Page 11 of Lukas

Reina.

Oh, fuck. Oh, no. No. No. No. No.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember past the explosion that had happened in her body at his words to replay them in her mind. Trying to make sure that was what he’d really said. That he hadn’t said princess like all the other times.

No. He’d definitely said Reina.

She got up and walked into the shower, turning on the water, still dazed. He knew who she was. Had, if not the whole time, then at least by the time he’d had his damn fingers inside twoholes.

She thumped her head against the shower wall. What had she done? How the hell was she supposed to face Lukas again knowing what he’d done to her? What she’d let him do? What she’d all but begged him for?

She finished washing—studiously avoiding spending too much time on the places on her body that were still a little tender, like her nipples—and got out of the shower.

The plan had been to go to Triple Threat, blend in with the Sunday night crowd at the dance club, then sneak off to find the computer server room she knew was somewhere in that building. The Rinaldi family kept most of its business dealings on that set of servers. She would be able to place her bypass software into their system and find out what she needed to know.

Was dear Uncle Peter using the adaptions he’d made to her father’s software to steal from clients, like she suspected?

She knew Peter was capable of it, but didn’t have proof. Breaking into the mafia’s server room wasn’t a great option, but it was the only one she had, although she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to even find the room. And it couldn’t be remotely hacked—she’d already tried that.

So when she’d found some slick secret passageway leading down to another floor at Triple Threat on Sunday, she’d felt sure she’d hit the jackpot.

She’d hit something all right.

She expected storage rooms, maybe an office or two. And hopefully the server room.

And, oh sweet hell, she was getting overheated again just thinking about what she found instead. She covered her ears, trying to get the sounds of it—Melinda’s wails, the crack of the belt hitting flesh, Lukas’s deep voice whispering in her ear—out of her mind.

The doorbell ringing cut through it all.

She approached the apartment door a little hesitantly. She’d just moved back to town and gotten this small place in the Lower Garden district. Nobody knew where she lived except for Mom and Uncle Peter, neither of whom she wanted to face. She peeked through the eyehole, ready to pretend she wasn’t home, sighing in relief when she saw it was just a package delivery man.

She couldn’t even remember ordering anything at all. She signed for it then brought the box into the kitchen, opening the plain brown box with no company label while she waited for coffee to brew.

Inside, the contents were wrapped neatly in delicate red tissue paper. This was definitely not something she’d ordered. She peeled back the paper gingerly. A cream-colored envelope sat on top of items she couldn’t see, a single word written on the top.

Princess.

Oh, goat fuck. It was from Lukas.

He knew who she was. And where she lived, evidently.

She picked up the envelope, breath leaving her body in a whoosh as she saw what was underneath.

Nipple clamps.

Anal plug.

She stared at them in the plastic packaging, nestled against the red paper, for long minutes before she opened the card with trembling fingers.

Leaving without saying goodbye is rude, you know. Experiment with these on your own and then bring them and be at Triple Threat on Friday at ten pm. This time, you’ll be escorted below legally, princess. Naughty girls wandering around by themselves tend to get in trouble.

She ran her fingers over his bold signature across the bottom of the card.

Her body felt hot and icy at the same time.

She was in way over her head.

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