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CHAPTER ONE
OLIVIA
I clenched my open palms and stretched my arms out and rotated my wrists. I wasn’t supposed to move—he’d ordered me to keep perfectly still until he returned from work—but my hands were going numb. My knuckles popped and I let out a little sigh of relief.
God, that felt good after holding still for almost an hour.
I arced my spine back and a satisfying crunch echoed through the room. It was almost ten at night and I’d been on my knees, palms up and balanced on my thighs, on the end of our bed for forty-five minutes.
The fire in the bedroom hearth crackled down to a red glow. The faint light from it cast an orange shadow across the floor. The only other illumination was the bedside lamp, turned down low.
Between my thighs, my sex gave an impatient pulse. I arced my spine again, stretching the stiff muscles and wriggling my hips. They popped and the tension released up above only made the tension down below that much more unbearable.
I needed the attention of his fingers between my thighs.
Or his mouth…his mouth would be heavenly.
Around five that evening, just as our nanny and I were getting the boys ready for bed, my phone lit up with a text from my husband. I knew it wasn’t an emergency or he would have called, so I pushed the phone into my back pocket and finished helping the boys brush their teeth.
After they were tucked into bed, I slipped upstairs to our room and swiped the screen.
I’ll be late tonight. When I get in at ten, I’ll find you on your knees waiting for me. Understood?
My heart flipped and my body flushed from my head to my feet like hot lava flooding my veins. Even after a decade of marriage, he could get my pulse racing and my pussy wet with a few well chosen words.
My fingers shook as I typed out an answer.
Yes, sir.
Almost at once, he answered.
Good girl.
I rolled my eyes, trying to make light of how flustered I was just from a text. He was so arrogant, so confident that he knew exactly what set my body alight for him.
He had good reason to be confident. For the last few years, we’d had the best sex of our lives.
It was easy, scorching hot, and thoroughly satisfying.
We’d pushed and pulled together at the beginning of our marriage. He’d learned to temper himself and I had learned to stop fighting him on everything. He’d nurtured my confidence until it felt authentic. Until I grew comfortable in asking for the things I wanted both in and out of the bedroom without shame or fear.
I learned to trust him completely the way he craved. I found the sweetest kind of healing in giving my mind, my body, and my soul over to him. In my past, men had done nothing but hurt me and that pain erected firm barriers that took years to dismantle.
But he had.
Brick by brick.
And now I trusted him. Not the usual way wives trusted their husbands. Lucien was more like having a large, dangerous prey animal that was choosing to be domesticated in my home. He was gentle with me, but the edge to his eyes and his words reminded me that beneath it all was the man who’d killed Romano and brought me his bleeding body.
I respected that he wasn’t tamed. It was part of what made him Lucien, my husband.
Downstairs, the clock struck ten and I pricked up my ears, cocking my head. In the distance I caught the faint sound of his car coming up the drive. I squirmed, sitting back on my heels the way he wanted. My spine straightened, my chin lowered. My eyes rested on the sheets.
Everything was exactly how he liked it.
My breasts were cupped in a silk bra that pushed my cleavage up. A pair of barely-there black lace panties contoured my hips. Below them I wore a single, black silk garter and around my bare ankle was the anklet he’d given me. Imprinted with his initials, his ownership.
I lifted my head and caught my reflection in the mirror beside the bed. My lower belly was stretch marked from my pregnancies and had a little outward curve that hadn’t been there when he married me. I’d worried, at first, that he wouldn’t like the changes to my body.
