Lucian was there, but he was alone. Sitting in a chair, staring into the distance at the empty table that was often used to secure his previous pain toys.
“Lucian?”
He looked back at me when I said his name, and I saw something so dead in his eyes, it scared me. This wasn’t the Lucian that I knew. This man was empty. This man was cold. And this man had lost all his warmth for me when he spoke. “What are you doing here?”
It sounded like an accusation, and it made me angry. “No, the question is, what the hell are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer, so I moved forward, demanding answers. “Thinking of your pain sluts,” I snarled. “Is that it?”
He blinked, and for a second, I thought he’d come back to me. “No, I was thinking of you.”
Regardless of my anger and confusion, my stupid heart filled with hope. “What are you doing here, Lucian? I’ve been waiting for you at home.”
He turned into me and dragged me against him without warning, his fingers unfastening the knot around my waist before he slipped my coat off. I was in nothing more than a nightgown, and my nipples were already hard for him.
Maybe it was primal, or maybe it was jealousy, but I wanted him, and he knew it. He knew it when he dragged his fingers down over the material around my chest and tucked it under my breasts, exposing me to him.
Part of me wanted to tell him no. I wanted to demand an explanation, but in the end, I could see it wasn’t necessary. His eyes told me what he wanted. They told me what he needed.
“Were you going to fuck someone else?” I accused.
He didn’t look at me as he traced his fingers around the edge of my nipple. “Get on the table.”
“No,” I said, but it was weak.
“You’re supposed to do as you’re told,” he answered flatly.
“And what are you supposed to do? Come here whenever you want even though you’re married to me?”
He didn’t answer.
“Is this the first time, or has it happened before?” I pressed. “Is this where you’ve been when you told me you were working on Emmanuel’s case?”
His eyes snapped up to mine, and they were scarier than I’d ever seen them. “Get on the fucking table!”
I took a step back from him, but he caught me around the wrist before I could really move. I didn’t want to fight with him—that was the last thing I wanted—so I didn’t resist when he led me to the table and scooped me up with his arms, spreading me out like I was his next meal.
“Lucian,” I tried again to find some calm in my voice as he disappeared behind me where I couldn’t see. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He didn’t tell me. Instead, he came back and looked right at me, eyes empty as he latched a leather cuff around my wrists and secured them above my head. My chest rose and fell at an accelerated rate, and I tried to calm myself with reassurances.
I trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt me. This was Lucian. I had no reason to be afraid.
But maybe that meant I had more of a reason to be afraid. Because the truth was, I hadn’t really known this side of him. The part of him he kept hidden away. The sadist filled with quiet rage.
The last time he’d brought me here, he told me repeatedly that I was safe in his care, and I believed him. He told me that I could say stop at any point, and he would listen.
“Lucian,” I tried again, but he worked noiselessly, attempting to secure my feet next.
“Stop.” I tried to jerk my foot away, but it was an empty action that served no purpose. His grip was unyielding, and my words weren’t even getting through to him anymore. He strapped down both of my legs, and I already felt like I couldn’t breathe as I strained against the confinements.
“Please,” I begged.
Still nothing. I barely saw a glimpse of his face when he returned before he secured the blindfold around my eyes. This was the worst thing he could possibly do to me, and he knew it. He knew it intimately, and what I couldn’t figure out was why he wanted to punish me.
“Lucian—”
I felt the leather edge of a crop as it trailed over my skin before his breath filled the shell of my ear. “I should whip you black and blue.”