The storm hit the city unexpectedly. Rain poured in sheets, thunder rolling through the skyline like a warning.
Elara groaned as the driver slowed the car, visibility dropping to almost nothing.
"This is insane," she muttered. "We should turn back."
Lucien didn't respond immediately. His eyes were fixed on the wet road, jaw tight, posture tense.
"We can't," he said finally. "The meeting tomorrow can't be postponed. And the nearest hotel… is miles away."
Her stomach sank. "You mean…"
"Yes." His dark gaze met hers, and the words were deadly calm. "We stay in the same suite tonight."
Elara froze. The tension between them was already unbearable, and now… she had to share a room with him.
The suite was luxurious, all marble and silk, but that didn't matter. What mattered was Lucien Blackwood, inches away from her, claiming space like he owned it.
"You'll sleep on the sofa," he said, not unkindly, though the authority in his tone left no room for argument.
"I… I can't—"
"Yes, you can," he interrupted. "You will. Now change. I'll be in the bathroom."
She exhaled shakily, retreating to the bedroom to change, heart hammering. Every thought in her head screamed this is insane, this is dangerous, but part of her… part of her thrilled at the thought.
By the time she returned, rain pounding against the windows, Lucien was already seated in a chair, dark eyes scanning the city below, shoulders tense, jaw set.
"I'm going to bed," she said softly, moving toward the sofa.
"Sit here," he said suddenly.
Her heart jumped. She hesitated. "I—"
"Sit," he repeated, more firmly, and there was no arguing with that tone.
She perched on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Lucien studied her silently for a long moment. Then, without warning, he stepped closer. The space between them shrank until the sofa was barely wide enough for both.
"Why are you trembling?" he asked quietly.
"I… I'm not," she stammered, though every muscle in her body screamed the truth.
"Yes, you are," he said, voice low, intimate, dangerous. "You're trembling because you know… you want this. And so do I."
Her breath hitched.
"I… I—" She swallowed. "I don't want to—"
He silenced her with a look. A single, slow, piercing look that made her chest ache.
"I won't touch you," he said. "Not unless you want me to. But you should know…" His dark eyes searched hers. "…I can't promise I'll stop myself if you do."
Her pulse thundered.
They sat like that for long minutes. Every time she shifted, he moved slightly closer, though carefully controlled. Every brush of their arms, every accidental touch, set her nerves alight.
Then the thunder crashed, shaking the windows. Elara flinched.
Lucien reached out, hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. The motion was soft, intimate, electrifying.
"You're mine," he whispered, voice rough, almost hoarse. "Do you understand?"
She nodded, unable to speak. Her lips trembled. Her chest burned. Her body betrayed her.
A flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting their shadows on the walls—two people dangerously close, hearts pounding, desire simmering.
And in that instant, the unspoken truth hung between them:
They were already lost to each other.
The rain continued to pour outside, relentless, echoing the storm that had erupted between them inside.
No contract. No rules. Only the tension, the desire, and the inevitability of what was coming.