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“This world you’re about to show me,” I start, “it’s new to me. So new, in fact, that I’m scared I won’t fit in.” My admission has his free hand reaching for one of mine.
“Trust me, little red,” he tells me. “You fit in perfectly. Your sweetness, that innocence that shines like a star in the night sky, and your delicious submission.”
“But I never—”
“You did. What do you think happened in the woods? The fact that you happily kneeled before me and took my cock in your mouth, that’s what I crave. Watching you douse your fire just a little bit to please me,” he speaks, his voice laced with desire, before he leans in and brushes his lips along my cheek. “That was what a perfect submissive would do—anything to please her Dominant.”
“So, I’m going to need a safe word?” The question is a mere whisper, one that makes my stomach twist and churn with nervous energy.
Lycan chuckles. “You will. Since you’re to be my wife, I wanted to take this slowly. Most women I’ve been with were only there for a night. And most of them were used to this world already. With you, I needed to savor watching you slowly find your submission. I wanted you to discover it naturally, not by force.”
“I thought—”
“When you’re unsure, ask. Don’t think about things you’ve never witnessed.” Lycan assures me with a smile as he leans in closer, his mouth at my ear, the warm breath fanning over my cheek when he whispers, “But trust me, little red, when we play, I’ll make sure the desires you have, those dark, twisted needs, will be fulfilled. And when I do pin you down and take your pussy for the first time, you’ll scream.”
The promise, the dark, lust-filled vow he offers me, sends heat coursing through my veins like fire through the woods. I want to speak, to respond, but I can’t find the words. Thankfully, the car comes to a stop. My head whips to my left to find my new home for the next few days. Lycan’s New York home is nothing like I expected.
I figured someone like him would have a bachelor pad in the city, but we’re in the suburbs. The house before us is a three-story mansion with soft yellow lights that shimmer from only the lower windows.
“I thought we were going to your apartment in the city?” I ask as I take in the house through the window. The two large white pillars holding up the balcony on the second floor have vines snaking around them, and the open-brick façade is nothing short of magnificent. Lycan’s driver opens my door and helps me out of the car. The gravel beneath my feet crunches when I step on it.
“I wanted you to see our future home on the West Coast,” Lycan says when he joins me, his hand clasping mine as we head toward the double wooden doors that slide open as if knowing their master is home. The foyer is filled with soft light. Dark metal railings lead up a sweeping staircase, and large modern paintings hang on the walls as they disappear down the hallway toward the right.
The scent of food wafts toward us. “This is magnificent,” I say as Lycan leads me toward the back of the house and into the enormous kitchen. Stainless steel and marble greet us as I take in the space. A countertop is filled with fresh bread and baked goods.
“Master Shaw,” a man in chef’s whites greets before his gaze lands on me. “Good evening, miss.” The posh British accent is clear in his words, and a soft smile curls his lips. “It’s lovely to have you both here.”
“Thank you,” I respond, a grin forming on my face.
“Marcel, this is Scarlett. She’ll be spending some time here while I attend my meetings this week,” Lycan informs the man whose smile widens as he regards me.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Scarlett,” Marcel says. “I’ll happily keep you company while you’re visiting at Hawthorne.”
“We’ll see you in the morning,” Lycan says before tugging me behind him before I have a moment to answer Marcel’s kindness. I’m taken back into the foyer before we head up the stairs, my gaze flitting between artworks as we move down the hall. We stop outside a dark wooden door, and I watch as Lycan unlocks it with a brass key and twists the handle. He allows me to enter first.
The room is furnished in blacks, whites, and grays. There are no other colors anywhere in sight. The bed is draped in a black comforter, matching pillows, and the four posters are made of a dark wood.
The carpet underfoot is a soft, plush charcoal, and the curtains, in a slate hue, are lined, blocking out any threat of light. A shimmering softness beckons, and I walk over to touch the silky material.
