I cross to the window, looking out at the sprawling estate. The mountain road is a grey ribbon winding through the pines. Somewhere out there is a life where I’m not a pawn. Where I don’t have to copy files in the dark to ensure my daughter’s safety.
Speaking of my daughter, she’s in the garden with her nanny, her small dark head bent over a patch of wildflowers. I watch her for a moment, the ache in my chest tightening. She has her father’s eyes. Eyes I haven’t seen in five years.
My phone vibrates on the duvet. A message from Dominic.
I’ve hired three new bodyguards to staff your perimeter for the gala tomorrow night. They’re the best money can buy. Don’t be difficult, Lucia. Read the files. They arrive at 11:30.
I click the attachment, and the air leaves my lungs in a sharp hiss.
Dominic usually hires meatheads. Thick-necked thugs with no brains. These men… these are something else entirely. They aren’t just guards. They’re weapons.
The first is Nick. The leader. A silver-fox commander with a jawline that looks like it was carved from granite. He’s older, mid-forties, wearing a charcoal suit that can’t hide the sheer, brutal breadth of his shoulders. He looks like authority. He looks like the kind of man who would pin me against a wall and demand every one of my secrets before he took my mouth. But it’s the way his trousers cling to his thighs in the candid photo that makes my mouth go dry. There is a heavy, unmistakable weight between his legs, a thick, thick bulge that speaks of a man who takes what he wants and doesn’t apologize for the wreckage he leaves behind.
Then there’s Rafe. He’s a beast. He has a thick, dark beard and eyes that look like molten gold—predatory, intense, and completely feral. A jagged scar slices down his neck, disappearing into the collar of a black t-shirt that looks ready to rip. He looks like he’d growl my name while he pinned my wrists to the headboard, his body a wall of heat and scarred muscle. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t use words when a bite will do.
The third photo makes my stomach flip and the heat between my legs pulse. Jude.
He’s wearing a black tactical shirt so tight it looks like a second skin. I can see the hard, ridged outlines of his abs—an eight-pack that looks like it was forged in a furnace—and the way his biceps bulge against the fabric, veins mapped across the skin like a diagram of power. He has dark hair, silver at the temples,and a gaze so clinical and sharp it’s terrifying. I imagine him in a missionary position, those thick arms braced on either side of my head, his face a mask of cold focus as he slams himself into me until I can’t remember my own name.
The adrenaline from the heist needs a place to go, and right now, it’s pooling in the dark, wet heat between my thighs.
I haven’t been touched in five years. Not like this. Not by men who look like they’d burn the world down just to mark me. I’m a ghost in this house, but looking at these men—these “red flags” with silver hair and possessive glares—I feel a spark of something dangerously alive. I want to be ruined. I want to be more than a princess. I want to be a woman who is claimed until she’s nothing but a memory of skin and sound.
I strip. My silk trousers hit the floor with a softshhh. I lie back on the Egyptian cotton, the USB drive forgotten on the nightstand, and reach for the small, black bullet vibrator I keep hidden under my pillow.
I close my eyes and let the whiskey-soaked fantasy take root.
I imagine Nick’s hand on my throat, his voice a low, gravelly growl as he tells me exactly how he’s going to use me. I imagine Rafe’s rough, calloused palms marking my hips, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my shoulder. And Jude… I imagine Jude’s relentless, rhythmic pace as he drives into me, his face inches from mine, his eyes boring into my soul while his body wrecks my senses.
The vibration grinding against my clit is a violent, buzzing demand. I’m soaked. Slick and dripping hot, my thighs trembling as my pussy clenches tightly around empty air. I’m coming apart at the visceral thought of being completelyoccupied by all three of them. I imagine Nick’s hard mouth bruising mine, Rafe’s massive, calloused hands leaving territorial marks on my tits, and Jude’s thick, heavy cock buried in me to the hilt, stretching my walls until I sob. The heavy, pooling ache between my legs is unbearable.
The vibration speeds up. I’m right on the edge, a cliff of sensation I’m ready to scream off.
I push the bullet harder against myself, my hips bucking off the cotton as the image of them takes over. I see Nick’s silver hair as he looks down at me with pure possession. I feel Rafe’s scarred chest crushing my breasts. I hear Jude’s breath hitch as he buries himself inside me.
The pressure builds until it’s a physical weight, a coil of steel snapping in my gut. My vision goes white. I scream into the empty room, my body convulsing in a grand, violent orgasm that leaves me shaking, sobbing, and utterly destroyed. It’s a tidal wave that sweeps away five years of loneliness in one shattering moment.
My phone pings.
I’m still coming down, my muscles locking, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. My hand fumbles for the phone, my fingers slick with my own heat, trembling so hard I can barely hold the device.
A message from Steph:
Okay but that reply was CRYPTIC. Are you actually okay? Call me.
I blink through the haze. My heart is still hammering a frantic rhythm. I need to reply. I need to tell someone I’m alive.
Another notification pops up. A new group chat.
Created by: Nick.
Participants: Rafe, Jude, Lucia.
NICK:
We’re at the gate. If you have questions or specific security requirements, put them here.
I see the text box. I think I’m replying to Steph. I want to tell her I’m finally okay, that I just had a release I’ve been craving for years.