of elevators I’d been used to taking up to the office, strolling all the way to the hidden, private elevator that shot straight up to the penthouse. Myra had warned me against using it in what felt like a million years ago. I wondered what she would’ve said after everything that had happened now.

  I fully expected for us to surface in Roland’s office, but when the elevator doors rolled open, we were in a place I’d never seen before. I didn’t have a chance to marvel at the wood floors or matching crown molding or the tasteful furniture that matched the leather I was so familiar with in Roland’s office.

  I only had eyes for Roland, who stood in the entryway, half of his face completely covered in bandages.

  I ran at him and flung myself into his arms, wincing as my hand banged against his back, but not caring. I’d never loosen my grip. I’d never let go.

  “Are you okay?” we asked each other in unison.

  “The doctors said to let you sleep,” Roland explained. “I wanted to wake you up, to tell you everything was going to be all right, but they said you needed it. That you were exhausted and in shock. That the sleep would heal you best.”

  “Jones said you were fine,” I said, my tone accusatory. “You don’t look fine. How bad was the cut? Your whole face is practically covered in bandages. I can hardly remember anything. I guess my brain was trying to protect me.”

  “Thank you, Jones, for seeing that Beauty arrived safe,” Roland said, scooting me over to the side so he could address the man still standing behind me. “You’re free to go.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Thank you, Jones,” I said, “even if you lied to me about how bad the cut was.”

  Jones looked cowed and Roland laughed. “The cut really wasn’t that bad. I promise.”

  “But look at all the bandages,” I said, as Roland led me down the hall to a comfortable, warmly lit sitting room.

  “You need to rest,” he said, pushing me a little so I sat heavily on a couch.

  “I need to rest?” I repeated. “You need to rest. You’re the one who’s had surgery. I’ve just been asleep for God knows how long.”

  “Nearly three days,” Roland said, allowing me to pull him down to sit on the couch next to me. “Your hand was pretty bad, and the doctors said you’d just been through too much. Beauty—I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I said, frowning at him. “We had no way of knowing what Dan was going to do.”

  “I should’ve been more cautious when he vanished from the penthouse,” Roland said. “I should’ve been on my guard, or at least been aware that he might try to do something stupid—or permanent.”

  “Well, maybe I should’ve remembered to lock the door after I let you in to my apartment,” I said, shrugging. “If you’re looking to blame someone, start spreading the wealth.”

  “There’s no one to blame but Dan,” Roland said, shaking his head. “I wish we could just forget about it. I can’t believe you grabbed that knife, Beauty. Why were you acting like such a dumbass?”

  I laughed at him. “Don’t call me a dumbass. It would’ve been your dumbass skewered on the end of the knife if I hadn’t. I wanted to protect you. Don’t you understand? He’d already sliced your face clean off.”

  Roland sighed and kissed my good hand. “He didn’t slice my face off, Beauty.”

  “Then why so many bandages?” I asked, peering at him. “If it wasn’t that serious, why do you look like a mummy?”

  “I was going under the knife anyway to deal with Dan’s idiocy, so I went ahead and asked for some reconstructive surgery,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, going cold.

  “It means that the scar’s going to be less noticeable now.”

  “Why did you do that?” I demanded. “I didn’t mind the scar. You know that. If you did this because you were afraid for me to look at it, Roland, so help me God…”

  “Enough,” he said, laughing at me before seizing my face and kissing me. “I just felt like it was time. I did it for me—but only because you showed me that life was still worth living. I didn’t want to lock myself away anymore, not when you showed me life was possible again.”

  My breath caught in my throat, and Roland took my chin in his hand gently.

  “If you start crying, I promise you that I will fuck you right here on this couch, injuries or not,” he warned.

  I burst into laughter, a tear trailing down my face in spite of the threat.

  “You said something a while back—I’m not sure if you remember,” he said, stroking my hair. “You said that maybe you were supposed to end up here.”

  “I remember.”

  “That’s the thing. Maybe you were. Who can tell? I’m glad you’re here with me. And I’m ready to move on to the next part of my life. Aren’t you?”

  I grinned. “Hell, yes.”

  “Hell, yes,” he answered and kissed me again, the promise of more always in the next breath.

  ~ End ~

  THORN

  Prologue

  It’s amazing how much can change in
a year.

  A year ago from today, I was interviewing for a job I was incredibly underqualified for. I mean, really, I shouldn’t have even been there. It was my first interview out of college, and I thought I could do anything, even apply to be the vice president of accounting for a construction firm that did things about which I knew absolutely nothing. I mean, really, does the average person really care about all the things that go into building green office or apartment buildings? Do I really care about renewable materials and plant-based insulating foam? I mean, I’d never even thought about those sorts of thing, let alone knew what they were and how they were used as building materials. Now, of course, I do. But not because it was something I wanted to know about. It’s just because it was the only thing my husband ever talked about.

  Yeah. Husband.

  So I go for an interview. I don’t get the job, but end up married to the CEO of the company. Sounds romantic, right? It wasn’t.

  I needed the job. I needed the money. My aunts—I love them to death, but they don’t always make the smartest decisions—needed my help. When I couldn’t get a scholarship for college, they mortgaged their house—a house that had never had a mortgage because they inherited it from their father—and quickly began missing the payments. The bank was threatening to foreclose, all because they had wanted me to have an education. They took me in when I was five, just after my parents were killed in a car accident that spared my life for some unknown reason. They were already older, two women completely content to live a spinster’s life. But then I came along, turned their lives upside down, and caused them to go into debt that they wouldn’t have had if not for their kind hearts and sense of obligation.

  I had to save their house. And this job…but, of course, even a top-notch education cannot fake knowledge I simply didn’t have. So, when Miles made his proposition…how could I turn down that much money? It was more than enough to save the house and allow my aunts to live the rest of their lives without financial worries. The plan seemed so simple.