Chapter 153: Feel what you do.
Chapter 153
The journey from the wardrobe to the bed felt like an eternity, yet it was over in a matter of seconds.
Lucian’s strides were heavy, certain, and vibrated with a grace that made Isabella feel both utterly safe and dangerously exposed.
She clung to him like a koala, her legs wrapped so tightly around his waist that she could feel the hard knotting of his thigh muscles with every step he took, the friction of his trousers against her inner thighs acting as a constant, burning reminder of her own nakedness.
When they finally reached the edge of the massive, silk-draped bed, Lucian didn’t immediately let her go.
His hands, which had been supporting her weight shifted, sliding down to cup the soft, full curves of her bottom, his fingers digging into the flash before he began to untangle her from his frame.
The loss of his body heat made the cool air of the suite rush over Isabella’s sensitized skin, making her nipples peak and her flesh prickle.
He lowered her onto the center of the bed, the dark, expensive silk sheets feeling like liquid ice against her spin
The transition from the safety of his arms to the vast expanse of the mattress left her feeling suddenly vulnerable.
As soon as her back hit the pillows, a wave of instinctive shyness washed over her. It was a visceral reaction that caught her off guard.
Why was she feeling so shy? She knew the mechanics, she had read the words and felt the heat of a thousand fictional books describing how sex was.
Her legs, which had been locked around his waist only seconds ago, snapped shut. She clenched her thighs together so tightly that her muscles ached, her knees drawing upward slightly as she retreated toward the plush, velvet headboard.
She was a blushing, trembling mess, her heart hammering against her ribs with enough force to make her chest ache.
Lucian didn’t move toward her immediately. He stood at the foot of the bed, a dark silhouette of raw power, his eyes fixed on her.
He watched her retreat, watched the way she tried to hide her modesty behind the wall of her own legs, and he didn’t mock her.
He began to dismantle the distance between them, piece by piece. He started with his silk shirt.
His eyes never left hers as his long fingers moved to the top button. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, as if he wanted her to witness every second of his own exposure.
As the first button gave way, then the second, Isabella felt her breath hitch. Her fingers dug into the silk sheets, bunching the fabric into her palms as she watched the smooth, corded muscles of his chest begin to reveal themselves.
The third button popped, and the shirt fell open, hanging loosely from his broad shoulders. Lucian’s chest was a masterpiece of hard lines and shadows.
The sheer physicality of him was overwhelming—the way the muscles of his abdomen cordoned into a rigid, defined wall, the way the dark hair trailed down into the waistband of his trousers.
He didn’t rush. He pulled the fabric back, sliding the shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall to the carpet in a heap of discarded elegance.
He stood there, bare-chested and beautiful, his ribs expanding and contracting, mirroring her own.
Lucian’s hand moved to the belt of his trousers. Isabella’s eyes widened, her thighs clenching even harder as a fresh wave of panic and desire warred in her chest.
She had never seen—she had never known—the reality of a man’s need. She knew the words for it, the anatomical labels, but the sheer, looming presence of him made all those words feel useless.
He stepped out of his shoes, enjoying her reaction, savoring the way she looked at him with that mixture of terror and absolute, starving lust.
"Isabella," he whispered. "Look at me."
She was looking. She couldn’t have looked away if the room were on fire. Her face was hot.
And as Lucain reached for the fastening of his trousers, Isabella let out a small, broken sound—a whimpering ’oh’ that she couldn’t suppress.
She felt the sudden urge to pull the covers over her head, to disappear into the dark, but her body wouldn’t obey.
She was paralyzed by the sight of him. He stepped out of his trousers, the heavy fabric sighing as it pooled around his ankles, leaving him standing in nothing but his dark, silk-blend briefs.
The sight was enough to make the air turn to lead in Isabella’s lungs. The fabric was tight, straining against the formidable, pulsing reality of his arousal—a silhouette so stark and undeniable that it made the "mechanics" she’d read about in books feel like childish fairytales.
This was raw. This was blood and bone and ancient, masculine hunger. Lucian didn’t stay at the foot of the bed.
He moved, his knee sinking into the mattress, the frame groaning under his weight as he crawled toward her. Isabella’s breath came shallow hitches, her back pressed so hard against the headboard she felt like she might merge with the wall.
"You’re trembling" he murmured and the vibration seemed to settle directly in her lower belly.
He reached out, his large hands wrapping around her ankles, gently but with irresistible strength, he pulled her away from the headboard, dragging her body across the cool silk until she was centered beneath him.
He gripped her waist and hoisted her up, guiding her until she was upright, kneeling in the center of the bed directly in front of him.
Her bare breasts mere inches from his solid scarred chest. Being on her knees made her feel even smaller, even more subjected to the sheer scale of him.
Her hands hovered in the air, trembling, unsure of where to land, her face a mask of crimson heat.
"Look at me, Isabella," Lucian commanded softly, his hand cupping her chin to tilt her face up.
His thumb traced her bottom lip, which was wet and swollen from his kisses. "You wanted this, right? I am yours. Every inch of this... it’s all for you."
He took her shaking hands in his, his fingers interlacing with hers, and slowly—agonizingly slowly—he guided them downward.
"Feel what you do to me."