The Velvet Heat

“I think I dreamed it.” That’s the first thought that crosses my mind when I wake up, tangled in black sheets and the scent of him still haunting my mouth. His hands. His mouth. His voice—low, teasing, wicked. That velvet-dark hallway. That kiss. It had to be a dream. Because if it wasn’t… then everything has changed. The light bleeding through the curtains is too soft. The house is too quiet. But inside my chest, everything is loud and restless. I press my fingers to my lips like I can erase him there, like I didn’t let Lucien Harrington press me up against the wall and kiss me like he was punishing me for ever pretending I didn’t want him. I blink. Breathe. Get the hell out of bed. The Harrington estate is already alive when I step into the hallway—early morning staff buzzing through like ghosts, sunlight spilling in golden streaks over marble and polished wood. I try to walk like nothing’s different. Try to feel normal in my oversized hoodie and silk shorts, like I didn’t almost fall apart under his hands less than twelve hours ago. I pass the mirror on the landing. My neck’s clean. Lips, untouched. My hair’s still in its lazy braid. But my eyes… My eyes look like they’ve seen something I’m not ready to say out loud. I find Lena in the kitchen, perched on the marble counter in one of her “I woke up like this” outfits—today it’s a cropped Prada tee and boxers that probably cost more than my first phone. She’s sipping her espresso like it’s gossip. “Morning, dead girl walking,” she grins. “You look like hell.” I laugh too quickly. “Thanks. You’re glowing as usual.” “Because I didn’t spend last night ghosting the entire party.” She raises an eyebrow. “Where did you vanish to?” My throat tightens. I reach for the orange juice like it’s a distraction, pouring it into a crystal glass I’m terrified of breaking. “I wasn’t feeling well. Headache,” I lie, and I hate how easy it is. I hate lying to her. She gives me that Lena look—half-suspicious, half-worried, all heart. “Well, next time text me. I almost made a scene.” I nod. Smile. Pretend. Because I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t tell her that her twin brother—her perfect, charming, chaos-in-a-suit brother—kissed me like he owned me last night. And worse? That I liked it. A sound in the doorway makes my stomach drop. I don’t need to look. I know it’s him. Lucien strolls in like he didn’t shatter my entire universe last night with one kiss. Hair tousled like s*x, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, and a lazy smirk playing on his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing. His eyes flick to me. Just for a second. Enough to say I remember. Enough to make me want to either slap him or crawl into his lap. “Morning, ladies,” he drawls, stealing a strawberry off Lena’s plate and tossing it into his mouth. I pretend to be fascinated with my glass. He leans next to me, too close. The heat of him seeps into my skin. He whispers low, only for me. “You still taste like trouble, you know.” My hand tightens around the glass. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t— I look. And those ember eyes? They ruin me all over again.