Lucian’s Reign

by Mason, V. F.

  He spins us one more time, my dress billowing behind me as the air whooshes around us and hitches in my throat. “You’re gonna make my dizzy!” I scream, and he stops abruptly, putting me back on the ground.

  Lucian leans back, his warm palms resting on my cheeks. My heartbeat speeds up as his hot breath fans my face and mingles with mine. “Eres mia, gatita. Para siempre.” Satisfaction coats his tone, sending a dangerous thrill through me as my ears register a hidden meaning in his words.

  You’re mine, kitten. Forever.

  What a Cortez wants, he gets.

  And this should scare me. Obsession slowly fills his brown orbs that have the power to transform him into a man who loves like a madman; this kind of obsession almost always borders on insanity that consumes the person from the inside out.

  Except everything female in me reacts to his words—to soak up all the promises they imply, to stay tangled in the twisted web he threw over me. As if fireworks just seconds ago lit up not only the sky but my body too, in the most delicious ways, he continues to create emotions within me that surround me in a protective bubble where only happiness and safety exist.

  He covers my mouth with his, the plump lips brushing against mine in a gentle caress, inviting them to welcome his touch.

  He nips my lower lip, trapping it between his teeth and tugging. The sting breaks goose bumps on my skin before he slips his tongue inside, seeking mine, coaxing it to play with his.

  When they connect, everything changes. The kiss turns into a deep, passionate, all-consuming claim of possession as if announcing to the whole world that I belong to him.

  Each stab and glide of his tongue leaves no doubt I’ll stay by his side forever, for this possessive beast will never let me go, and should anyone dare to touch me, they wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

  He will stake his ownership of my body, which ignites in his arms over and over again, using it in any way he sees fit, because he knows he has absolute power over it.

  He’s like a virtuoso playing an instrument; he knows full well how to create the best sound that slowly transforms into a masterpiece.

  I willingly succumb to his desire, circling my arms around his neck and pressing myself impossibly close to him, moaning at the lust swirling in the pit of my stomach, sending unfamiliar prickles all over me and issuing demands I do not understand.

  The scorching kiss continues as his hand travels lower, pausing at my neck while his thumb grazes my pulse. He growls when he must detect how my heart gallops inside my chest, and then his hand slides even lower, tickling the exposed skin before settling on my waist, gripping it hard. He swallows my gasp.

  My fingers tangle in his hair and grasp it firmly, wanting to keep his mouth steady so he will never stop kissing me. I try to plaster myself against him even more closely. My nipples peak as I’m held tight to his hard muscles, and longing shoots straight to my clit.

  I tear my mouth away from his, and we both breathe heavily as our gazes connect. Lust fills his, while no doubt deep longing is reflected in mine. And then we kiss again, the inferno erupting all over my body in such a way that nothing has the power to extinguish it.

  Nothing except the gorgeous man standing right in front of me.

  I gasp in surprise when he clenches my ass cheeks hard and hikes me up.

  Without thinking, I circle my legs around him, groaning into his lips when the bulge trapped behind the zipper of his jeans presses my aching core, sending rippling sensations through me. His kiss turns bruising as he starts moving, each step creating friction designed to drive me insane.

  My hands fall to his shoulders, my ears and mind deaf to anything around me as he rapidly moves toward the house. I slip my fingers under the collar of his shirt, moaning at the feel of his hot skin.

  His whiskey-mixed-with-nicotine scent fills my nostrils, enveloping me in a deep haze where only he remains. I am almost addicted to the way just one touch from him can ignite heat that travels from the tips of my hair to the ends of my toes.

  Lust spreads in my veins, invading every cell in my body, filling me with longing and anticipation. It whispers illicit promises in my ears, vowing pleasure if only I take the plunge and follow this man wherever he goes.

  My nails claw his shoulders when he sucks on my tongue and hisses in the kiss, scraping his teeth over the abused flesh. I hear the door open, followed by heavy footsteps echoing on the marble while his hold on me tightens. He takes the stairs as the frenzy in me stokes the fire deep within me, burning everything in its path.

