By the time the second wave hit, I was gone—no thoughts, no memory, just sensation and sound and the helpless convulsion of my own body. My thighs shook, my hips bucked, everything inside me tightened and released, gushing hot and uncontrollable.
Through the blur, Luka’s mask turned toward me, the slash of blue sharp and intent. “Tell me again,” he said, voice stripped down to nothing but tension.
I tried—God, I tried—but words were gone. All that came out was broken sound, breath and noise dragged out of me while the last of the pleasure rolled through my body and left me shaking.
He pressed the toy harder.
The sensation tipped me over again, another shudder tearing through me, leaving my muscles weak and unsteady, eyes wet behind the mask.
He closed a hand around my throat. “Say it.” The control in his voice cracked. “What do you want?”
“You,” I sobbed. “I want you. Only you.”
The room fell away.
The crowd, the lights, the heat—gone.
The vibration stopped.
“Good girl.”
chapter
twelve
Luka snapped his fingers—once, sharp as a whip crack—and the crowd broke apart.
Then he lifted me off the bench, hands firm at my waist, hauling me upright as my legs gave out. I sagged against him, shaking, and he held me there, solid and unyielding.
His lips brushed my ear. “With me.”
I stumbled as he moved, heels skittering on mirrored tile. The mask narrowed everything to a tunnel. I felt the room watching—my bare skin, the slick between my thighs—but Luka shielded me, a wall that dared anyone to get close.
He moved fast.
The air shifted as he pulled me into a narrow corridor lined in shadow and obsidian panels. The music dropped to a dull throb behind us. I clutched his forearm to stay upright, my steps uneven, stilettos scraping the floor in uneven, frantic clicks.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t slow.
We passed a row of alcoves. He stopped at one, a single strip of red light glowing beneath the heavy velvet curtain.
He shoved it aside and dragged me in.
The room was small—a mirrored wall, a low padded bench, and darkness thick enough to swallow everything except him.
Before I could catch my breath, he pressed me to the glass, my cheek flattening to the cool mirror.
He closed in behind me, his hips locked against mine, pinning me with the full line of his body. Heat radiated through his tactical pants, his hard length pressing against me. The mirror trembled—bass, or him, or both.
He gripped my jaw, twisting my head until our eyes met in the reflection.
“I can’t fucking let you go now.”
My chest seized, lungs refusing air.
“Then don’t,” I whispered.