Page 20 of Burned

And beg for more. Still, he waits.

Finally, I say, “I hate safe words.”

He stares.

“They’re pointless,” I say. Still staring. “I never use them.”

The demand is silent. A dark flicker through his eyes. It pulls me out of the haze enough to meet him fully. This is the part that people who don’t understand him would miss.

The line beneath the darkness.

And I think of that first night. When he told me I set the pace, that if I say, stop, we stop.

But I was trying to be anything but the scared little virgin I was that night; I was terrified, yet I wouldn’t have left that room for anything at that point.

And he told me I didn’t have to pretend.

Lucian can be ruthless, brutal, and terrifyingly possessive, but he won’t take something from me I don’t give freely.

And right now, he wants my consent. Bad. So, I say, “Red.”

His gaze stays on mine. “And if you need me to slow down?”

“Yellow.”

“If you say either?” he asks.

“You stop,” I sigh. “Or slow down.”

His jaw tightens. “Immediately.” Lucian steps close enough for his heat to reach me. “Now,” he says. “Coat off.”

The room seems to hold its breath.

Slowly, I slide my arm from the massive shoulder of his coat I borrow.

His eyes follow the motion.

Once, this would have felt like a performance I gave to survive. The first night in his apartment, every movement had been armor. Chin up. Hands steady. Pretend my pulse was not trying to escape my body.

Now, taking off my coat for Lucian feels like removing a piece of my shield. The one I use to protect myself from the world. But not from him. Never from him. The heavy wool slides from my shoulders and falls to the floor.

I am still dressed beneath it. Sweater, stretchy pants, stuff underneath. Completely respectable. A woman prepared for kindling and snow and not at all prepared for being looked at like sin in front of a fireplace.

Lucian’s gaze drags over me. Hot. Possessive. Thorough. Tearing it all away.

“Boots,” he says.

I always take them off at the door to keep the floors clean. I’m surprised to find I’m still wearing them. I toe them off, one then the other.

“Sweater.”

My hands pause at my waist. I look up. “No. Not until I ask a question first.”

His eyes lift to mine. He doesn’t like that. “One.”

“One what?” I tease, tugging at the soft sweater’s hem.

He sighs. “Question.”