  Throwing my head back, I gulp for a breath. His lips nip on my chin before skating to my neck, where he draws my skin into his mouth, sucking harshly and probably leaving red marks for everyone to see, so no one doubts whose ring I’m wearing.

  A property he declares ownership of, and this alone should have been a sign that I need to treat his obsession cautiously. But right now, with the moonlight brightening up the hallway and the dimmed lamps on the ceiling creating an atmosphere designed for sin and seduction, my heart puts a lid on my mind, shutting it up for the time being because my body craves him like nothing else in this world.

  In this passionate bubble of his creation, nothing but he and I exist, and somehow I thrive in it. The boundaries that have kept me in place for so many years loosen, allowing me to step on the dangerous and unknown path holding so many promises, and I do not pay attention to any warnings.

  “Eres mía, Esmeralda.” The statement requires no answers, since he isn't really asking, just announcing to everyone who might hear that I’m his.

  Yet I still reply, welcoming the relief the words bring, blanketed with a layer of wonder and bliss. “Sí. Soy tuya.”

  He trembles, his embrace tightens on me, and he bites my neck before quickly licking the sting away while his fingers likely leave imprints on my thighs.

  Palming his head, I tilt it back and place my lips on his, needing to be anchored to him in this moment, because the unfamiliar madness might swallow me whole.

  The door shuts soundly, vibrating the walls, and I break the kiss, noticing he has brought us to the spacious master bedroom, illuminated by the moonlight and other lights streaming through the open terrace door. A breeze slides over my skin, yet it does not cool my skin.

  My eyes settle on the wide bed behind me, which puts a halt to all the sensations flowing through my body. I swallow at the sight, my hands clenching his collar before I let go, suddenly wanting to put distance between the two of us.

  Taking a few steps toward the bed, he gently places me back on my feet, and instinctively I step back from him while nerves temporarily halt the lust swirling over me, and the full weight of what I’m about to do registers in my mind.

  People might have done all this for centuries, but I’m about to lose my virginity. And while I all but begged him to take it during these weeks… fear slips into me at the unknown, despite my body craving his touch.

  Lucian watches me carefully, reading every expression on my face, and even though he towers above me and I can feel his dominance surrounding us, he makes no move toward me.

  He stands still, then finally his husky, deep voice that sends shivers down my spine speaks up, piercing the silence, which only our breathing fills. “Sólo si tú quieres.”

  Only if you want to.

  And I do—I so do.

  Everything female in me reacts to his presence, urging me to run back into his arms and order him to never let me go, to keep me in this vivid reality.

  Where coldness from my nightmares might cease to exist.

  Then why is it so hard to take the last step?

  The answer comes instantly.

  Because I’ll be vulnerable in a way I’ve never been before; giving my body to this man right now will make him vitally important to me. As allowing him this would mean placing my trust in him, which might sound idiotic, considering I just agreed to marry him.

  Attachments and trust… they are not things I can give fre
ely and be unscathed should they be broken.

  Once I take this step, I will never be able to take it back.

  He will forever be the man who became my first.

  What’s love and a relationship though without any risk?

  A raspy breath escapes me as I slip off my sandals, the cool marble greeting my bare feet. His eyes flare at the action, scorching heat filling them, and what they hold alone breaks goose bumps on my skin.

  My cheeks heat up while the decision settles in my mind, and I put my fingers on my back where the buttons are located. My hands shake a little, and my heart beats rapidly in my chest.

  Fumbling with all the buttons brings me no results though, and I huff in frustration, hating being on display right now and failing to even remove this dress.

  Bet his previous women didn’t have such problems.

  “Stop,” he orders harshly, as if guessing my thoughts. He moves toward me, each thump of his boots speeding up my pulse until he stands right in front of me, and then my gasp echoes in the room when he spins me around, pulling me to him. “I hate art. Dislike everything about it. Never understood the appeal. I guess it’s just not in my blood.”

