Claimed By Desire

A Little Red.

Amara

By the time I rolled out of bed, the sun had already slipped past its gentle morning stage.

Late morning light spilled through my blinds, warm and lazy, glinting off the untouched dishes from last night. I padded into the kitchen barefoot, still half-asleep, and made coffee on autopilot.

The past few days had crawled by in a haze of tension I could not quite shake. Lucien had that effect. He was everywhere, even when he was not. In the mirror. In my dreams. In the quiet spaces between thoughts.

The doorbell rang.

I frowned, glancing at the time.

Then a voice, familiar and loud, came through the door. “If you don’t open this door, Amara, I’m calling the landlord to say you’ve been kidnapped.”

I smiled in spite of myself. Gracie.

I swung open the door and was immediately pulled into a tight hug that smelled like ocean air, expensive perfume, and trouble.

“God, look at you,” she said, stepping back with a mock scowl. “I leave for six weeks, and you turn into a hermit again. No color, no scandal, no chaos. Disappointing.”

“You’ve been gone two months, not six weeks,” I said.

She dropped her bag on the couch. “And in all that time, not a single text that said ‘I met someone.’ Pathetic.”

I laughed. “Nice to see you too, Gracie.”

We fell into our rhythm easily. Gracie always filled a room, her laughter big and contagious, her energy impossible to ignore. She unpacked stories of her vacation while I made lunch.

Apparently, her vacation had been wild. She told me about a flamenco dancer who’d fallen in love with her for three days, a bartender who tattooed her name on his wrist, and a yacht party that had ended with her diving into the Mediterranean fully clothed.

“You sound like a movie character,” I said, chopping tomatoes.

“That’s because I actually live, baby.” She stole a slice of tomato from the cutting board and popped it in her mouth. “You, on the other hand, need to get out more. You’re allergic to fun.”

“I am not allergic to fun.”

“Amara, you wear socks to bed.”

“That was one time.”

“You alphabetize your spice rack.”

I glared. “I like order.”

“You’re boring.”

“I’m not boring.”

Gracie smirked. “We’ve known each other since college. I’ve seen your closet, your phone playlist, and unfortunately, your underwear drawer. Everything about you is beige.”

“Beige is classic.”

“Beige is dead,” she said, laughing. “You need a little red. Preferably in the form of a scandal.”

I rolled my eyes, setting down the knife. “If exciting means becoming a s*x slave, then no thanks.”

She blinked. “What?”

I sighed. “Never mind.”

“No, no, you don’t get to drop that and walk away. What are you talking about?”

I hesitated, then leaned against the counter. “My boss. Lucien. He… asked me to be his submissive.”

Her jaw dropped. Then she started laughing. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I were.”

“Oh my God, Amara. That’s insane. Who even says that in real life?”

“Lucien does.”

She covered her mouth, giggling. “Wait, wait. The rich, mysterious, CEO-type you mentioned in your emails? He asked you that?”

I nodded.

She whistled low. “Okay, first of all, congratulations. Second, you do realize being a submissive isn’t the same thing as being a s*x slave, right?”

“I’m not interested in being controlled,” I said flatly.

“It’s not about control the way you think. It’s about trust — exploration. You, the queen of structure, might actually like that. It’s surrender in a beautiful way.”

“I don’t think I’m wired that way.”

She smiled knowingly. “You’d be surprised what you’re wired for once the right person asks.”

I opened my mouth to argue when my phone buzzed on the counter. A message notification flashed across the screen.

Lucien.

My pulse quickened. I told myself it was probably a work file, but something in me already knew it wasn’t.

Without thinking, I opened it.

A short video.

Lucien was shirtless, in his private gym. The light in the room traced every hard line of his body, catching the sheen of sweat across his skin. His movements were fluid and deliberate, strength tempered by control. Each breath was slow, focused.

He reached for a towel, dragging it across the back of his neck. For a moment, his eyes flicked toward the camera. My stomach tightened.

“Holy hell,” Gracie whispered, leaning closer. “Please tell me that’s him.”

I locked my phone too late. “Gracie—”

She laughed, collapsing back into the couch. “He’s so hot it’s actually rude. Why haven’t you jumped him yet?”

“I work for him.”

“That’s never stopped anyone.”

“Gracie.”

“What? He sends you videos like that, and you still think this is professional?” She grinned wickedly. “Girl, that man is flirting in high definition.”

I felt the warmth rise in my cheeks. “It was probably a mistake. A file mix-up or something.”

“Sure. And I’m the Pope.”

I tried to sound indifferent, but my voice betrayed me. “He’s impossible to read. One minute he’s calm, polite. The next, he’s… different. It’s like he sees straight through me.”

Gracie’s smile softened. “Maybe that’s what scares you. Not that he’s dangerous. That he actually sees you.”

I didn’t answer.

She nudged me with her elbow. “Look, I get it. The guy’s intimidating. But honestly, you’ve been living like a ghost since your last situationship or was it a relationship you called it. Maybe it’s time to let someone wake you up.”

“I’m not sure that’s what he wants.”

“Oh, I think he wants you very much. The question is, what do you want?”

I glanced toward the window, the city glowing in soft amber light. What did I want?

By evening, we were sitting on the balcony with wine and leftover pasta, the sun sinking behind the buildings. Gracie was still talking, spinning wild stories from her trip, but my thoughts kept drifting.

To the video.

To his voice.

To the way my name sounded when he said it.

The memory sent a quiet shiver down my spine.

Gracie caught it, of course. “You’re thinking about him.”

“I’m not.”

She smirked. “You are. And you’re blushing. Oh my God, you’re actually blushing.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me. And you’re welcome. Because if this little conversation gets you to finally live a little, my job here is done.”

I laughed despite myself. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe. But so is denying that man. If you don’t, I might do it for you.”

I threw a napkin at her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous and right,” she said, lifting her glass. “To Amara finally getting some excitement.”

We clinked glasses, and she winked.

Hours later, after she had gone, I found myself alone in the quiet again. The city outside was alive with noise, but my apartment felt still.

I sat on my bed and opened my phone. The video was still there. I told myself I only wanted to delete it.

Instead, I pressed play.

He moved across the screen, silent, focused, every motion deliberate. It wasn’t just his body that pulled me in. It was the control. The calm certainty. The unspoken promise that he would never lose himself, even when I might.

My breath came slow. My heartbeat betrayed me.

Gracie’s voice lingered in my mind. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to give control to someone who knows how to use it.

And Lucien, I suspected, knew exactly how to play the game.