Page 160 of Entangled

I watch with a raised, curious brow. Over the last few days, he’s been testing me—and I suppose I have been doing the same. Our sadomasochistic dynamic has always come naturally and easily—and within a scene, our dominant-submissive dynamic has as well.

Outsideof a scene, however, is another matter.

“This is not meant to be a game, Lucien,” I chide gently, and he studies my face.

“Right. Sorry. I know. I can try?—”

I cup his chin and smear the words against his lips, hard enough that his eyes widen, and he shudders, then licks my fingertips.

“Do not apologize for discussing boundaries,” I say mildly. I sit back and rest my hand on my chin. “You’ve enjoyed high protocol during a scene—is that the extent of it, then? You derive no pleasure from it outside of the S&M dynamic?”

After a moment, he rests his chin on the arm of the chair and looks up at me ruefully. “When I say I would rather walk on hot coals for you than sit still at your feet for hours, I mean it with every bit of sincerity.”

My lips curl reluctantly, and I hope I manage to withhold the slight sting of disappointment. I deeply enjoy those lovely, quiet moments with a submissive—when the world falls away and we can lose ourselves to the simplest, most stripped-back form of the dynamic. Care and control. Not for pain or need or force. Just for the pleasure of being together in a way that serves us both.

But the pleasure only comes from mutual enjoyment.

I can do without this.

“Perhaps I could have guessed that this wouldn’t be your forte.” I stroke his hair back off his forehead to show him I’m teasing, and his dimples test me again.

A mischievous light infects his smile. “You know, it takes a pretty self-involved dom to think any sub finds them interesting enough to stare at their toes for three hours.”

With his fear of rejection ebbing, his hesitance and stammering have ebbed too. And unleashed, Lucien’s confidence is deadly. I’m almost helpless to resist him like this. His relentless flirting is an assault against my self-control, and he seems to now delight in surprising me—and inpushingme.

The brattiness is getting out of hand. He’s taunting me now, all but begging for a punishment that would leave him shattered and coated in his own cum—or in mine.

But though we both crave the delicious, chilling tension of an S&M scene, I’m not willing to tempt fate. I am as determined as he is to make sure he keeps his promise to Eden.

“Perhaps I am self-involved. Or perhaps this just takes a submissive who has an attention span longer than thirty seconds.” I lean down toward him. “You could use the opportunity to think on grander things, Lucien. Philosophy. Poetry. Or if you don’t have the patience for that, then perhaps you could spend a few hours thinking of all the ways you could spread yourself out so that you can get fucked like the rapacious little brat you are.”

Heat steals over Lucien’s face, the color searing his cheeks—but he laughs softly as he looks at me. “Well, my homework is done, professor. I’ve already spent years thinking of every single way I want you to fuck?—”

Need slices through me, and I kiss the confession from his mouth.

When he sighs, I tighten my hand in his silky, playful hair and ravage him deeper, harder, until he softens under me. Until that sigh becomes a groan. Answering heat curls in my abdomen. My cock hardens so quickly it’s almost painful.

Apart from fucking Lucien’s mouth to orgasm last month, I haven’t come into anything but my own hand in almost six years—long before Day Death was even on the horizon.

And Ineed.

Still, when Lucien’s hand begins to slide up my thigh, I catch his wrist and wrench my mouth away. I stare at his glistening lips and tighten my grip until he gasps. His eyes brighten at the small hurt, becoming luminous as streaking stars.

It’s impossible not to think of how that hot, greedy mouth felt around my cock, but I force myself to push the thoughts away.

I meet his gaze, and she hangs there between us—the answer towhy, andstop, andno more.

“Do you think she’d like this?” Lucien whispers into the heavy silence. “Seeing us like this?”

That gives me pause. Neither of us missed her arousal when she saw us in the kitchen. I’ve never been particularly prone to public displays, but that day Lucien had tempted me past bearing, rubbing up against me, teasing me, and I’d snapped, pinning him where anyone could walk in.

But the idea of Eden’s nervous eyes on us has an almost brutal appeal.

“I think,” I say, with a last tenuous thread of control, “if she saw us right now, she might claw my eyes out.”

That gets a reaction.

Lucien pulls back with a groan, and I release him. He reaches down and adjusts his hard, desperate length in his pants. I watch the move avidly.

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