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His beard and lips scrape against my ear as he whispers.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?” he asks. “Well, first, I’d rip that pretty dress off your body with my teeth. I’d pin you down and put my mouth on your wet cunt until you screamed yourself hoarse. I’d spread you open with my fingers until your throat gave out from crying and all you could do was shake. Then I’d lick the tears off your cheeks and make you thank me for every single one. You’d beg—of course you’d beg; you’d beg so fucking pretty—but I wouldn’t be stopping, would I? No. Not even close. We’d just be getting started.”

He comes even closer.

“I’d drag you to me, hang your head over the edge of the bed, and fuck your throat until black tears ran down your cheeks. Then I’d flip you over, shove your face into the mattress, and ram my cock into your soaking wet pussy, Rae. I’d bottom out and holdthere, making you spasm with how big and cruel it is. I’d grab you by the roots of your hair and pry you up so I can watch your eyes roll back, watch you try to remember how to breathe with me buried so deep you’d taste me in the back of your throat. And when you pleaded for me to move, because staying like this was killing you? I’d make you sayplease. Make you say my name—not ‘Lukas’ then, no. At that moment, I’d be onlyMr. Lazarev.And I’d make you tellMr. Fucking Lazarevexactly who this pussy belongs to before I gave you asingle.fucking.stroke.”

His thumb passes over my windpipe, like he’s considering how easily he could snap it.

“From there, I’d ruin you. I’d fuck you until you were aching. You’d lose track of where you end and I begin. I’d fill you up and watch it spill out and push it back in just to hear that sound you’d make. Again. And again. Until dawn. Until you couldn’t walk. By the time I finished, you’d be so cock-drunk and cum-soaked you’d never be able to bear having anyone else inside you ever again for the rest of your natural life.”

My thighs clench together. Fire is rippling low in my belly, treacherous and undeniable.

And then, just like that, the warmth vanishes. Lukas steps back. His eyes shutter closed, cold as a winter grave.

“But I won’t,” he says flatly. “Because you deserve better than a monster’s hands on you. Go to bed, Rae. And shut your door. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

He turns and walks into his room. The door pulls shut behind him.

I stand there, trembling, aching, alone.

And wet.

So.

Fucking.

Wet.

39

RAE

PRODUCT REVIEW - RED SILK DRESS

Rating: ????? (5/5 stars)

Pros: Clings to every curve. Plunges to navel. Makes billionaires malfunction.

Cons: ... makes billionaires malfunctiondangerously.

The next day, Lukas is missing.

I wake late, groggy and disoriented from a night of fitful sleep punctuated by dreams I refuse to examine too closely. When I finally drag myself downstairs, the kitchen is empty of any silver-haired Adonises.

It’s also empty of coffee, which is more annoying.

So I make my own. It’s terrible, way too weak, a little burnt, but I drink it anyway while standing at the window where Lukas stood yesterday morning. The vineyard stretches out before me, golden and gorgeous. It couldn’t care less about my personal crisis.

When the coffee is gone and I’m still feeling unsettled, I go hunting for him.

I check the bedrooms. Empty.

The veranda. Empty.

The wine cellar, even though it scares the living daylights out of me. Empty.

By noon, I’ve given up on finding him and retreated to the library. It’s a gorgeous room, lined with ceiling-height shelves, each of which are crammed with leatherbound volumes in French, Russian, English, and a few other languages I’m not cultured enough to even recognize. I curl up in an overstuffed armchair and pull a random book from the nearest shelf.