The invitation arrived in a black envelope, sealed with wax — a crimson L pressed into it like a promise or a threat.
No return address. No message.
Just a time.
Just a place.
She didn’t hesitate.
It was a penthouse. Glass and stone. A cathedral in the clouds. Soft classical music drifted through the air — not romantic, not sweet — something heavier. Something that made her body tune itself to attention.
He met her at the door in a black button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, barefoot. Understated. Dangerous.
“You came,” Lucian said.
“You summoned,” she replied.
He kissed her like he was starving. Not with lips — with presence. With heat. With hands that pressed against her jaw, her waist, her hips. But still, no further. Not yet.
“I want to show you something tonight,” he whispered. “But it requires a level of trust you haven’t given me yet.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow. “And if I say no?”
His smile held a flicker of something — was it pride? Relief?
“Then we drink wine, and I make you cum in seven different ways before sunrise.”
She laughed. “And if I say yes?”
His voice dropped.
“Then I take you to the edge. And I keep you there.”
The room he led her to was colder, quieter. Just leather and glass, candlelight and shadow. In the center — a single chair, upholstered in deep scarlet. Regal. Waiting.
He undressed her slowly, but this time with more silence than seduction. She could feel it — the gravity shifting. This was no longer about pleasure. This was about control. Not taking it. Offering it.
“Sit,” he said.
She did.
He tied her again — but not her wrists.
Her ankles. Her thighs. Her waist. Her neck. All loose enough to breathe, tight enough to remind her she couldn’t leave.
Then he blindfolded her. Again.
No safe word needed. Not between them. They were past that. This wasn’t danger. This was devotion.
He whispered into her ear:
“I’m going to make you beg.”
She didn’t know how long it lasted.
Time dissolved into touches and heat and pauses so long they drove her mad. His mouth brushed her skin like a ghost. His fingers teased, then disappeared. Her body ached — not from denial, but from anticipation sharpened into a blade.
And still — he didn’t give her release.
“You feel that?” he murmured. “That edge?”
She could barely speak. Her breath was fractured.
“That’s where I want you. Forever.”
And then, just as her body started to tremble — as her mouth opened to plead, to curse, to demand —
He stopped.
Everything stopped.
The blindfold came off.
He was already dressed, back turned, pouring himself a drink.
“You’re not ready,” he said, voice cool. “Not tonight.”
Her heart was hammering, chest rising and falling like waves crashing against glass. Fury and lust and desperation tangled in her veins.
“What the fuck, Lucian—”
He turned slowly, eyes burning.
“You asked me to ruin you,” he said softly. “I’m only beginning.”
Then he walked out.
And that was the last time she saw him.
For now.
[THE END.]Or maybe not…