Kneel For Me

The Second Function

The black dress felt heavier the second time.

Same fabric. Same cut. But now it carried the non-compete clause, the white roses, and Lucian’s quiet “everything that touches my business is personal.” I stood in front of my mirror at six thirty Friday evening, fingers tracing the neckline, wondering what it meant to wear something he had claimed.

Then I put it on anyway.

The private members’ club in St. James’s was older and darker than the Mayfair townhouse — portraits of dead ancestors staring down from the walls like silent judges. Forty guests, but the energy was different: less performance, more calculated knives behind polite smiles.

Lucian was already inside. When I entered, he turned. That raw, hungry look flashed across his face — heat, possession, danger — before he killed it in three seconds flat.

“You’re two minutes late,” he said, voice flat.

“The car was delayed.”

“That’s what drivers are for. Next time, account for it.” He turned and walked into the room without waiting for a reply.

I followed, chest tight.

He stayed close all night. Never quite beside me, but always within reach. If I moved left, he drifted left. If I stepped toward the bar, he was suddenly there, redirecting with a single look or the sheer weight of his presence. I noticed every time. I said nothing.

At nine o’clock, I felt eyes on me before I saw him.

Dominic Hale stood across the room, champagne in hand, watching me with that easy, knowing smile. He raised his glass in a private toast.

I looked away.

Lucian appeared at my shoulder instantly, voice low and cold against my ear. “He’s been here forty minutes. He came because he knew you’d be here.”

“How would he know that?”

“Because I have patterns. And Dominic studies patterns.” His jaw was tight, eyes scanning the room like a predator. “Stay close tonight.”

“I’m always close.”

“Closer,” he said. The word was final. Non-negotiable.

It happened at nine forty.

I was returning from a conversation with an Alderton board member when Dominic stepped smoothly into my path — not aggressive, just suddenly unavoidable, the way confident men make themselves.

“Miss Vale.” That charming smile. “You look remarkable tonight.”

“Mr. Hale.”

“Dominic.” He fell into step beside me, lowering his voice. “Did you get my flowers?”

“I did. Thank you.”

“And yet you moved them to the windowsill.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “He noticed, I assume.”

I stopped walking and faced him. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes.” He leaned in slightly, voice intimate. “I have a senior analyst position opening. Significant autonomy. The kind of role that would use everything you’re capable of — not the fraction a personal assistant wastes on coffee and schedules.” A pause. “You deserve better than playing guard dog for Lucian Voss.”

The offer landed clean and dangerously tempting.

“I have a contract,” I said, voice steady.

“Contracts end. Or they can be negotiated.” His gaze held mine. “Think about it. You’re wasted here.”

“Miss Vale.”

Lucian’s voice cut through the air like ice. Low. Controlled. Absolutely lethal.

I turned. He stood three feet away, eyes locked on Dominic with the kind of cold that predated civility.

Dominic smiled pleasantly. “Lucian. Excellent function.”

“Edmund Greer drafted a non-compete clause this week,” Lucian said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. “Eighteen months. Comprehensive. Miss Vale has already signed it.”

Dominic’s eyes flickered — quick recalculation. “Smart. Protecting your assets.”

“My people,” Lucian corrected, voice quiet but absolute. His hand brushed the small of my back — light, possessive, unmistakable — guiding me away from Dominic. “She is not available.”

The silence that followed was electric.

Dominic raised his glass slightly, still smiling. “Understood.” He looked at me one last time — private, considering — then melted back into the crowd.

Lucian didn’t remove his hand immediately. The heat of his palm burned through the fabric of the dress.

In the car home, silence stretched for ten full minutes.

London slid past the windows. I waited, heart hammering.

“He offered you a position,” Lucian said finally, staring out at the city.

“Yes.”

“What did you say?”

“That I have a contract.”

Another pause. His voice dropped lower. “Is that the only reason?”

I turned to look at him. In the dim light, his shutters were cracked. Those dark eyes held mine with a weight that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with ownership.

“No,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Honest. Reckless. I wasn’t sure which.

He held my gaze for a long, dangerous moment.

“Good,” he said quietly.

The car stopped outside my building. I reached for the door.

“Miss Vale.”

I looked back.

“You handled tonight well,” he said. Not “adequate.” Not “fine.” Just — well. With something raw and possessive underneath it that terrified me.

“Thank you.”

I stepped out into the cold London air.

Behind me, the car didn’t pull away immediately. It sat at the kerb, engine idling, Lucian still inside watching.

I stood on the pavement in the black dress that now felt like a brand, heart hammering, and understood something I could no longer deny.

I wasn’t counting down six months anymore.

I didn’t know when that countdown had stopped.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.