Sebastian does more than that.
He helps them find their families. There are some who can’t go home—either because they have no family left or because their families are the ones who sold them. He helps them start new lives somewhere else. Only Tia stays here. Sebastian gave her a plot to garden on his extensive grounds. She loves to sit outside, to work her hands into the earth after so long inside.
As for me, I’m with Sebastian. I live in his palace. I sleep in his bed. He holds me every night—tight, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear again. Except I don’t have any plans to leave. I wait patiently for the moment he has his large paw stuck in a trap, the rare but precious moment I’ll be able to help him back. Tia told me when we started this that I would owe him. I’d be his. And there’s no one I’d rather belong to.
The only thing he hasn’t done is made love to me.
The first few nights I felt his hardness against my hip. And still he just held me. Finally I reached for him, ready to show him I’m willing. He made a growling sound—that’s all. No words. An animal sound that settled me back into his arms.
This night is different. On this night, I lie awake in his bed.
He doesn’t come.
When the clock chimes midnight, I climb out of bed. The hand-scraped wood floors are cool under my feet. I’m wearing only the ruby silk nightgown he gave me, its hem barely reaching my thighs.
I find him in his study, every light off, still dressed in a rumpled suit.
“Sebastian?”
He makes a round sound of denial. “Go back to bed, Lucia.”
He can’t be working in the dark. He doesn’t even have a drink in his hand, like he sometimes does before sleep. And there’s a tension in the air that feels both familiar and acute.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” Except I can hear the tightness of his voice. Almost like pain.
I cross the Persian rug to his leather armchair, reaching for him. My hands grasp linen spread over broad shoulders. In the dark I hear his breath catch.
“I’m serious, Lucia. Go upstairs.”
He’s using his angry voice, the one that makes the big men who work for him jump to attention. I should be scared, too, but I know how tender he can be. How sweetly he can run his fingers through my hair when he thinks I’m asleep. I’m not afraid of his roar.
I climb into his lap, ignoring the way he goes rigid. For a second I think he might push me away, might stand up, might physically force me to leave. This is the trap around his paw. This is a strong animal being held captive by sharp metal.
My hands are on his chest for balance. I feel his breath, heavy beneath my palms. His entire body burns like a furnace. He smells of man and musk. Of danger and desire. I lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek. It’s sweet and innocent, this kiss. Chaste, which is how he thinks of me.
I move my lips over the stubble on his jaw, finding the smoother skin of his neck. And then I place a kiss there, like he did to me that night at the ball.
He shudders, his hands tightening on my waist. “Fuck, you need to go.”
His voice is hoarse. Less angry now. More…desperate?
“Why?” I whisper against his skin. His body reacts even to the brush of air as I speak, hardening beneath me. I can feel him holding back. From what?
“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, as dark as charcoal. “I’m going to pin you down on this chair and break your pretty little cunt open. Is that what you want?”
Fear trickles through me. Maybe that wasn’t his roar. It’s this threat. His hands on my body, his cock inside me. I should definitely be afraid of this, but I want to know him in every way possible. I want to feel him, even if it hurts.
“You’re too fragile for me,” he says, almost despairing. “Too small. I’ll break you.”
That’s why he hadn’t has sex with me. He thinks I can’t take it. That my past has made me weak. I may only be a small mouse, but I’m strong enough to save him.
That’s the moral of the story.
His chest is broad, his shoulders thick with muscle. I scrape my teeth along the cords of his neck until I find the juncture, the exact same curve where he bit me. My tongue slides over his skin—salt and safety.
I bite down.
For a moment, neither of us move. Violence fills the air, sexual and sweet. Whip-fast, he lifts me. Then I’m in the chair still warm from his body, legs pushed over its leather arms. He pushes the red silk up over my stomach, my breasts, baring me to his gaze.