  I blink at this admission; this is the last thing I expected for him to say in this moment.

  All thoughts vanish from my mind though when his fingers undo the first three buttons on my back, loosening the dress slightly around me. He places his lips on my nape, trailing them slowly to my shoulder until he traps the strap of the dress between his teeth, pulling it to the side. He sucks on the exposed flesh hard, sending prickles of pain through me. I groan, clenching my skirt, wanting to lace my hands in his hair, but I don’t dare make a move for fear of him stopping.

  “Lucian,” I whisper. He bites my shoulder before sliding his lips all the way to the other side, repeating the action as his fingers unbutton one more.

  His butterfly touches and the light graze of his fingers on my back create heat inside me that drives me insane. Suddenly the dress feels impossibly heavy on me, my hatred for it so strong as it separates me from fully experiencing his touch and what it entails.

  “Right now though, I feel like an artist ready to create a masterpiece,” he whispers across my skin, and then a tearing sound reverberates through the space. My dress loosens, alerting me to the fact he ripped it. The upper part slides down, opening up my breasts to his view, and his strong palms cup them, squeezing them hard. Pleasure fills every bone as electricity rushes through me in cascading waves. His thumbs brush over my nipples, bringing pain and need with their touch, which only intensifies the desire slamming into me with every breath I take. “And you’re my empty canvas where I can paint whatever the fuck I want.”

  He bites my shoulder one last time before flicking his tongue over the flesh and then shifting his lips down my back, delivering barely noticeable kisses that cause more goose bumps to rise on my skin. His hands glide to my waist, possessively clenching me and, for sure, marring my skin with bruises. “Because you will always belong to me. I wish I could trap you by my side, hiding you inside this castle from the prying eyes who would be mesmerized by your beauty and crave it for themselves.”

  His hands move lower, settling on my hips while his hard-on pushes into me, making me feel his thickness, and my core clenches as I imagine having him inside me. He scrapes his teeth over the sensitive spot on the back of my neck. “I’ll have to be satisfied with the knowledge that you finally wear my ring because you are mine. Mine and only mine. There is no going back now.” He sways back a little, letting the dress fall by my bare feet, leaving me standing in lace panties, but I focus only on his husky voice, almost hypnotizing me to do as he says as long as the bliss continues. “It’s a curse and a blessing for you.” I gasp when he puts his splayed palm on my belly, drifting it toward my navel. “A curse, because my possessive streak will drive you crazy, my obsession placing demands on you that you will absolutely hate. You might even want to run away, and I will catch you every single time.”

  God, these words shouldn’t fan the desire burning in my blood, sending signals to my nerve endings as my body pushes forward, urging him to move his hand lower so he can soothe the fire swirling in my core. “A blessing, because no one could cherish you more than I do. I see no one but you. You know why, gatita?” he murmurs in my ear, catching my earlobe in his mouth before continuing his thought. “Because for the first time in my life, something so pure and beautiful belongs to me. Something that never should have been mine, but you have no choice now.”

  His hand finally resumes its journey, the fingers slipping into my panties, and I hiss when his middle one enters me and the heel of his palm presses on my clit, lust erupting inside me. I throw my head back, resting it on his shoulder, exposing my neck for his lips as my core spasms around his fingers, a moan escaping me.

  “Your present and future belong to me.” Adding more pressure on my clit, he glides his finger in and out before skimming it over my walls, coating them in wetness as my core begs for a reprieve from the onslaught of thousands of sensations slamming into me one after another. “Tight. So tight. And soaked. For me.” His voice drops lower, the husky baritone serving as an aphrodisiac. “You like being mine, gatita?”

  He adds another finger, moving them up and down and creating friction in me as the heel of his hand once again presses on my clit. My heart speeds up, ready to latch onto the gratification he promises me. Swinging my hips a little, I groan in protest when he pauses his movements.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  As barbaric as his words sound, I know deep down he would never hurt me or abuse the power he has over me and instead use it to wrap me in a cocoon of protection and happiness.

