Page 81 of The Owner's Temptation

Good. Let him think about that.

If only he knew how many other firsts I’ve yet to experience. Like oral.

I’m no virgin. Ben and I had sex plenty of times since we were seventeen. I learned how to suck dick, testing things out on him. But he would never go down on me. No matter how much I showered or shaved. If the room was dark. Nothing.

Hell, I could’ve jumped clean off a bar of soap, ready to be devoured, and he still would’ve told me he couldn’t do it.

I wonder what Lucian would do if he knew. Would he lay me down, pull my panties to the side, and give me a long, slow lick?

Jesus.

This line of thinking is dangerous, especially since I’m currently holding Lucian’s hand in my lap. It would be so easy to spread my legs just a bit, guiding his hand between them, letting him feel how wet I am just imagining his mouth there.

Thankfully, the limo slows to a stop in front of my building, dragging me out of my fantasy.

Lucian gently slips his hand from mine, stepping out first. He straightens, gaze sharp as it scans my building, the street, and the shadowed corners nearby. Even now, he's alert, protective. It sends warmth curling through me again, though in a different way than moments ago.

When he’s apparently satisfied we’re safe, he extends his hand, helping me out of the limo. His touch remains firm, possessive even, as he guides me toward my door.

“You don’t have to walk me up,” I murmur softly, suddenly shy beneath his intense scrutiny.

“I’m walking you up,” he replies firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Okay.

We enter the building, stopping at the elevator. The silence settles over us again, punctuated only by the soft hum of machinery.

Lucian finally breaks it, voice low and carefully neutral. “Your ex. He still bother you?”

I shake my head, shrugging slightly. “No. Not exactly. He just—he still has a key to my apartment. It weirds me out sometimes, but the landlord refuses to change the locks.”

Lucian’s entire body stiffens beside me, his jaw tightening again into that now-familiar scowl. Clearly, he doesn’t like that one bit.

“That’s unacceptable,” he says coldly, anger barely concealed. “You shouldn't have to worry about your own safety.”

“I don’t think Ben would ever?—”

“Doesn't matter,” he cuts in sharply. “You shouldn't have to question it. Ever.”

I swallow, heat rising in my cheeks as we step onto the elevator, tension heavy between us. When we reach my floor, he insists on walking me right to my door, clearly still bothered.

“Thanks for tonight,” I whisper softly, fumbling with my keys, certain he’s about to turn and leave now that I'm safely home.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he looks down at his injured knuckle again, flexing his hand briefly before looking up, voice unexpectedly gentle.

“You wouldn’t have a band-aid, would you?”

My heart skips a beat, warmth spreading through my chest at the quiet intimacy in his request.

“Yeah,” I reply softly, stepping aside and opening the door wider. “Come on in.”

The moment we cross the threshold into my apartment, something shifts in me. Lucian’s presence here feels startlingly intimate—maybe even invasive—and my heart pounds unevenly in response.

A flush of self-consciousness overtakes me as I glance quickly around the room, suddenly seeing everything through his eyes.

Is it too messy? Too small?

Does he think it’s childish or pathetic?

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