  A man who has shown so much patience these last two weeks can’t be anything else, right?

  His other hand laces in my hair, tilting my head even more as our mouths connect in a heated kiss, our tongues entwining in a passionate embrace. He owns my mouth as if it is his personal toy designed for his pleasure alone, assuring his dominance over me. My body succumbs to his demands, my palm settling over his, pushing on it lightly so he will continue his movements.

  He responds to me, entering me with two fingers and stretching me, bringing relief and pain at the same time. Rapid sensations grow in me, becoming brighter and brighter, increasing the tension all through me, making me almost reach the bliss beckoning on the horizon.

  The passionate kiss increases the need building rapidly inside me, urging me to run into the fire of his creation and let the orange and blue flames consume me as long as it means satisfying the hunger he has awakened in me.

  And then his mouth and hand are gone, my whimper echoing in the night at the loss while confusion clouds my mind.

  He spins me around, taking several steps back, and we stare at one another for what seems like forever.

  We both breathe heavily as he roams his desire-darkened orbs over my form, and despite the instinct to cover myself, I do no such thing and let him drink his fill.

  He quickly unbuttons his shirt and tosses it away, my eyes seeing his bare chest for the first time. I blink in surprise at the carved muscles there, the six-pack so well defined my hands itch to touch it and feel them against me to make sure he’s real and not a marble statue like those gracing so many museums, for his male beauty could rival those.

  What has my whole attention is his tan skin marred with deep scars, angry red slashes, leaving permanent imprints on his flesh that speak of unbearable pain that no person should be subjected to.

  They trail all over his chest in different shapes; the biggest—a round one—sits on his collarbone.

  Judging by how several smaller ones curve on his hips and sides, I can only assume a similar picture will greet me on his back.

  My God… who would have been so cruel to my man and hurt him in such a way?

  Without thinking, I reach him in two short strides, putting my palm on one lightly, afraid it might
still ache after all this time. He tenses, holding his breath. I guess he is not used to anyone touching or maybe even seeing them.

  The skin is rough, puckered. My fingertips dip in some places because they’ve been damaged so much.

  Thousands of questions play in my mind, anger mixing with sadness, because I want to know who dared to do such a thing to him as no one deserves such a hard fate, but I bite on my lips, holding them all back.

  Deep down, I know he does not want to talk about it, because he allows me to touch them yet half expects me to be repulsed by them.

  Why would I though?

  They speak about his strength.

  Every warrior has battle scars, and my man must be one too; otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing in front of me right now.

  So instead, I lean forward, place my mouth on the biggest one, and kiss it lightly, hoping to soothe the pain that was inflicted on his soul. Because scars leave far deeper imprints in our spirit than body.

  Although they serve as constant reminders about our nightmares.

  And somehow, him opening himself like that for me and exposing his most vulnerable places calms my earlier nerves and destroys the fear trying to break this moment.

  Right now, truly nothing but he and I exist for me.

  “I’m happy to be yours, Lucian,” I whisper in the heavy silence and walk backward toward the bed while holding his stare, until the backs of my calves bump against it. Then without turning, I ease onto it. Tossing my hair back, it grazes the black satin sheets. I sigh, trusting my instincts, and finally say, “Take what’s yours.” I fall on my back, my eyes on the dancing shadows above me from the combined lighting. His heavy shoes thump on the marble, anticipation swirling inside me, because I know he is coming closer.

  I feel the bed dip under his weight when he puts his knee on it, and then he separates my legs, bending them in the process, and puts my feet on the mattress. My toes curl when my panties stretch over my wet flesh, rubbing on my clit, and a moan slips past my lips. “Oh, I will take,” he says, plastering a hand on either side of my head, trapping me under his body, and I arch underneath him, offering him my aching nipples, which are in search of something I do not understand.